Star Cursed: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book Two

by Spotswood, Jessica

  Rory doesn’t flinch, though he’s shouting practically into her face. “If she gets witchery from anyone, it’s you. Your grandmother was a witch.”

  Brother Ishida grabs her arm and hauls her to her feet. His grip must be bruising. “That is nonsense. I forbid you to repeat it.”

  “What does it matter?” Rory snaps. “Sachi will be sent to Harwood. You won’t have any grandchildren. Your bloodline is dead—unless you’ve got another bastard somewhere.”

  Brother Ishida slaps her across the face, sending Rory tumbling across the sofa. Her head almost lands in my lap. She’s not little, like Sachi. He must have hit her hard.

  “How dare you speak to me like that!” he roars, spittle flying from his mouth. “I should have you arrested for your impertinence.”

  Rory’s hand flies to her cheek. “You don’t have an ounce of fatherly feeling, do you?”

  I stand. “Rory is a novitiate of the Sisterhood now. I’ll thank you not to lay your hands on her again.” A little thrill goes through me at being so audacious.

  “I beg your pardon?” Brother Ishida looks flabbergasted. It’s not uncommon for men to take their fists to their wives and daughters. The Brotherhood preaches that women should submit to the authority of their fathers and then their husbands.

  “You should beg Rory’s pardon,” I snap. She’s still lying ss smit there on her back, looking a trifle dazed. “Is there anything else you’d like to say to your father, Rory?”

  She doesn’t need me to ask twice. She struggles to her feet, her black cloak askew, her red dress peeking out. Her scarlet slippers are ruined from charging through the slush and salt. Her dark hair is mussed, the red feather sodden and askew. But she’s beautiful, standing there, squaring off against the man who’s never acknowledged her as his.

  “You disgust me,” she says clearly. Brother Ishida recoils, shock and fury warring on his face. “You play at being a paragon of morality, but what kind of man commits adultery? What kind of father abandons his children? You’re nothing but a lying hypocrite.”

  “How dare you speak to me like that!” Brother Ishida shouts, lunging toward her. Rory dodges around the sofa.

  The mind-magic comes easily this time. Power whirls through me, skipping out my fingertips. My focus is scalpel-sharp and unhindered by any sense of guilt whatsoever. I command him to forget this scene, and to let Finn Belastra stay in New London where he can better serve the Brotherhood’s aims.

  The resulting exhaustion is nothing compared to the nausea of healing. I brush it aside, eyeing Brother Ishida carefully.

  He crashes into one of the tea tables, knocking it over with a clatter, and then he stops. Confusion passes over his face as he turns to look at Rory and me. “Girls? What was I saying? I’m sorry, I had a bit of a dizzy spell.”

  “Are you all right, sir?” I try to keep the triumph from my voice.

  “Yes, yes.” He nods, leaning down to right the table.

  “We were just leaving, after offering our condolences about Sachi. We are so sorry for your loss, and if our visit upset you,” I say, though the words taste like mud in my mouth. “We ought to be getting back to the Sisterhood for our supper.”

  “Very well. Thank you for coming, girls. I’m sorry your faith in Sachiko was misplaced. So was mine. The Lord would have us cast her out, you know.”

  I take Rory’s hand. “We know.”

  In the hallway, Rory collapses against the gold wallpaper, both hands covering her face. “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “I’m sorry it was necessary. You deserve a better father.”

  “Jack was always good to me,” Rory says. “I’m glad I have his name and not that monster’s.”

  “I hope Sachi never knows the things he said about her.”

  “She won’t hear it from me.” Rory’s face crumples. “We have to help her, Cate. I can’t let her spend the rest of her life in Harwood. Her mother won’t ever go against him; I’m all the family she’s got now.”

  “She has me, too,” I insist. “And the whole Sisterhood, if I’ve anything to say about it.”

  There’s a little cut on Rory’s cheek from her father’s ring. I call up my magic again and touch her cheek, lightly, with my fingertips. “Hold still.”

  Rory grabs my arm when I sway. “You’re marvelous, Cate Cahill, do you know that? I—I never thought you liked me much. Most people don’t. They only put up with me for Sachi’s sake.”

  Oh. It’s true that I only befriended Rory because that was Sachi’s prerequisite—and her fierce “love me, love my sister” attitude kept me from criticizing Rory aloud. I have judged her silently, though—for her loud ways, her daring dresses, her drunken mother, her impulsiveness. She’s had a horrible time of it, but instead of putting myself in her shoes, I’ve condemned her for seeking comfort in a few nips of sherry, in the arms of that lug-headed Nils Winfield. And, worst of all, I never gave her credit for being sensitive enough to notice.

  Shame coats me like ice.< sme infield/p>

  “I do like you,” I insist, realizing that it’s true. “You’re brave enough to say what you think. You’re loyal, even when it’s not easy, like with Brenna. And you don’t give a fig what anyone thinks of you.”

  Rory glows under my praise. “That last is a lie. But thank you. No one’s ever taken up for me like this before except my sister.”

  I grin at her dizzily. “You can repay me. Do you know where Finn’s room is?”

  “It’s right there.” Rory gestures to the door across from us. “Why?”

  “Will you stand guard for me? Cough if someone else comes into the hall. I want to leave him a note.”

  “Now, this sort of mischief I can handle,” Rory says, taking up position at the end of the hall. Fondness envelops me. Bless her for not asking questions or judging me for slipping into a man’s hotel room.

  I put my hand over the gold doorknob, commanding it to unlock. He doesn’t have a grand sitting room, only a bedroom with a little desk in the corner. I hurry over to it. There are a few books stacked on top. A black cloak is draped over the back of the desk chair; a pair of boots is lined up neatly before the fireplace. Behind me, the four-poster bed is unmade, rumpled sheets twisting out from beneath the thick green duvet.

  I think of Finn coming back to this room, shedding his heavy winter clothes, slipping into bed. Does he lie awake at night thinking of me, the way I do him?

  I blush and turn back to the desk. I’m here for a purpose; I haven’t got time to moon around wondering how he looks in his sleep. There’s a fountain pen on the desk atop a stack of parchment paper. He’s begun a letter to his mother. I can’t help scanning the first few lines:

  I’ve applied for a clerk’s position here in New London. I

  hope you will understand. I will miss you and Clara, of course, but my heart is in the city at present, and in addition, I think I might be able to do some good work here, work I think you would approve . . .

  My heart is in the city—does he mean me? His heart? I can’t help a foolish smile at that. I grab the fountain pen and pull a blank sheet of paper from beneath the letter.

  Meet me for a walk at four tomorrow in Richmond Square Gardens. I miss you.

  I hesitate, biting at the tip of the pen, and then add:

  Love, C.

  arm am">To th

  CHAPTER

  11

  I’M IN MY ROOM THE FOLLOWING afternoon when Maura knocks on the open door.

  “Sister dearest,” she trills from the doorway, glorious in a cream-colored brocade embroidered with shimmering blue leaves. She must have half a dozen new dresses. I look down at my own gray gown with red piping. I felt pretty five minutes ago, but now I’m the drab little dove compared to her bluebird. “Could I have a word? In private?” She smiles pointedly at Rilla, who’s lying on her stomach on her yellow quilt, reading a romance novel.

  “I’ll just run down to the kitchen for some cocoa,” Rilla says, jumping up, leaving he
r novel open on her bed. “Would you like some, Cate?”

  “No, thank you. I’m going out; I’ve got an errand to run.”

  Maura smiles as Rilla bounces off. “A rendezvous with your dashing spy?”

  I yank her into the room and shut the door. “Hush!”

  “Oh, I’m not going to spill your secret,” she says, twirling a red curl around her finger. “I hope he vme in”

  Fear washes over me. Earning her silence, she means? “Maura, you do realize no one else can know about this.”

  “I haven’t told a soul. Ooh, these are pretty.” Maura snatches up a pair of pearl earbobs from my dresser and slides them on. “I’ve got plans of my own this afternoon. Special tutoring with Sister Inez.”

  I sit on the edge of my bed, reaching for my boots. “Practicing mind-magic on your friends again?” I want to stuff the words back into my mouth the second they escape. The last thing I want is to irritate her more.

  “Judgmental, aren’t we?” Maura arches her eyebrows at my waspish tone. “I didn’t see you complaining when Sister Cora erased Hope’s memory.”

  I slide on heeled black boots. “That was to protect us, not for fun.”

  “What part of this do you suppose is fun for me? Letting the Brothers storm in here and interrogate us? Watching an innocent little girl get arrested, knowing they’re going to let her rot in a cellar somewhere?” Maura stalks around the room, stepping over the slippers and stockings Rilla’s dropped helter-skelter. “We’re not safe here anymore. They could seize any of us at any moment.”

  “I know that.”

  “They’ve arrested at least thirteen girls now, counting Hope. Sister Cora’s ill. We need a strong leader, not all this uncertainty.” Maura plops down on Rilla’s rumpled yellow quilt. “I want you to take the test.”

  “No.” I lean down and tie my laces.

  Maura groans. “Why are you being so selfish? If you would take the test, we’d find out which of us is the most powerful and we could start planning accordingly. If it’s me, I’d like to work with Sister Inez to start doing things.”

  “It only tests one kind of magic,” I point out, straightening. What is it that she’s so eager to do, besides murdering Brenna?

  “The most important kind.” Maura narrows her blue eyes at me. “Is that why you’re so reluctant? Are you afraid it will confirm that I’m the prophesied witch?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I say flatly. I’m thinking of Tess, wishing that I could tell Maura the truth, but as soon as it’s out of my mouth, I realize I’ve misspoken again. How do I always manage to say the exact wrong thing to her?

  “It is not ridiculous!” Maura slams her hands down on either side of her, making Rilla’s bed quiver. “You’ve never wanted this as much as I have. I’ve been working ten times as hard as you—not just at magic, but to win these girls’ respect. Do you think I like spending so much time with that little snob Alice Auclair?”

  I gape at her. “Yes?”

  “No! Good Lord, don’t you know me at all?” Maura demands, springing up. “She’s popular because everyone’s scared of her. I’m trying to curry favor so that she and all her friends will support Inez and me. When it comes time for war, we’ll need everyone working together, not split down the middle like they are now. I’m working night and day to earn my place here, which is more than I can say for you. But the Sisters are still stuck on the notion that you’re the prophesied one, even though you haven’t had any visions yet.”

  I focus on the row of blue buttons marching up her bodice instead of looking her in the eye. “Neither have you.”

  “I will,” Maura says, her voice fierce. “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life standing by while girls are hunted down. Take the test, Cate.”

  I stand, temper simmering. “I said no, and I meant it. I already know I can do mind-magic. I’m not going to practice just to show off. And I’m certainly not going to break {ingnd I my friends’ trust—or my family’s—by practicing on them!”

  Maura leans against my dresser, hurt flashing across her face. “I see someone’s been tattling. Tess or Elena?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I can’t believe you did that to the O’Hares!”

  Maura clenches her ruffled cream skirt in her fist. I have the unsettling feeling that she’d like to crush me instead of that pretty brocade. “You’re as much of a snob as Alice, thinking you’re better than everyone else.”

  “That’s not true! I never said I was a better witch than you.”

  Maura stalks toward the door. “No, you just think you’re a better person. And it’s not true. The only reason Cora favors you is because she hates Inez. If my birthday were first, it would be me. That’s all it is, Cate, so don’t go around thinking you’re anything extraordinary.”

  She slams the door behind her, and I sink down onto my bed, head in my hands. Is she right? Have Cora’s pretty compliments only been flattery, because I’m a better alternative than Inez?

  I remind myself that it doesn’t really matter now anyway.

  I can’t reveal Tess’s secret before she’s ready, but this constant competition with Maura is wearying. It feels like everyone in the convent is watching, waiting to see which of us will be the prophesied sister. None of the teachers have admitted that Sister Cora is dying, but everyone knows she’s ill; it’s an open secret. It feels as though everyone is waiting for her to die, and for Inez to take charge and make things happen. But what is Inez planning—and how is my sister wrapped up in it?

  I stand and search through my mahogany jewelry box for another pair of earbobs, since Maura took the pearls. Perhaps it’s madness, meeting Finn in the middle of the afternoon in broad daylight. But he’ll be dressed as a Brother, and as long as we’re careful to keep a proper distance, no one’s likely to suspect him of any wrongdoing.

  There’s a cursory knock at the door, and Tess pokes her head in. “There you are. Are you going out?” She peers at the garnets in my hand, lowering her voice. “Are you meeting Finn?”

  “How did you know?” I demand, slipping them on.

  “You’ve done your hair.” Tess points at the braids wound prettily around the crown of my head. “You’ve got to stop looking at me as though I’m going to spontaneously burst into fire at any moment, or people are going to start suspecting something. You’re the least sneaky girl I know. Can I come with you?”

  “To meet Finn?” I ask uncertainly.

  “Yes, silly.” Tess grabs my spare pair of brown boots from the corner by the armoire and steps into them. “I just want to meet him. I mean, I’ve met him in the shop dozens of times, but not when I knew you loved him. I should get to know him a bit, shouldn’t I, if he’s to be my brother someday?”

  “We’re not betrothed anymore.” My voice is brusque, though it hurts me to say it. “I gave his ring back before I left Chatham.”

  Tess loops her arm around my waist. “You’re still betrothed in your hearts.”

  I can’t help smiling. “When did you become such a little romantic? Have you been reading Maura’s novels?”

  Tess bends down to buckle the boots, flushing. “Don’t judge. Some of them are quite entertaining.”

  Oh, she is growing up. Dreaming of a beau of her own, perhaps. When I was twelve, I thought I’d grow up to be Catherine McLeod; I assumed it the way I knew grass was green and the sky was blue. Was there a boy in Chatham Tess thought handsome?

  “You won’t tell Finn, will you? About my visions?” Her gray eyes are serious again. “I don’t want anyone to know yet. No one but you.”< { buw grass w/p>

  “Then I won’t.”

  I won’t lose Tess by making the same mistakes I made with Maura. I’m going to do things differently with her—and that means listening to what she wants and respecting it, not bullying or bossing.

  Even if it means that Maura seems farther away every day.

  • • •

  Richmond Square Gardens are next to the cathedral, directly a
cross the street from the barren square where the bonfire was held. The public park is hardly the lovely green oasis it must be in spring or summer, but it’s still a colorful escape from the brick and stone of the city. The red maples are holding on to autumn, stretching their leafy fingers toward the weak sun. Beneath them, witch hazel flaunts its spidery yellow flowers while the rosebushes sleep. All around us, there’s the sound of dripping water, ice melting after yesterday’s storm. Today is positively balmy in comparison.

  All the paths are muddy, trampled messes. At the far end of the park, a little boy jumps delightedly into a puddle with both feet. I spot Finn sitting on a marble bench by the duck pond. In the spring I daresay it would be crowded with children feeding the birds and splashing in the shallow water while their mothers scold, but today there are only a few mottled ducks floating placidly on the brown water.

  He hasn’t seen us yet. I take the rare chance to watch him unobserved. He’s leaning over a book, reading as he waits. His thick brown hair stands up as if he’s already run his hands through it half a dozen times, and there’s stubble on his chin as though he forgot to shave the last morning or two. Just then, he looks up and sees us—sees me—and his gap-toothed grin is enormous. He stands, poking his spectacles up with his index finger and tucking the book into his pocket.

  I want to run to him, hurl myself into his arms, but Sister Catherine picks her way carefully down the path.

  “You know my sister, Tess. She wanted to come and meet you properly. Tess, this is Finn.” My stomach twists as it occurs to me that these are my two favorite people in the world, and I want them to adore one another.

  “Good day, Brother Belastra,” Tess says shyly, her hands stuffed in her cloak pockets.

  “Finn,” he corrects her. “Please. It’s good to see you again, Tess.”

  “Thank you for meeting us.” I’m so used to us sneaking around, meeting in secret places—in his mother’s bookshop, our garden at home, the Sisters’ conservatory. I feel oddly shy and formal, with Tess here and the whole world watching.