Born Wicked: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One (10 page)

We stay the requisite half hour. The rest of the conversation is dull as dishwater: Cristina’s engagement to Matthew Collier, Mrs. Winfield’s suspicion that her maid stole her jade earrings, everyone’s advice to Mrs. Malcolm for her son’s teething. When we rise to leave, Mrs. Ishida thanks us for coming and declares us welcome every other Wednesday. “Your mother would be so proud of what lovely girls you’ve turned out to be,” she declares, touching her pressed-flower cheek to mine.

I smile even as my rebellious heart trips over her presumption.
Across the room, her daughter smirks at me unnervingly.
Mrs. Ralston and Mrs. Malcolm make us promise to call on them during their at-home afternoons. After the briefest hesitation, Cristina and Rose

follow their lead, asking when our afternoon is, and Maura glibly declares that we’ll host two Tuesdays hence.
In the carriage, my sister grins at me. “Everything went well, didn’t it?”
“I suppose.” Aside from learning that my godmother was a member of the Sisterhood, a witch—and a convict to boot. “Oh, hush. I think we were a smashing success!”
“Lovely,” I mock. “Everything was just
lovely
!”
Maura laughs—not the polite titter she uses in company, but her sweet, full-out laughter, like a stream bubbling over rocks. It’s my favorite sound

in the world.
“I was tempted to start counting how many times Mrs. Ishida said it,” she admits, kicking off her pointy new shoes and massaging her pinched
toes. “What a limited vocabulary that woman has.”
“I doubt she’s allowed to read anything but scriptures, if that. The last thing Brother Ishida wants is a wife who can challenge him.” “I imagine he just practices sermons over supper anyway.” Maura mimics his oily voice.
“What good is teaching a woman to read? Really, girls,
you should try not to think at all if you can help it. It might hurt your pretty little heads. Lord forbid, it might make you question us. You mustn’t
ever
question your betters, and remember: even the stupidest of men knowbetter than you!”
I laugh. “Poor Sachi. I can’t imagine growing up in that house, with a father like him.”
“Me either. Father’s not much use, but at least he’s not a tyrant.”
There’s a little catch in her voice, and I sober. “I’m sorry he won’t take you with him.”
“It’s all right. Someday I’ll get away.” Maura stretches her legs out so her stockinged feet rest in my lap. “I’ll marry an old man who’s rich as Midas
and loves to travel, and I’ll make him take me everywhere. Perhaps he’ll be an emissary from the Brothers to one of the European courts.” “You wouldn’t marry someone who worked for the Brothers.”
“I might, if he’d take me to Dubai. Maybe I could do away with him and stay there forever. A widow in Dubai—imagine! I’d get to wear trousers
and read whatever I please!” Maura laughs at the shock on my face. “I don’t think I’ll marry for love. I’ll have to be pragmatic.” “You?” I scoff. She’s always been the romantic one, the impulsive one, prone to tantrums and tears. “You’ve got a year and a half. That’s plenty of
time to find a man to suit even your high expectations.”
“I don’t think so.” She wiggles her toes at me. “What about you? Do you love Paul?”
I glare at her. “Why on earth did you tell Sachi and Rory that he means to propose? I told you I don’t know if I can accept.” “And I told
you
that’s nonsense,” Maura returns, pulling the pins from her hair. “Besides, I couldn’t think of anything else to say. You weren’t much
help at making conversation.”
“Now they’ll be gossiping about us all over town.” The carriage pauses as John exchanges pleasantries with Mrs. Corbett’s coachman, just
coming out of her lane. Besides the McLeods, she’s our nearest neighbor. She rents a small, square house with gray shingles, barely visible
through the orchards surrounding it. I can’t help thinking she ought to live in some Gothic mansion, replete with cobwebs and headless statues. It
would suit her better than an innocent-looking little cottage.
“At least it’s the normal sort of gossip. Isn’t that what we want?” Maura asks.
I fall quiet. She’s right. Marrying Paul, going to tea with the Brothers’ wives, gossiping with Sachi Ishida about my betrothal—those are all things a
normal girl would do. But what will
I
do?
“You will marry Paul, won’t you?” Maura asks, her forehead wrinkled with concern. The carriage jolts forward, the horses’ hooves clopping against
the hard-packed dirt road. Clouds of dust rise up, and I sneeze, leaning away from the window.
“I don’t know, Maura. He hasn’t asked me yet.”
Maura sits up and puts her feet back on the wooden floorboards. “He will. And you mustn’t let some misguided notion of duty toward Tess and
me stop you from saying yes. It would be a wasted sacrifice. If you don’t choose for yourself, the Brothers will choose for you. What good would it do
any of us to have you miserable? Your husband could still take you away anywhere he wanted. You’ll be happier with Paul.” I bite my lip. How can I explain my doubts without telling her about Mother’s diary or the prophecy?
“You really think I’d be happy with Paul?” I ask.
She smiles, pleased that I’m asking for her advice. “I do. He wouldn’t suit me, but possibly he’s perfect for you.”
Lord, but she’s full of backhanded compliments today. “You don’t think he’s handsome?”
Maura twirls one red curl around her finger. “I suppose. Rory thought so. What do
you
think? You’re the one who’d have to share his bed.” “Maura!” I bury my face in my hands, mortified.
“Well, you would. Come, Cate, we’re sisters. Do you find him handsome?”
I nod, remembering his lips against my wrist. “Yes.”
“It would be a good match. None of the McLeods have ever been in any trouble, and he’s got excellent prospects. He could probably have any girl
in town. Did you see the way Rose was looking at him last week at church? But he doesn’t even glance at other girls. It’s obvious he worships you.” “He does?” I ask, and Maura nods vehemently.
If my sisters and I were ordinary girls, would I want a life in New London with Paul? He told me more about the city last time he called: the
restaurants with spicy, exotic Mexican dishes; the long rambles he takes along the piers to watch the ships coming in; the zoo full of animals from all
over the world. It sounds grand. Every day there would be an adventure. And he wants to show me all of it.
If I were a brave girl—an adventurous girl, like Arabella—that’s what I’d want, too. It’s what Maura wants. Her eyes lit up like candles when he
spoke of it.
Sometimes I wonder if he chose the wrong sister.
Maura stretches back against the leather bench like a cat. “I see the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention. All moony. His eyes
have this sort of
gleam
in them.”
“A
gleam
?” I tease. “Oh, heavens!”
“You shouldn’t laugh, Cate. He’d make you a good husband, I expect. Only—” Maura hesitates. “
Are
you in love with him, do you think?” “I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “I care about him.”
“But does your heart pound when he’s near?” Maura’s blue eyes go dreamy. “In my novels, the heroine’s heart always pounds. Do you feel like
swooning when he touches your hand? Or when he says your name? Do you feel as though you’ll die if you’re apart from him for a single day?” The pragmatic one, is she? I burst into laughter. “No, I can’t say I do.”
She frowns. “Then it must not be love. Not yet, anyway.”

Elena leaps on us the second we get inside, eager to hear how it went. The three of us gather in the sitting room: Elena perfectly poised in the blue chair, Maura bouncing on her end of the sofa as she brags about how popular we were. I collapse onto the other end of sofa, exhausted, but my conscience batters at me until I thank Elena and assure her that we were a credit to her teaching. Maura regales her with the details: how gaudy and grand the Ishidas’ house is, with its silks and chandeliers in every room; how bold and fashionable Sachi’s dress was; how Cristina said she’ll declare her intention to marry Matthew Collier on Sunday at church.

“Soon it’ll be your turn, Cate,” Elena says. “Mr. McLeod stopped by this afternoon while you were out. He was very sorry to miss you.” Maura laughs. “I told you! He’s pining over you!”
“Are you pining, too?” Elena’s eyes feel like searchlights.
I bury my face against the curved back of the sofa and groan. “That’s none of your business.”
“Cate!” Maura chastises. “Don’t be rude.”
I want to point out that it’s Elena’s prying that makes me speak rudely, but she’s hardly the first to ask. Sachi and Rory felt it perfectly within their

“It
is
my business, actually. Your father hired me to see to it that you girls make suitable arrangements.”
Arrangements
, she says—not
marriages
. But it’s mortifying to have it laid out so plainly. Father didn’t trust me to find my own husband, so he brought a governess aboard to help. “Marriage shouldn’t be entered into lightly, Cate. If you’re unsure—we can talk about it. You do have other alternatives. The Sisterhood—”

“I don’t want to join the Sisterhood,” I snap.
Elena leans forward, tapping her nails against the wooden arm of the chair. “Do you want to marry Mr. McLeod?”
“I don’t know,” I say miserably. I raise my eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What else is there?” Maura demands. “You only have—”
“I know!” I shout. “Ten weeks!
Do you honestly think I could forget?
”

“Cate—” Maura looks shocked. It’s a rare thing, my raising my voice with them.
“Leave me alone, please,” I beg, scrambling out of the room. “I just want to be alone.”
“Cate!” Maura calls after me, but Elena tells her to let me go.
I burst outside without grabbing my cloak. I’m almost running—I don’t know where—there’s nowhere to go. I stumble in my stupid heeled shoes

and wish I could kick them off and run barefoot like I used to. I’m tired of stays and petticoats and heels, of hairpins that bite into my scalp and tight braids that make my head ache. I’m exhausted with trying to be everything—an unassailably polite young lady, a stand-in mother, a clever daughter, an agreeable would-be wife and—

I don’t want to be any of those things! I just want to be me. Cate. Why isn’t that ever enough?
I come to the little meadow by our barn. I wish I could just hide away somewhere no one can find me.
Inspiration strikes. It’s not proper, but—bother proper.
I bend down, unbuckle my shoes, and kick them off. They land in the shade of the wide, gnarled old apple tree. It’s been years, and I’m not entirely

confident I can still manage this. I launch myself at the tree anyway, grasping the branch next to my head, clambering onto the thick, knotted lower limb. I’m not terribly graceful about it. My stockings tear straightaway, and I almost fall back down because of the weight of my skirts. For a minute I hug the tree, teetering unsteadily, but then I find my balance and turn around and climb higher. I sit astride the third limb on the right, five feet off the ground, legs and skirts dangling. My childhood self would laugh to see me settle for this when I used to climb twice as high.

I pull the pins out of my hair and toss them to the ground one by one. I tilt my head back and look up, up, up through the arching, apple-laden branches at the sky. It’s very blue today—there’s probably a word for this precise blue. Tess would know. I ought to spend less time trying to get a husband and more time studying the sky, learning the names for all the different blues. I laugh, a little giddy.

I lean forward, steadying myself with both hands on the limb in front of me, peering down through green leaves, right into Finn Belastra’s astonished face.
A lady wouldn’t be caught dead in this position. But a gentleman—wouldn’t a true gentleman ignore me and walk away, to spare me the embarrassment?
I give him a weak wave.
Finn chuckles. “Are you a tree sprite now?”
“I’m pretending to be twelve again.” I scrape frantically at my hair, wishing I hadn’t thrown all the pins away. I must look a fright. He’s always handsome, even covered in sawdust from the gazebo, with that ludicrous hair and his glasses all crooked.
He sets down the ladder he’s carrying. “Twelve wasn’t my best. Thought I knew everything. Got my arse kicked on a regular basis.”
“Twelve was heavenly!” I protest. “No responsibility. I could do anything I liked.”
“Such as?” Finn asks, leaning against the knobby trunk.
“Running through the fields. Climbing trees. Reading about pirates. Splashing around in the pond, pretending to be a mermaid!” I laugh, remembering.
“You’d make a very fetching mermaid.” His eyes are admiring. “Will you toss me an apple?”
I pluck an apple and throw it to him. He ducks.
“You were meant to catch it,” I point out, swinging one leg over the branch, scrambling to find my footing on the lower limb.
“You surprised me with your excellent aim. It’s—”
I glower at him. “If you say ‘good for a girl,’ I’ll never forgive you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. You terrify me,” he laughs.
“Don’t tease,” I protest, hugging the tree trunk again. “I’m mortified enough as it is.”
“Why? Do you need help? Do you want me to catch you?”
“Certainly not,” I say, chin in the air. I just don’t want him seeing up my skirts. Or to see me falling on my face, if it comes to that. “Avert your eyes, please.”
“Don’t hurt yourself.” Finn sounds worried.
“I won’t. This is hardly my first time climbing a tree. Now turn around.”
Finn obediently turns his back, hands shoved in his pockets. I hang on to the branch and let myself drop. The shock of landing sends pain shooting up both my legs. “Ouch,” I breathe.
Finn whirls around. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just—I’m so sorry.” I finger-comb leaves from my hair. My new dress is half ruined, a bit of lace has come loose from the hem, and my stockings are entirely shredded.
Finn leans over and plucks a leaf from my hair. “Why are you apologizing?”
I bury my face in my hands. An hour. I wanted one hour to be invisible, and I couldn’t even get that. “I—well. I’m a bit old to be climbing trees, aren’t I?”
“Are you? It’s your tree, isn’t it; I don’t see any reason you shouldn’t climb it if you like.” Finn sets up the ladder beneath the tree.
“I hardly think the Brothers would approve. I look like a vagrant.”
“You look beautiful,” he disagrees. This time his blush spreads all the way to the tips of his ears. “The Brotherhood would suck all the color and joy out of the world if we’d let them.”
I’m silent, fascinated. He rakes a hand through his tousled copper hair. “I—now it’s my turn to apologize. I shouldn’t have said that.”
The grass is cool against the soles of my feet. “But you did. Is that what you really think?” I ask, voice low.
Finn turns back to me, his brown eyes serious behind his glasses. “I don’t think the Lord wants us to be miserable, Miss Cahill. It’s not a prerequisite for our salvation. That’s what I think.”