Star Cursed: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book Two

by Spotswood, Jessica

  “Of course not,” she says finally, restraightening the already-perfect stack of papers as though she needs something to do with her hands. “I apologize. I understand that this must be overwhelming. We don’t even know if you’re the prophesied witch, now that this oracle business has come up. But until we discover otherwise, we shall proceed as if you are. And if it’s true—well, you may be called to lead sooner than you think.”

  “Because Sister Cora is dying.”

  “She’s told you?” Inez looks momentarily thrown by this. “Yes. It will be a miracle if she lives until the New Year. And when she is gone, there will be those who look to you for leadership, despite your youth and your inexperience, simply because you are the prophesied witch. I want you to know that when that time comes, when we lose Cora, you may count on me. You’re just a girl, Miss Cahill. Difficult decisions—heartbreaking decisions—come with the position. I’ve been Cora’s second-in-command for years. I can make those decisions with you—make them for you, if you like.”

  She rises and comes around the corner of her desk. “You come of age in March, but there isn’t any rush. I’m happy to lead for as long as you like.” She puts a cold, bony hand on my shoulder. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She’s giving me an out—a tempting one. “Thank you.”

  “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow in class, then.”

  I stand, recognizing that I’ve been dismissed. But I’ve got the eerie sensation that I’ve just been given a test, and I’m not certain whether I’ve passed or failed.

  • • •

  Two floors down, the grandfather clock chimes midnight. I glance at Rilla, curled on her side beneath her yellow quilt. She lets out a reassuring snore. I tiptoe across the room and ease the door open, holding my breath.

  I cringe at every creak in the old wooden steps. Down in the kitchen, I pause to wrap my cloak around my shoulders, tugging the hood up over my long blond braids. The November wind whistles eerily in the chimney.

  The cold inside the convent is nothing compared to the cold without. As soon as I step into the backyard, it bites at my nose and cheeks and fingertips. The water in the marble birdbath is frozen solid. I hurry past the fogged windows of Sister Evelyn’s conservatory, longing for the steamy warmth within.

  The wind slices through my cloak, blowing my hood back and sending my hair whipping around my face. The half-moon throws shadows onto the slate path. It would only take one girl pressing her nose to the chilled windowpane of a garden-facing room, and I’d be discovered.

  The garden stretches the entire width of a city block; a wrought-iron gate at the far end opens onto the lane behind the convent. I grip the freezing metal and drag it open. A tall figure darts around the corner.

  For a minute, I grin foolishly. Then I rush toward him, heedless, wanting.

  “Why?” His face is shadowed by his black hood, but I’d know that voice anywhere—only I’ve never heard it sound so furious with me.

  I slam to a halt as though a glass pane separates us.

  It was the last thing Finn said to me that day in church. The first thing he’s asking now.

  We’re so close. Inches apart. I could reach out and—

  “We had a plan. I went through with my part. I expected you to go through with yours. I expected you to announce our betrothal. What happened, Cate? Did you—” His hood blows off, revealing coppery hair that’s unrulier than ever. His cheeks are red, and the tips of his ears. He takes a deep breath, fighting for control. “Have your feelings for me changed?”

  “No!” I stare at him, shocked. Does he think me so fickle, so faithless?

  “Then tell me why you would do this.” His shoulders are stiff beneath his black cloak, and the way he looks at me—I can’t believe I thought him cold earlier.

  I’m meant to tell him we can’t be together. Convince him that I don’t want him. It would be safer for him to forget me, go back to Chatham, and find some other girl. I should make him hate me.

  I’ve told a great many lies, but not this. I can’t bring myself to do it.

  “Tell me.” His voice is clipped, but his brown eyes search mine for answers. I’m tempted to spill everything. To let him comfort me, convince me, obliterate my fears with kisses.

  The first time I kissed Finn, his lips hungry on mine, his hands gentle as feathers on my waist, all my good sense was lost in a flurry of wanting—and then there were feathers everywhere: crunching beneath my slippers, drifting over the forbidden books piled in the closet, stuck in his ridiculous messy hair.

  Even now, magic sings through my skin, aroused by this mad mix of fear and guilt and love and shame swirling through me. Aroused by Finn’s body, inches from mine. He’s the only one who’s ever made me feel this way, half wild with wanting.

  “If I am the prophesied sister, I owe it to the other girls. The other—witches.” Even though we’re alone in the night garden, the wind roaring around us, my voice drops on the word.

  “What about what you owe me? Or yourself, for that matter?” His shoulders slump. “This isn’t like you, Cate. Being here in New London, with the Sisters—it isn’t what you want—or what the girl I Ct toulfell in love with wanted, anyway. Perhaps I misunderstood.”

  “No!” I blurt out, scalded by the doubt in his voice. “I’m still that girl.”

  “Then what changed? I heard about Brenna’s prophecy. The Brothers are looking for you. They won’t stop until—” His voice falters, but we both know how the sentence ends. Until I’m dead. “Or is that it? Have you been having visions? You should have told me; you could have trusted me with—”

  “I know,” I interrupt. “I haven’t had any visions yet.”

  “What, then? Did they threaten your sisters?” His voice softens, but behind his spectacles, his eyes are impatient.

  “No.” By then they wanted me, not Maura or Tess. I begged them to take Maura—it was what she wanted, after all, and it would have gotten her away from Elena—and to leave me at home to look after Tess. They refused. Said a witch of my caliber belonged to the Sisterhood.

  Remembering it, I shiver.

  “Mother gave up the bookshop for us. That was her life’s work. My father’s dream. I joined the Brothers, even though they stand for everything I hate. I did that for you, and then you left as if—as if it was nothing!” Finn’s voice rises, and he turns away from me, gripping the iron gate with his gloved fingers.

  “I’m sorry.” It doesn’t feel like enough. I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out to him. “I hated leaving you like that. I thought there’d be a chance for me to explain. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “You did. You are.” His words are blunt as he turns to face me. “Explain now. You owe me that much.”

  I look past him at the staring black windows of the convent. “We shouldn’t stand here in the open,” I say, leading him away from the gate and farther into the garden. The boxwoods are covered in a lace of frost. We press into one shielded corner, where the air is crisp and green and quiet. It doesn’t feel as though we’re in the midst of a huge, thriving city. We could be anywhere.

  I hate to tell him the truth—to take the burden of it from my shoulders and put it on his—but perhaps it’s better for him to know what’s at stake. How he puts himself in danger every time he comes near me. Then he can choose for himself whether it’s worth the risk of loving me.

  The fear of him deciding it isn’t battles against my desire for him to be safe.

  “It wasn’t my sisters they threatened,” I whisper.

  “Your father?” he asks, and I shake my head.

  The moment the realization hits him, his face crumples, his eyes closing behind his spectacles. He lets loose with a barrage of curses. “It was me.”

  “And they said they’d inform on your mother. Or Clara.” Tears lodge in my throat, and my voice comes out a croak.

  “Damn them,” Finn mutters. He slams his palm against th
e high stone wall that separates the garden from the neighbors’ lawn. “You should have told me. We could have figured it out together. Now we’re both stuck here with half the town hunting you and the Brothers throwing booksellers into fires—I nearly stole a horse and rode home. I’m still tempted.”

  “That would only cast more suspicion on her,” I point out. I step forward, my hand almost brushing his arm, almost feeling the warmth of him.

  “I know that,” he snaps, and I take a step back. “I can’t quit the Brotherhood. Trust me, I’ve given it some thought.”

  “I’m sorry, Finn. I’m so sorry.” I don’t know what more to say.

  He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve missed you. I didn’t understand why you left, and it nearly drove me mad. And things are getting worse at home. They—we—arrested two girls last month in CastnderstaChatham. It’s like that all through New England. Harwood’s overflowing with innocents.”

  His voice is bitter. Lord knows what he’s been forced to do. “Who was it?”

  “Mina Coste, on grounds of immorality.” Finn’s forehead rumples, and it’s all I can do not to reach out and smooth it with my fingers. Mina’s the youngest daughter of the family who runs the boardinghouse in Chatham: a willowy, laughing girl with strawberry-blond hair. “Her father caught her sneaking out her bedroom window one night. She refused to say where she was going. He beat her, Cate, and Ishida practically congratulated him for it, and I just stood there. I had to just stand there!”

  I clench my fists. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s always chafed against the Brothers’ restrictions, but this barely leashed fury is new. Guilt washes over me. “That must have been awful for you.”

  “It was a damn sight worse for her. I couldn’t do anything!” His laugh is a snarled, unpleasant sound. “Then they caught Jennie Sauter with an old atlas. She’s just an ignorant girl from an illiterate farm family, trying to educate herself about the world, and—”

  He cuts himself off. “I suspect it will only get worse. Part of me wants to go home to protect Mother and Clara, and part of me wants to stay here, where I can look after you.”

  “Where we can look after each other,” I correct, tilting toward him.

  He smiles, and it makes his eyes go crinkly at the corners. Seeing it makes the knot in my chest unravel a bit. Perhaps he can forgive me after all. “I could use a bit of looking after. I really have been miserable without you.”

  “Me, too. I missed you terribly.” I’m aware of his eyes on my mouth, of the air gone electric between us. “But you could still tell them you’ve changed your mind. I wouldn’t blame you.”

  “It’s treason to quit once you’ve gone through the initiation ceremony.” Finn removes his right glove and holds up his hand, displaying the silver ring of office on his finger. “Besides, I think—hope—I can do more good by staying.”

  His earnestness is my undoing. I take a step forward, and Finn crushes me to him, his lips soft at my temple.

  “Cate,” he murmurs, and his voice is hoarse with wanting.

  “I know.” I stroke his stubbled jaw with one finger, then curl my hands around his waist. I rest my head against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of tea and ink, of Finn.

  Happiness chokes me.

  I didn’t know if I would ever be able to do this again.

  His hands are tangled in my hair, roaming over my back, tracing the lines of my hips, as if he’s reassuring himself it’s really me and I’m really here, in his arms, safe and sound. His lips work their way from my temple to my cheekbone. I tilt my face up, eager for his kiss.

  It does not disappoint.

  For a few moments, my entire world consists of Finn—his mouth, his hands. Eventually, I pull away, burrowing my cold face into his neck. He shivers and wraps both arms around me. “Good Lord, you’re freezing.”

  “I’m all right,” I insist. But above us, the clock tower chimes half past.

  “You ought to go in. What if someone notices you missing?”

  “They won’t. My roommate sleeps very soundly.”

  “The one with the short hair and freckles? She gave you her cider,” he remembers, and I nod, ridiculously pleased that he was watching, as conscious of me as I was of him.

  “She’s very sweet.” I pull back to look up at him. “How’s Rory?”

  “Hysterical. I gave her some whiskey and stayed with her until she nodded off.”

  “It was good of you to look after her. Cok erical” It’s so very Finn to want to care for everyone, even a sobbing girl he barely knows. “It was Rory, you know, who did the magic. Not Sachi. She lost control.”

  I explain the truth of it—that they’re sisters and witches—much to Finn’s surprise. “Sachi will be sent to Harwood, won’t she?” I ask.

  Finn nods, his chocolate eyes sad. “There’s no avoiding it. Not with that many witnesses.” He’s right, I know, but it breaks my heart to hear it. He twines his fingers through mine. “Do you think you can risk sneaking out like this again? Not two nights in a row, but—”

  “The day after tomorrow?” I suggest.

  “Sunday,” he agrees. “It can’t come soon enough. I—I love you, Cate.”

  It still feels like magic, hearing him say it. I touch my lips to his, a quick butterfly brush. “And I love you. You mustn’t ever doubt it.”

  It’s mad and dangerous, these midnight trysts. For both of us. The day after tomorrow feels an eon away—particularly with my trip to Harwood looming. But as I slip back toward the convent, I feel more determined than ever to use my magic to help change things.

  It’s as though a pale, sad, imitation Cate has been drifting through these halls the last month, and now, buoyed up by Finn’s love and the promise of soon seeing my sisters, I am made solid.

  My confidence lasts until I slip into the shadowy kitchen, bend to remove my boots, and find Sister Inez staring at me.

  “Hello, Miss Cahill.” She’s perching on a high kitchen stool near the fireplace. Ashes glow a soft orange in the grate. “Your roommate woke and found you missing. She was worried that some terrible accident had befallen you—that you had been kidnapped, perhaps.”

  I let out a forced laugh. “Rilla reads too many novels. I couldn’t sleep, so I went out for a walk in the garden.”

  “At midnight? In this weather?” Sister Inez lights a candle and sets it between us on the oak table that serves as a kitchen workspace. “I’m not a fool. I saw you weren’t alone.”

  I go still. Has she told anyone else? Should I erase her memory of seeing us together? I suppose I’d have to compel Rilla, too, to keep her from asking Inez any troublesome questions. My mind whirls.

  “There’s no need to do anything rash.” Even now Inez is wearing her black uniform. Does she sleep in it? Her chestnut hair is braided into a long plait that reaches her waist, and though she must be near forty, there’s only a little gray at her temples. “I’ve no intention of harming Brother Belastra.”

  I hang my cloak on the peg by the door, though I’m reluctant to take my eyes off her. It feels rather like turning my back on a poisonous snake.

  She taps her long, bony fingers against the table, and the silver ring of the Sisterhood catches the candlelight. “I take it the two of you have made amends? He’s forgiven you for your desertion?”

  As though I ever wanted to desert him. I give a terse nod.

  “And he knows what you are? Knows the truth of the Sisterhood? It won’t help him if you lie to me,” she adds sharply.

  “He won’t tell anyone—he’s far more sympathetic to us than to the Brotherhood,” I assure her. I’m still hovering just inside the door, my back against the wall where the cheery yellow paper is marred by gray soot.

  “That’s perfect.” Inez smiles. “Brother Belastra is a clever young man, by all accounts. There’s a position available as a clerk for one of the members of the Head Council, Brother Denisof. If Belastra applied for it, I could see to it he would be successful. He w
ould remain right here in New London—and think how helpful it would be for the Sisterhood to have such an ally.”

  Selfishly Cem"uld r, I am tempted. In a few weeks, the National Council meetings will be over, and Finn and Brother Ishida will go back to Chatham. Who knows when we might see each other again.

  “I’d ask that you keep this arrangement just between the three of us, of course. There would be no need for anyone else to know—not even Cora,” Sister Inez says.

  I sidle closer. Candlelight makes the copper pots glow against the brick wall behind the cookstove. “But she already has a spy on the Head Council, doesn’t she?”

  “She does.” Inez’s jaw clenches. “But if you and I work together, we would be quite formidable. Cora is content to let dozens more girls suffer, perhaps even die, at the Brothers’ hands. She’ll tell you that sacrifices must be made, that it could be years until we are able to share power with the Brothers—and even then, it will be shared.” Sister Inez spits out the word. “If things go my way, we could be in power in a matter of months. You and Mr. Belastra could marry instead of sneaking around.”

  I lean forward, resting my palms against the trestle table. Sister Sophia has left the bread for our breakfast out to rise. “I’ve already declared my intention. I can’t marry.”

  Inez leans forward on the other side of the table. “If the ruse of the Sisterhood were no longer necessary, you could do whatever you like.”

  Inez is using my feelings for Finn to manipulate me; I know that, and yet I’m not immune to it. Frankly, her arguments make sense. After what we saw tonight, perhaps they make more sense than Sister Cora’s caution.

  “Will you speak with him about it?

  Ask him to apply for that position?”

  I hesitate. “What else would you need him to do?”

  “Just apply, for now.” Inez blows out the candle. “You’re doing the right thing, Miss Cahill. Put your faith in me, and I’ll see to it that we both get what we want.”

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