Star Cursed: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book Two

by Spotswood, Jessica

  The spell pours through me. It eviscerates me, turning my body inside out, twisting my stomach.

  Oh, it hurts. It hurts. This is much worse than healing Mei.

  I slump over the woman’s bed, head spinning, but I try to keep the image of those two boys in my mind. I don’t let go of her wrist. I can do this. I have to do this, for them.

  “Cate.” Sister Sophia’s hand is on my shoulder, pulling me back, breaking my grip.

  I look at the patient through bleary eyes. My head is pounding. She doesn’t look any different, only puzzled at my almost swooning on top of her. Did the spell work? I can’t tell without touching her again, and if I touch her again, I will faint.

  Sister Sophia apologizes to the woman—something about how new I am to nursing and how I’m overcome at her sad loss—and then she’s wrapping her arm around me, shepherding me out of the room and down the hall and out into the snow. I throw up on the grass beside the carriageway. She bundles me into the carriage and instructs me to lie down on the leather seat. Only then is it safe to ask the question pressing on me:

  “Will she live?” Was it enough? Was I enough?

  It stuns me, how desperately I want my spell to have worked.

  Sister Sophia studies me. She’s so sweet; it’s easy to forget she has a powerful intellect, an understanding of anatomy and biology that would rival any male physician’s. I’ve heard the other girls whisper that she once dis S shut of thsected a human corpse.

  She reaches out and brushes my hair back from my face. The gesture is heartbreakingly maternal. “You felt a strong connection to her, didn’t you?”

  I nod and the carriage spins around me. “I know what it’s like to lose a mother.”

  “I thought her case might resonate with you, given your history,” Sister Sophia admits. “She’ll recover. You couldn’t feel that the spell was successful?”

  “I was too focused on my intention, I think.”

  “That happens sometimes, when you want to heal someone very badly. It’s difficult to strike the right balance. Our work requires empathy, but you must remain detached enough to feel whether the spell is working and when to stop. Attempting to heal someone whose injuries are beyond the scope of your gift will make you very ill.”

  The nausea and dizziness are subsiding a little. I swing my feet onto the wooden floorboards of the carriage and sit up.

  “That woman would have died in that place, without proper medical care,” Sister Sophia continues, her brown eyes steady on mine. “You saved her life, Cate. That’s work to be proud of.”

  “I—thank you.” The notion of taking pride in my magic, in being a witch, feels wrong. But saving that woman didn’t. It was painful and difficult, but right.

  “Before the other girls join us—” Sister Sophia leans forward, bracing her elbows on the knees of her black skirt. “Your gift for healing is very strong. You could do a great deal of good with it. But there are things you ought to know. May I speak frankly?”

  “Please.”

  “First, you must be careful of the work you perform in the hospital, or in any public place, or upon anyone who is unaware of your witchery. The nurses here don’t care enough to be suspicious of us. But if we were to entirely heal a string of patients, it would call attention to our visits—to you, and to the entire Sisterhood.”

  Oh. I didn’t think of the difference between giving momentary relief and completely healing someone, and how risky the latter could be.

  “Good Lord, I didn’t even—”

  Sister Sophia puts out a hand. “No. It’s incredible, what you’re capable of. But there are those who would take advantage of it. They will want to ferret out the limits of your power, determine how you can use it on behalf of the Sisterhood. There are limits; we are not gods. We must respect that, or it can be dangerous to our well-being, both physically and spiritually.”

  I nod. “I understand.”

  “I’m not sure you do.” Sister Sophia sighs. “Life and death are two sides of the same coin. Being able to feel a person’s life flickering inside him—it can be seductive. There have been witches who used their healing for ill. Who have used it against their enemies.”

  “How would they use it for ill?” I’m puzzled. “Do you mean—can we make people sick? Could I give someone a headache, instead of taking it away?” She’s never mentioned that in class.

  I thought healing magic was good. Pure.

  I should have known better. Magic is never simple.

  Sister Sophia nods. “You cannot give someone pain out of nowhere, but you can greatly magnify it. I don’t mean to frighten you. You are only beginning to understand the scope of your gift, Cate. What we can do—in the right hands, it’s a blessing. Priests and physicians often speak of their work as a calling. I believe mine is, too. From the Lord or Persephone or someone else altogether, I don’t know, but I’m grateful for it.”

  “Oh, I . . .” I trail off as Pearl opens the carriage door and the others climb in.

  “I’m grateful to have four wonderful a Sr w160;.” pprentices.” Sister Sophia smiles at all of us. “The side effects of healing tend to discourage most girls from studying it seriously—not to mention the ridiculous notion that biology and anatomy are unladylike. It’s nonsense.”

  She’s off on her pet rant, but I’m lost in thought as the carriage begins to rattle back down the driveway. I’ve never thought of my magic as a blessing, only a curse. I thought perhaps healing would be different. Less complicated than mind-magic. A way to help people, to prove that the Brothers are wrong when they say all magic is wicked. But like any kind of power, it depends on the character of the person using it.

  • • •

  When I get home, the convent is abuzz with news of my sisters’ arrival. I’ve missed afternoon tea; girls are studying in the library or clattering upstairs to their rooms. On their lips, I hear the whispers: Prophecy. Maura and Tess. Cahill sisters.

  I rush to the sitting room, then stop dead on the threshold.

  They’re here.

  For the last month, it’s what I’ve wanted more than anything—to see my sisters. But now that they’re here, I feel a peculiar flutter of nerves. I’m not certain I’m the same Cate who left them at the church door a month ago. Have they changed, too, in my absence?

  Maura holds court next to Alice on the pink love seat. She’s gorgeous in an emerald gown that makes her eyes look green as spring grass. Her red hair is done up in a pompadour, held in place with jeweled combs; her feet are adorned with pink velvet slippers trimmed with green bows.

  “I’ve always had strong intuition,” she says, eyelashes fluttering modestly. “I just sense things about people.”

  “What kind of things?” Vi asks, rapt. She’s squeezed herself onto the settee on the other side of Alice, but her enormous lavender skirts poof out in front of her. Vi’s thin like me and requires a bustle to enhance her figure.

  “Oh, you know.” Maura waves a languid hand. “What sort of things they might be capable of. Whether or not they’re trustworthy. I wouldn’t be surprised if I graduated to visions any day now.”

  Looking past her, I find Tess on an ottoman next to Rory, her pale hair in braids that wind around her head like mine. She’s wearing a red plaid dress, and she looks flushed and rosy and healthy—if a bit skeptical of Maura’s newfound psychic tendencies. When she sees me, she leaps up. I’d swear she’s an inch taller than when I last saw her.

  “Cate!” She hurls herself at me, and I catch her, squeezing her so tight she lets out a little squeak. She laughs and I laugh, too, at hearing it.

  Maura rises and gives me a perfunctory hug. She smells sweet and citrusy, like lemon verbena. “There you are! We’ve been waiting for you for ages.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. I’ve missed you both so much,” I say, eyeing Maura carefully. Is she still angry with me for leaving her behind?

  I’m glad they’re here. The Sisterhood isn’t what
I wanted for them, but it’s not as evil as Mother made it out to be, either. And perhaps it shouldn’t have been my decision alone. Seeing them here, taller and prettier and more grown-up than ever, it wallops me over the head: they aren’t children anymore. They have the right to choose their own futures.

  Maura turns back to her captive audience, clasping her hands to her heart theatrically. Everyone’s eyes are on her, just the way she likes it. “It’s been awful, cooped up all alone in the country.”

  Tess smacks Maura’s arm. “You weren’t alone, you goose. I was there!”

  “Oh, you know what I mean.” Maura’s laugh is bright and bubbly. “ Sd bAnd perhapChatham is frightfully dull, and we’ve never known any other witches. Our mother was so strict, we were hardly ever allowed to practice. I want to learn everything I can about the Sisterhood and the history of magic. I envy you girls; I’m afraid I’m horribly behind for my age.”

  I stare at Maura, her forehead puckered with worry. She’s never possessed a lack of confidence. But it’s precisely the right tactic; Alice and Vi and their lackeys are already falling over themselves, offering to tutor her or help her in any way they can. I turn back to Tess. “I like your hair like that. And what have you been doing, growing when I’ve got my back turned? You’re up to my chin now.”

  “I’m an absolute giant.” Tess grins up at me. “Oh, Cate, I’m so glad to see you. I’ve missed you!”

  “Not as much as I’ve missed you.” I take in the other inhabitants of the room: Rebekah is sitting at the piano, with Lucy next to her, though they’ve abandoned their music. Mei is beating Rilla handily at chess. A few of Alice’s lackeys are sprawled on the floor before the fire, flipping through magazines. But there are no teachers present. “Is Elena here, too?”

  The name catches Maura’s attention. “Naturally. She’s with Sister Inez now. She and Paul escorted us.”

  “Paul McLeod? My Paul?” He’s the last person I’d expect to chaperone my sisters.

  “Is he yours?” Maura grins. “He’s called on us several times since you left.”

  Tess pauses in her examination of the bookshelf, which contains a host of Gothic romances for pleasure reading. “He’s been worried about you.”

  “Has he? He hardly mentions Cate to me,” Maura teases, and I flush. The last time I saw her, she was heartbroken over Elena’s betrayal. “Where have you been, anyway? No one would tell us.”

  I shiver, slumping against the blue-flowered wallpaper. “I was at Harwood.”

  “Why?” Maura gasps, all her bright artifice falling away. She sinks back onto the pink love seat, and Alice pats her sleeve sympathetically.

  Tess huddles next to me, gray eyes worried. “Are you all right?”

  I press my fingertips to my temples, massaging the headache that’s sprung up. “I’m fine. I went on a nursing mission. Sister Cora wanted me to speak with Zara, since she studied the oracles.”

  “Zara’s our godmother,” Maura explains to the others, though in truth she is only my godmother. “She’s a powerful witch and a brilliant scholar.”

  Alice leans forward eagerly, bracing her elbows on her knees. Her dress is a striking purple velvet today. “What did she tell you?”

  My memory conjures up Zara: dark curls and dreamy eyes and gold locket. “She’s a bit muddled from the laudanum, but I got her to tell me about the two other oracles before Brenna. The Brothers kept them in Harwood and tortured prophecies out of them.”

  “They tortured them?” Tess whispers, fiddling with her lace cuffs.

  I nod. She and Maura and I stare at each other, united in our fear, and I decide to keep the other gruesome details to myself.

  “Have you had visions? Is that why Sister Cora sent you?” Alice asks.

  “No. Not yet,” I say, and it feels as though the entire room heaves a sigh of disappointment. “I don’t know why—Brenna’s been having visions since she was at least fifteen, and Zara said the others were twelve and fourteen when the Brothers caught them.”

  “Perhaps you’re a late bloomer,” Alice says caustically, judging the way the black bombazine dress hangs on my thin frame.

  I flush. I know the Sisters’ uniform does me no favors. “Well, if it’s going to happen, I wish it would happen already. It’s li Sdy.1emke waiting for an ax to fall.”

  “We can always hope,” Alice jests, her pink lips pursed.

  Maura turns. “Don’t you speak to my sister like that.”

  Alice gapes at her. “Pardon me?”

  “You heard me.” Maura’s smile bares her teeth. “If Cate is the oracle, she’s the most powerful witch in this room. She deserves your respect. Don’t forget that.”

  Alice draws back, pressing into the corner of the love seat. It’s the first time I’ve seen her cowed by anything, and I can’t stop the smile that twitches over my face. I’d expected Maura to be furious with me, not defending me. I’d forgotten how fiercely loyal she can be.

  “Making friends already, Maura?” Elena Robichaud slides past me into the room, her taffeta skirts rustling. Against her cream-colored dress, her dark skin practically glows. She’s a very beautiful girl.

  “I was just telling Cate how lost Tess and I would have been without you this last month,” Maura says coolly, somehow managing to convey the exact opposite. I note the way her shoulders go tight, her smile brittle, at Elena’s appearance.

  Elena ignores her, patting her dark ringlets into place. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was nervous, too. “Hello, Cate.”

  I smile evenly, though I’d still like to throttle her for breaking my sister’s heart. “Hello.”

  “Why don’t you come help us unpack, Cate?” Maura stands and gives the girls her most charming smile as Elena, Tess, and I file out into the hall. “I’m so glad to finally be here. I hope we’ll all be great friends.”

  “There’s no doubt who’s the beauty in that family,” Vi says, her voice pitched loud enough for us all to hear.

  “She’s got gumption, I’ll give her that,” Alice agrees.

  Tess slips her small hand into mine. “Don’t pay them any mind.”

  “Oh, I never do.” But their easy acceptance of Maura smarts. She’s managed to earn their respect in five minutes, and I haven’t done it in a month. I’m reminded, suddenly, of how people would stop on the street to coo over Maura when she was little, to tell Mother what a gorgeous child she was, give her lollipops and pet her red curls and ply her with questions she answered in her adorable lisp. I was the plain one with thin, straight hair that fell out of my braids no matter how tightly Mother wound them, and mud over my hems from running wild, and no interest in talking to strangers. Sometimes they gave me sweets, too—but it was always an afterthought.

  People like Maura; they’re drawn to her vivacity and beauty. They always have been. It wasn’t so obvious when we were all shut up at home, but now I feel like an overlooked child again. Shouldn’t I be past this?

  Elena stops at the foot of the stairs. “That was quite a performance.”

  Maura gives her a steely glare. “I meant every word.”

  “Of course you did. You’re very ambitious of late.” Elena’s smile is bitter, and I’m perplexed. Persuading the three of us to join the Sisterhood was always Elena’s goal; it’s what she was sent to Chatham to accomplish. She ought to be thrilled.

  Maura raises one eyebrow. “You say it as though you disapprove.”

  “No. I’d just hate to see you lose basic kindness in your quest for popularity.”

  Maura chortles. “I hardly think you, of all people, have the right to lecture me on kindness.”

  She hurries upstairs, hips swaying, and Tess follows.

  I hesitate, one hand on the banister. “I’ve never seen you and Maura argue like that.”

  Elena shrugs a shoulder. “She hasn’t forgiven me.”

  I stand on the bottom step, looming abov S lothae Elena. I’d forgotten how petite she is; she has that kind of presence. �
�You toyed with her to get to me. I don’t blame her.”

  “I haven’t forgiven myself, if that helps.” Elena drops her gaze to the wooden floorboards. “Be careful, Cate. I’m not the only one she’s still angry with.”

  “Cate! Come on!” Maura calls imperiously from the second-floor landing.

  “You’d better go. She hates being kept waiting,” Elena sighs.

  “You’re not coming with us?” The Elena I left a month ago would have been eager to insinuate herself into our every conversation.

  “No. I’ll let the three of you sort things out yourselves.”

  My sisters lead me to their room on the third floor. Maura ties back the heavy green curtains, staring out at the snow-covered garden. Tess is inching her trunk across the floor toward the bookshelf. She kneels and undoes a false satin lining beneath her dresses, revealing two dozen books. She pulls out a battered copy of The Metamorphoses first, hugging it to her.

  “I could hardly leave them behind for the Brothers to burn,” she says, catching my smile. She rifles through the rest and hands me Arabella, Brave and True. “This is for you, from Mrs. Belastra.”

  I thumb through my favorite childhood novel, touched that Marianne thought of me. I hope that someday I’ll get to make amends with her, to show her how much I appreciated the sacrifices she made for Finn and me to be together, even if it didn’t seem like it at the time. “How is Marianne?”

  “Did you know they burnt most of her books?” Tess’s gray eyes flash. “She smuggled a few out to customers like Father, but the rest of them—they built a bonfire right in the town square and threw them in by the wheelbarrow load. Brother Winfield even gave a speech about how important it is to guard our minds against the insidious sin of novels!”

  “It must have killed Marianne to watch that.” And her son wasn’t there to comfort her. Guilt saws away at me.

  “You could see the smoke for miles. We could smell it all the way at our house.” Tess cuddles her book as though protecting its delicate ears from the fate of its friends. “Father was furious. I was furious.”