Star Cursed: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book Two

by Spotswood, Jessica

  “That must be ‘the latest report from Harwood,’” I say, waving the letter. “It’s got the Brothers in a tizzy, hunting for oracles everywhere.”

  Tess leans over and takes the letter from me, scanning it as though she’s hoping she translated wrong. “This is all our fault.”

  “It’s not our fault. It’s Brenna’s for not being able to keep her mouth shut,” Maura argues. “What if her next prophecy leads them right to our doorstep? Gives them an exact location?”

  I stare at the brown carpet. “Perhaps we could sneak Rory in to ask Brenna to keep quiet.”

  Tess bounces the letter against her polka-dotted knee. “The moment Brenna stops telling them her visions willingly, they’ll torture them out of her. She’s only safe as long as she’s useful to them.”

  I grimace, imagining the Brothers cutting off Brenna’s fingers. Breaking her legs.

  Maura taps her black slipper against the floor. The look on her face is studied indifference. “It might be a mercy to end her suffering, then.”

  The room is silent for a minute. A wagon goes past outside; I can hear the rattle of the wheels and the clomp of the horses’ hooves. Tess holds herself stiffly, her shoulders tight. “You want to kill her?” she says softly.

  “I don’t want to, but—what life does she have in that place?” Maura’s mask of nonchalance slips, her blue eyes darting hopefully to mine. Fo [y twhar a minute, she looks like my little sister again, with her heart-shaped face open and craving approval I can’t give.

  “It’s still her life,” I argue, remembering Sister Sophia’s conversation in the carriage yesterday. “It’s not for us to play at being gods.”

  “They would torture her, and who knows what they’d get out of her in the process? It would be quick coming from one of us. Alice says Sister Sophia could do it just like that.” Maura snaps her fingers.

  Has Sophia done it before—killed at the Sisters’ bidding? Was she trying to warn me that someday they might ask it of me? I feel sick at the prospect.

  “Brenna isn’t well,” Tess says. Her face has gone pale. “Who knows what it does to a person, seeing the future? We’ve got to think of it like that—what if it was one of us shut up in there?”

  “It might be one of us soon, if she doesn’t keep her visions to herself.” Maura picks up the gold-rimmed teacup she brought with her and takes a sip of tea. “Brenna was strange before. I daresay her madness is down to her being Brenna, not her being an oracle.”

  I grimace, remembering Thomasina Abbott. “It wouldn’t kill you to show some compassion.”

  “We haven’t the luxury of compassion at times like this.” Maura sets her teacup back onto its saucer with a clatter. “Because of her, eight innocent girls are going to be murdered. How many lives do we risk every day we pardon her?”

  “No, Maura. It’s wrong. We aren’t murderers.” Tess’s gray eyes are terribly serious.

  “Maybe you’re too young to understand the complexities of this,” Maura ventures.

  “Don’t you dare.” Tess jumps up, braids swinging. “I may be young, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fool or that I don’t have a right to my opinion.”

  I stand, too. “I agree with Tess.”

  “Of course you do!” Maura throws her hands up in the air.

  “What’s happening to those girls is wrong, and I hope Sister Cora and the war council can come up with a way to stop it.” I glance down at the letter in Tess’s hand, a little crumpled now from her tight grasp. “The note says this may actually be to our advantage, to help turn public opinion toward us. I hate thinking of it so callously, but perhaps we should wait and see what—”

  “Wait and see, wait and see,” Maura mimics. “You and Cora are a fine pair, aren’t you? Lord, I hope I am the oracle, or the Sisterhood will never do anything! You’ll just sit back and watch girls die without a care in the world!”

  I step forward, chin leading the charge. “I do too care.”

  “You’ve got a poor way of showing it,” Maura snaps, stomping from the room. She slams the door behind her.

  Tess leans against the marble mantel, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. “I’m just angry,” she explains, wiping them away with both hands. “I hate being patronized. And I don’t like the way Maura’s acting, so . . . superior. You know she’s parroting all the things Sister Inez says, don’t you?”

  I nod. It’s bad enough hearing Inez propose such a cold-hearted idea, but to hear it from Maura, who knows Brenna and grew up with her! When did Maura become a girl who could talk about assassination so calmly?

  I’m meeting Finn tonight, but I haven’t decided what to do about Inez’s suggestion that he spy for the Sisterhood. I don’t entirely trust her, but I’m tired of secrets and lies and girls being hurt because we’re too frightened to fight back. If Finn could get information about the Brotherhood’s plans, could Inez use it to bring them down?

  Inez is the sort of woman who might win a war, but at what cost?

  • • •

  Tess retreats to her room, but I make my way down to the sitting room to find Mei and ask about Chinese lessons. Maura, Alice, and Vi are chattering away on the love seat, and Maura glares at me when I come in. Lucy Wheeler is playing the piano, badly, while her friends Hope and Rebekah stand next to it, turning the pages for her and singing along to the old folk songs. Hope has a pretty, high soprano. Mei and Addie are gone, but Rory sits slumped in the corner in a blue plaid chair, listlessly flipping through a fashion magazine. She looks up when I come in. “Cate!”

  “Rory. Did you post your letters today?”

  She moved into the convent yesterday, with no objection from Brother Ishida. Cora offered to speak to him, but it wasn’t necessary; I daresay he was glad to have her off his hands. Sister Cora wrote a letter to Mrs. Elliott, and Rory wrote one to Nils to break their betrothal. Tess and I helped with it last night after supper. It was a masterpiece, all about atoning for her blindness to the evil of her bosom friend and choosing devotion to the Lord over her earthly affection for Nils.

  Rory nods. She looks more like herself today in a tiered crimson dress with lace at the cuffs. “Nils won’t have any trouble finding another girl. I’ve caught him looking at Emily Ruhl before.”

  I sink onto the fat blue ottoman at her feet. “Will you miss him?”

  Rory shrugs. “I’ll miss the idea of him. I’ll miss having someone to kiss, someone to make me feel special,” she says, blinking back tears. “You understand, I suppose. Sachi told me it was Finn you were kissing, not Paul McLeod.”

  The hair at the nape of my neck prickles, and I glance behind me. I expect to catch Maura and Alice gossiping about me, but instead I see Sister Inez lurking in the doorway. She turns her gaze to my sister. “Maura, may I have a word?”

  Maura looks up eagerly. “Of course.”

  I frown, wondering what Inez wants with Maura, and then turn back to Rory. “Sachi told you all the secrets, didn’t she?” She was the only person I’d confided in about Finn, right after she told me Rory was her sister.

  Rory flushes. I’ve never seen her blush before; I didn’t think her quite capable of it. She glances at the little girls singing at the piano, at Alice and Vi chatting on the settee.

  “After I caught her kissing Elizabeth Evans,” she whispers.

  “Kissing—Elizabeth?” Elizabeth Evans is a shopgirl, tall and pretty, the niece of the Chatham chocolatier.

  “Your face, Cate! I was shocked, too. Afraid for my virtue, naturally,” Rory jokes, tossing her dark hair.

  A giggle escapes me. Rory’s relationship with Nils was hardly chaste. “Sachi explained that she didn’t have designs on me, and then I was rather offended that she didn’t! Why not? I’m an attractive girl.” Rory rolls her eyes at herself. “She was afraid I’d try to compromise her in some mad scheme to prove I was desirable, so she finally told me we were sisters.”

  “And how did that go?”

  Rory crosses her ar
ms over her ample bosom. “I was angry she hadn’t told me the truth sooner. I suppose she was afraid I’d run through the streets denouncing our dear papa or go on a sherry binge. I didn’t, not at the time, but—” Rory’s smile slides off her face. “As it turns out, I suppose she was right not to trust me with it.”

  I put my hand on her red sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

  Rory bites her lip, her brown eyes worried. “You won’t think less of her, will you?”

  “For kissing a girl, or for trusting you?” I frown at her. “The answer is no, either way.”

  “Elizabeth’s half in love with her,” Rory [ heor says. “It was fun to tease Sachi about it.”

  “Poor Elizabeth.” I glance over my shoulder as Maura strides back into the room and takes her seat next to Alice. Would things be different between Maura and me if I’d accepted her infatuation with Elena with better grace? If I’d seen it as something to tease her about? The situations are different, of course; Elena was only toying with her. But I want Maura to have what I have with Finn, to be as happy as he makes me.

  I steal a glance at the clock on the mantel. It’s hours yet before I’ll see him, and it feels like an age. He must have heard about the Brothers snatching those poor girls. Something ought to be done, but what? Surely he wouldn’t agree with Maura that assassinating Brenna is the best solution.

  “Do you think it would be impossible to break someone out of Harwood?” Rory asks suddenly.

  Behind us, the piano music stops, but Hope and Rebekah keep singing.

  “I think it would be very difficult.”

  Hope and then Rebekah trail into silence. I turn to see if Lucy’s overheard us, but she’s marching toward the door. A moment later, Hope and Rebekah follow her. I turn back to Rory, but she’s standing, dropping the magazine on her empty seat. Her face is strange—emptied of all its usual vivacity.

  “Rory?” I say, but she only saunters away, joining the strange procession.

  I’m baffled until I see Vi rise from the love seat. Beside her, Maura is staring into the fire, her blue eyes blank. Scarcely a second later, Alice follows Vi out the door.

  Get up. The thought imposes itself on me now, out of nowhere. My limbs flex, and I am about to stand when I feel the telltale prickle of Maura’s compulsion.

  No, I think. I place my boots flat on the floor and fold my hands neatly in my lap, fingers interlaced. I settle myself firmly on the blue cushion, feel the heat against my back from the fire. I close my eyes and breathe, resisting the urge to stand and walk toward the door.

  The moment passes. I open my eyes to find my sister looming over me, grinning like a loon. “I got everyone except you. Six!” she crows.

  My spine goes tight. I don’t care to have anyone poking about in my mind, not even my sister. My memories are mine; they’re not for anyone to experiment with.

  “Oh, don’t be angry.” Maura frowns. The room is empty now save the two of us. “Sister Inez asked me to.”

  “You went into their minds without their permission. They’re supposed to be your friends.” I stand, clasping my hands behind my back. “You don’t see anything wrong in that?”

  “I compelled them to walk into another room. It was nothing. No harm done,” Maura insists. “Don’t be such a killjoy, Cate.”

  I hear the telltale tap, tap, tap of Sister Inez’s heels as she walks down the hall from her office. “Good work, Maura,” she says.

  Maura beams. “Six—that’s rare, isn’t it? That’s powerful.”

  “It is,” Sister Inez allows. But she turns her hawklike eyes on me. “Did you feel anything, Miss Cahill?”

  “I did,” I admit. “I wanted to get up and walk to the door—and I didn’t, all at the same time. It was very strange.”

  “You felt the compulsion, but you were able to resist it.” Sister Inez studies me like a bug beneath a microscope. “That’s what happened the last time Maura tried to perform mind-magic on you, isn’t it?”

  I nod. I don’t dare look at my sister, but I can practically feel her crumple.

  “Well. Six subjects is still a tremendous achievement. So far, no other pupil here has been able to accomplish anything like it. I wish there were more of [ we is sti us capable of it; it could be of use to us when war breaks out.” Sister Inez grants Maura a rare smile, but her gaze flits back to me. “If Miss Cahill would take her own examination, I would be better able to judge which of you is more powerful.”

  “Compulsion isn’t the only kind of magic that matters,” I snap.

  F

  ury flashes over Maura’s face. My sister has been angry with me more times than I care to count. She’s been scornful and dismissive and jealous. But she’s never looked at me quite like this.

  Like she hates me.

  I’m not trying to demean Maura’s accomplishment, truly. It’s only that this focus on mind-magic frightens me. Why is Sister Inez so intent on it? What does she mean to do?

  A shiver passes over me.

  Just someone walking over my grave, Mrs. O’Hare would say.

  arm am">To th

  CHAPTER

  8

  FINN IS WAITING FOR ME AT THE GARDEN gate at midnight, his cloak and hair dusted with snowflakes.

  “Fancy meeting you here.” He gives me a crooked grin and takes my hand, entwining his leather-gloved fingers with mine. His voice is cheery, his stride jaunty, despite the dreary weather. “You’ve forgotten your gloves again.”

  I’m not bold enough to tell him I didn’t forget. I wanted to touch him with nothing between us.

  “Let’s go into the conservatory,” I suggest, shivering, squinting against the wind’s powdery gusts. My boots sink into six inches of snow as we wade across the garden. By the time we reach the octagonal glass building, the hems of my cloak, dress, and chemise are all coated with snow. I use a spell to unlock the door. I’d like to doff my cloak, but I’m already scandalously attired without corset or petticoats. Rilla only just fell asleep, and I was afraid to rouse her and her endless curiosity.

  Inside, the steam pipes hiss beneath the floorboards. Warm air fogs the glass walls. Rows of feathery ferns and Sister Evelyn’s prizewinning orchids fill the center of the room. In the back, lemon and orange trees are dotted with tiny bright fruits. It smells of damp earth and green, growing things, like an oasis of spring and hope in the midst of this dreary New England winter.

  Finn pulls me into his arms, brushing a kiss over my cold lips. He tosses his gloves onto one of the tables and bends to examine a red phalaenopsis. I toy with the stem of a spindly white cattleya.

  “This is beautiful. What’s it called?” he asks. Gardening is one of the few subjects where my knowledge outweighs his.

  I lead him down the aisle. “These are oncidiums—they’re called dancing ladies, because they look like a lady’s skirts. And these are the dendrobiums. They’re a bit sturdier than the others, so Sister Evelyn lets me help with them.”

  Finn stands behind me, wrapping his arms around me. “You love it out here, don’t you?”

  I do. It’s a relief to get away from the prying eyes and gossiping tongues inside the convent, but I always feel a bit guilty somehow, as though I’m being unfaithful to Mother’s roses with these hothouse orchids.

  “It’s my favorite place in New London, especially now that it’s too cold for proper gardening.” I lean back into his embrace. “Have you had any time for your translations lately?”

  “Hardly any. They keep us busy between council meetings and feasts and sermons. Ishida introduces me to everyone we pass as if I’m some sort of pet. It’s revolting.”

  “Really? You seem rather cheery,” I say, suspicious.

  “Well, I’m happy to see you, of course. That and—I’ve got a pla ^ we i I’m ben.” He spins me to face him. “I wasn’t going to tell you until it was official, but I met this afternoon with Brother Szymborska, the head of the National Archives. I’ve applied for a job in their office, as a clerk, and I think I
’ve got a good shot at it.”

  “You want to stay here, in New London?” I ask. Sister Inez’s offer pounds like a drumbeat in my head.

  “With you.” He looks at me expectantly.

  “That’s grand. I’m so glad,” I say, but my voice comes out flat. How can I ask it of him?

  His smile fades. “You don’t sound glad.”

  I turn, plucking a weed from a seedling. “You’ve always wanted to be a teacher. And what if something happens to your mother or Clara and you aren’t there? I don’t want you to wind up hating me for keeping you here.”

  “I won’t. This isn’t just for you, Cate.” He smiles to soften the words. “In part, yes, I want to be near you. But teaching the Brothers’ approved curriculum is hardly my dream. At the Archives, I won’t be arresting innocent girls. I’ll be registering and preserving books—the only extant copies in New England, in some cases.”

  He’s already given up so much for me. How can I ask him to sacrifice this, too? I move on to the next plot. “That sounds perfect for you.”

  “For us, I thought.” Finn circles my wrists with his hands, stopping my busyness. “If you don’t want me staying in New London, you ought to just say so.”

  I whirl on him. “No! That’s not it at all. Of course I want you nearby.”

  “You could have fooled me.” He stares down at me. “Look, Cate. All of the Brothers’ records are housed in the Archives. The local councils send reports of every arrest. If I worked at the Archives, I’d be privy to information that could prove useful to the Sisterhood.”

  “Are—are you saying you want to be a spy?” I burst into laughter.

  Finn nods uncertainly. “Why is that so ridiculous?”

  “It’s not! Sister Inez caught me coming back inside the other night. She saw us together. Perhaps I should have compelled her to forget, but I didn’t. She suggested that you might be able to help us. There’s another position open, as a clerk for a member of the Head Council—a Brother Denisof—and Inez asked if you would apply for it.”