Star Cursed: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book Two

by Spotswood, Jessica

  Finn blocks her way. “No one is setting anyone on fire, but you’re staying in here.”

  “Don’t worry. We’re taking them with us.” Elena turns to me. “Why don’t you go make sure everything’s going smoothly?”

  Dozens of girls stream out the door and downstairs. Waiting my turn, I bump into the beautiful Indo girl I noticed on my first visit. One of Brother Cabot’s favorites, the nurse said, and something clicks in my memory. Parvati Kapoor was accused of doing mind-magic on a Brother Cabot, trying to get him to blind himself with the matron’s letter opener.

  “Pardon me. Are you Miss Kapoor?” I ask.

  Parvati nods, her brown eyes fearful. “Are you really a witch? Where are you taking us?”

  “I am taking you.” As Rilla comes out into the hall, she lets both of our Brotherly illusions fade, revealing us as a tiny brunette in orange brocade and a tall blond in a gray dress with a cornflower-blue sash. Parvati gawks at us. “We have a safe place in the city, where there are dozens of other witches. You can come with us if you like, or there will be wagons going to other safe houses.”

  Parvati smiles slowly. “I’d like to come with you, I think. I want to learn how to use my magic. How to protect myself.”

  I leave her with Rory and Brenna and Rilla and join the flood of girls downstairs. At the second-floor landing, I pass Mélisande, Vi, and Daisy fighting the current on their way up. I’m relieved to see that the other carriages have arrived safely.

  “Sophia and some of the others are trying to organize girls at the front door. Some of the patients are just running off, though,” Mélisande reports.

  “That was bound to happen, I suppose. I can’t blame them for not trusting anyone,” I say, though I worry they’ll only get recaptured. Vi breaks off to go into the south wing, and I follow her.

  To my surprise, patients already fill the hallway. I spot Zara moving from door to door, letting the women out of their cells.

  “Zara!” I call, and she rushes toward me. “How did you get out of your room?”

  She grins in a way that transforms her angular face into beauty. “My magic’s back.”

  We work together, opening the doors, while Vi starts at the opposite end. Most of the patients on this floor are older women who have proven themselves cooperative and who have been granted the “privilege” of working in the laundries or kitchens. Some, bent and gray-haired, sprint toward the door like girls half their age.

  “Olivia,” Zara says as she unlocks the room of the curious brunette from the kitchen, “this is my goddaughter, the one I told you about. Cate, this is Livvy. She’s a witch.”

  “Zara told me all about the Sisterhood,” Livvy says. “She said I could come with you.”

  “Cate!” Mélisande lopes down the hall in her trousers, her boots clapping against the floorboards. “Elena says there’s a nurse missing.”

  I bite my lip. I was counting on the fact that they’d all followed some sort of procedure for the fire bell, and we had them all locked up in the uncooperative ward. If one escapes—well, Harwood is desolate enough that she’d have to walk quite a ways to find help. But we were hoping that no one would notice anything amiss until tomorrow morning, when the day nurses report for work. By then all the patients will be far away.

  “Is Elena sure?” I ask.

  Mélisande nods. “We’ve got to try and find her.”

  Blast. “Did anyone check the matron’s office? If I were trying to hide, I’d go down to the first floor—somewhere without patients running amok. Zara, can you help Vi finish up her fick te?”

  Zara shakes her head, black curls flying. “I’ll come with you. Livvy, can you help manage this wing? See to it that everyone’s out and help them all downstairs.”

  Livvy nods, and the three of us hurry down to the first floor. The front hall is bedlam. Edith is shouting out names, and half a dozen of the convent girls are trying to stop patients at the front door to give them instructions. As I watch, several women push right past them. In their haste to flee, some are none too gentle; Maud’s already holding a handkerchief to her bloody nose. Brenna, Sachi, and Rory are standing with Parvati and a thinner, taller version of Lucy Wheeler who must be her sister Grace.

  I spare a smile as I turn into the south wing. It’s working.

  Mélisande investigates the nurses’ sitting room, but it’s empty. Zara and I peer into the matron’s office. Thinking of my own subterfuge, I’m careful to check beneath the desk. But the room is silent and still. Zara follows along at my elbow, so close she trips over my skirt once. We look into the dining hall and the water closet, but there’s no one left.

  “No one’s here except the mice,” Mélisande decides.

  I catch only the smallest movement—a flutter of white out of the corner of my eye. The sheet hanging over the construction exit ripples, as if blown by a sudden gust of wind.

  There’s a loud crack, and Mélisande cries out and stumbles back.

  The gun fires again.

  Zara is so close she knocks into my elbow when the bullet pierces her.

  Intransito, I think, and the nurse is frozen. She falls through the sheet, ripping it down around her like a child pretending to be a ghost. The gun clatters to the floor, and the nurse smashes down face-first with a thud. She’s a tall woman with a red birthmark on her cheek—I’ve seen her before.

  Mélisande pushes herself up, eyes scrunched in pain, hand clamped over her shoulder. Scarlet seeps between her fingers.

  But Zara—Zara is lying still at my feet. A red patch blooms over the stomach of her white blouse.

  I kneel next to her. “Zara?”

  “Cate.” Her voice is threadbare, husky, as though it hurts to speak. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why should you be sorry? You didn’t ask to get shot.”

  Zara presses one hand against her stomach. Blood bubbles up.

  She reaches for the locket at her throat and grimaces. “I don’t think I’ll be coming back to the convent, Cate.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t be silly. Of course you will. I’ll heal you.”

  Zara’s face twists in alarm, her eyes fastened on something behind me. She gives a hoarse cry. I twist around, nerves jangling, but it’s only Finn.

  “It’s all right,” I say. “He’s with us.”

  “A—Brother?”

  “A spy for the Sisterhood,” I clarify as Finn kneels next to me. “Zara, this is Finn Belastra, my fiancé. Finn, this is my godmother.”

  Zara’s lips quirk upward. “Marianne’s boy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Finn swears beneath his breath as he looks at Zara.

  “And you’ll look after Cate?”

  He manages a crooked grin. “We look after each other.”

  “Good,” Zara says emphatically, before a coughing fit overtakes her. Finn takes a handkerchief from his pocket. It’s white, embroidered with the letter B. He hands it to me; I pass it to Zara; she presses it to her mouth. Even in the flickering candlelight, I can see that it comes away stained with blood.

  I turn to Finn, taking comfort from his presence.

  “I’m going to heal her, but I’ll need your help to carry her out of here,” I explere wiain. Over his shoulder, I can see Sophia helping Mélisande to her feet.

  “What should we do with the nurse?” Finn asks, his face grim.

  “Take her upstairs with the others. Tell Elena to erase her memory—but leave her frozen like that,” I say, vengeful, as I look down at Zara. The hall smells coppery, like old pennies. Like blood.

  I touch her hand, tentatively, and then flinch away as her pain bites through me. Zara is in agony. Like Sister Cora, she feels closer to death than life.

  Can I do this? I may not be able to walk out myself afterward.

  Zara raises her head, her voice barely audible. “I don’t want you to heal me, Cate. You can’t, and trying will only make you ill.”

  I frown. “How do you know what I’m capable of?”

 
“Tess,” Zara whispers. “Her vision in my room. She saw this, too.”

  That’s why she was so upset. Why she cried and hugged Zara when they said their good-byes, as if she’d never see her again.

  She knew she wouldn’t.

  No. I shake my head so hard my hair flies loose from its braid. “I won’t give up on you. I won’t just leave you like this for the Brothers to find.” It could take hours for her to lose consciousness. If they find her, they’ll torture her for information. She has to know that.

  “There’s only one thing you can do for me, Cate.” She covers my hand with her own, her golden skin sticky with blood. Her pain cuts through me, piercing.

  “I don’t understand,” I confess, leaning down. My blond hair touches her cheek. Does she want us to take her to the Sisterhood? I don’t think she would survive the jostling of the journey; I daresay it would be excruciating. “What can I do? Tell me.”

  “Healing and death. You can do both. Two sides of the same coin.”

  I yank my arm away. “No!”

  “I’m dying anyway. Help me do it quickly, without suffering. Without them here to take pleasure in my pain. Let me have this last bit of dignity.”

  Is this what I would want, in her place?

  I barely have to think about it. Yes. I wouldn’t want to give the Brotherhood the satisfaction of s

  eeing my death. I wouldn’t want to linger, in pain.

  I close my eyes to shut her out, but she won’t let me. “I want to see Anna again. I’ll tell her—what a brave girl you are,” she wheezes.

  You’ll bring death.

  The prophecies always come true.

  I lean down low, resting my forehead against Zara’s, letting her pain touch me, envelop me, until I can feel the full, excruciating extent of her injuries. I can feel her fluid-filled lungs shudder as she struggles to breathe, and the agony of the gunshot wound, and the steady, sluggish beat of her heart as it battles to keep beating.

  Instead of pushing the darkness away, I welcome it, letting it cover us in a blanket of icy, enveloping black. I think of Zara at peace. Free from pain. Altogether free.

  Her heart thumps twice more, then stops.

  Without the noisy sound of her breath, the room is perfectly still.

  I lean down, closing Zara’s staring brown eyes.

  I was the one to close Mother’s eyes, too. They were very blue. Like Maura’s.

  I lift Zara’s limp head, unclasping the locket from around her neck. The golden chain pools in my shaking hands.

  A killer’s hands, now.

  Healing and death.

  The prophecies are never false.

  arm am">To th

  CHAPTER

  19

  I STUtteatht="MBLE OUT INTO THE HALL. Patients are still flowing down the steps and out the doors, and Sister Edith and Maud are still directing them. Finn and Elena are waiting for me, leaning against the dirty plaster walls.

  When Finn’s kind brown eyes meet mine, I begin to cry.

  “Zara’s dead. I—I killed her.”

  “Cate.” Finn reaches for me. “Her injuries were—severe. You couldn’t save her, but that doesn’t mean you killed her.”

  “No, I did. She asked me to.” The aftermath hits me, and I slide down the wall. Elena shoves a tin pail at me, and I heave the contents of my stomach into it. Then I slump back against the cold wall, too ill to even be embarrassed. How can killing feel just like healing?

  Finn and Elena hold a whispered argument that I barely hear. My mind is reeling because Zara is dead. Zara cannot study the oracles or tell us stories about our mother as a schoolgirl. She’s gone, forever, and I did that.

  Elena kneels next to me, her pink skirts puddling on the floor. “Cate, how much of your magic did you use up?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never killed anyone before.” I close my eyes to shut her out.

  Elena grabs my chin. “Try to do magic. Try anything. Turn my dress red.”

  I try to summon up my magic, but it feels like a burnt-out match. It sparks, smokes, but doesn’t catch. I shake my head. “I can’t.”

  She stands and turns to Finn. “All right, you win. She’s no use to anyone like this. Take her home.”

  Then Sachi is here, leaning down to me. It’s strange to see her like this, without her gaudy dresses, in the ugly white blouse and rough brown skirt, her hair in one long black braid down her back. She must be cold. Why isn’t she wearing the cloak we brought for her? I hold my aching head between both palms.

  Rory leans down on my other side. She looks worried. I thought she’d be delighted to have Sachi free. “Sachi and I aren’t coming back to the convent tonight. We’re going to drive the wagon Mélisande was supposed to take. But we’ll be back soon. Will you be all right?”

  “Cate.” Sachi snaps her fingers in front of my face, but it seems as though she’s very far away, beyond a screen of black dots.

  “She’s going to faint,” Brenna says, but it doesn’t take an oracle to know that.

  I hardly remember leaving the asylum.

  Finn carried me, I think.

  Now I am in the carriage, curled on the leather seat beneath an itchy woolen blanket, staring out at the rain blurring the streets of New London.

  I cannot stop shaking. I cannot let go the feel of Zara’s hot, dry skin, or the smell of blood on her breath, or the sight of her blind brown eyes staring at me.

  The carriage stops before the convent. Finn ties the horses and comes around to help us down. Brenna shuns his arm, jumping to the carriage block and then splashing down onto the sidewalk like a child. She is free. At least I did that much.

  Finn helps me down to the sidewalk and then wraps his arm around me. I’m shivering. I’ve been shivering since I touched Zara. I can’t seem to stop.

  The convent door bangs open, a rectangle of golden light piercing the darkness. Maura rushes headlong down the steps toward me. She hasn’t bothered to put on her cloak; she’s wearing a bright blue dress.

  “We did it!” she crows. “All eleven of them who showed up. One man was sick and missed the meeting, but the rest don’t even remember their own names.”

  Finn turns to her, his brown eyes fierce. “And you’re proud of that?”

  “Yes!” she cries, defiant. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

  “I understand tI urouhat there’s no going back from what you did tonight. They only want a reason to resurrect the burnings. Are you ready for that?” Finn demands.

  “Yes,” Maura snaps. “Cora is dead, and Inez is head of the Sisterhood now. We don’t intend to work with the Brothers anymore. You should go.”

  “The hell I will.” His voice is harsh, and his grip on me is tight. “I love your sister, Maura, and that isn’t going to change, so you and Inez may as well get used to having me around. I’m certainly not leaving her like this.”

  Maura peers at me. “What’s the matter with her? I assumed everything was a success, since Brenna’s here. Did something go wrong?”

  “Zara’s dead. I killed her.” My voice comes out quiet. “The nurse shot her—she would have died anyway, eventually, but I—I made it go faster.”

  Maura steps closer. “You what?”

  I reach into my pocket, fingering Zara’s golden necklace, as I look to Finn. “I never wanted this. I thought healing was good magic. But Zara asked me to. It was doing her a kindness, wasn’t it, to keep her from suffering? It wasn’t wicked?”

  “Of course not.” The rain darkens his coppery hair and runs in rivulets down his glasses, but he doesn’t raise his hood.

  “I’ll take care of her now,” Maura says. “She should get inside, where it’s warm.”

  Finn leans down and kisses me, right there on the street.

  I kiss him back. I am a wicked girl, after all.

  If the Brothers knew what I’d done, they’d burn me at the stake.

  They might be right to do it.

  “Good night,” I say t
o him.

  “Good night,” Finn whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I love you, Cate Cahill. You are beautiful and brave and strong. Whatever happens next, we’ll deal with it together.”

  I nod. Brenna is dancing up the marble steps to the front door, and I’m following her when there’s a sound—flesh smacking against wet pavement—and I turn. Finn’s on his hands and knees; he’s tripped over the curb. He picks himself up, pokes his glasses into place, and walks back toward his carriage, but his gait lacks its usual gangly grace. He pauses, examining the carriage, looking as though he’s puzzled by it.

  “Are you all right?” I call down.

  He looks up at me, then ducks his head. His ears are red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, miss—is this my carriage?”

  His voice is awkward, formal. As though he’s speaking to a stranger.

  His words echo in my head: I’m sorry, miss.

  I thought I was numb before. This is worse. I’m not shaking anymore, but now I cannot move. I can’t go to him, can barely breathe. Only the fast, horrified drumbeat of my own heart proves that I am still alive.

  I don’t understand. I glance around the empty street. It’s only Brenna and me and Maura here—

  Maura.

  My sister stands on the sidewalk, eyes narrowed at Finn. My Finn.

  She wouldn’t do this.

  Not my own sister.

  “Yes, Brother Belastra, that’s yours,” Maura says, her voice ringing out in the rain. “You were about to return to your lodging for the night.”

  “My lodging. Yes. Quite right.” Finn puts a hand to his head. “Sorry, I’m feeling a bit muddled. I’ve got a splitting headache.”

  I stumble down the few steps. “Finn—”

  Maura gives me a warning look, but Finn offers up a shy smile, rain dripping off his nose. “Oh. I know you, don’t I?”

  “Yes.” My breath catches. He has to remember me. No matter what Maura’s done, it cans d>

  me.

  “You come into the shop, sometimes. Get books for your father. Not much of a reader yourself.” Finn snaps his fingers. “It’s Miss Cahill, isn’t it? Or—pardon, is it Sister Cate now?”