Born Wicked: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One (22 page)

“You said your magic went awry and you couldn’t reverse it yourself. You didn’t come to Rory or me. You’d only go to another witch. Who else is there?”
My mind whirrs frantically, trying to come up with a pat explanation. No matter how friendly and open Sachi’s been, she’s still Brother Ishida’s daughter. It’s one thing to tell her my own secrets. That can’t hurt anyone but me.
There’s a great splash, a mad cackle, and then Rory’s plaintive voice. “Sachi!”
I jump to my feet, relieved at the interruption. “The pond is freezing. She’ll catch her death.”
Sachi pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “You don’t have to tell me now. But I want you to know you can trust me, Cate. If you ever need me, I’ll help. So long as it doesn’t put Rory in danger.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.
But I hope I won’t need her help.

That night, I dream I’m at one of Mrs. Ishida’s teas. In the dream, I’m wearing Marianne Belastra’s awful rust-colored dress. It’s starched and it itches. Whenever I move, the skirts rustle, loud as a fire crackling, and everyone looks at me. Sachi and Rory bend their dark heads together and whisper behind their hands, and I just know it’s me they’re whispering about.

What have I done wrong? I feel suffocated—by their stares, by the high ruffled collar of this dress. My hands fumble at the buttons but I’m too rough; one button falls off in my hand. It’s gray; it doesn’t even match. Is that why they’re laughing at me?
That button—it’s familiar somehow.
I fight my way back to consciousness, gasping for breath. The gray button. It was beneath the floorboards with Mother’s diary.
I leap out of bed. The light coming through the windows is weak and watery; the gray sky is streaked with palest pink. It’s been only a handful of hours since I went to sleep. I inch the door open and pad barefoot down the hall in my chemise. Around me, the house is silent.
The button is still where I left it, in the right-hand drawer of Mother’s writing desk. Small, plain, unprepossessing.
I weigh it in the palm of my hand. Now that I know what I’m looking for, I can feel the magic in it, pulsing strong and steady as a heartbeat. Does that mean my magic is stronger now than Mother’s?
“Acclaro.”
The button reveals itself as a note, folded twice over and sealed with wax.
Mother used her best blue stationery. The handwriting isn’t the dark, frantic scrawl at the end of her diary. This was written before—deliberately. Thoughtfully.
Why didn’t she give it to me sooner?
My hands shake as I begin to read.

Dearest Cate—
If you have found this, I am gone. Have you read my diary? If not, you will find it nearby. That is the place to start. I do not knowhowto tell you this . . . I am not as brave as you, my dear girl, but you must knowit. You must knowit and do everything in

If Tess is a witch, then the three of you may well be the three sisters of the oracle’s last prophecy. The prophecy foretells that one of the sisters will be the most powerful witch born in centuries—powerful enough to bring about the resurgence of the Daughters of Persephone or, if she falls to the Brotherhood, bring about a second Terror. But only two of the sisters will survive to see the twentieth century—because one sister will kill another.

My heart breaks to think it—I cannot imagine such a thing.All sisters have their petty arguments and jealousies, but I have seen howyou and your sisters love one another. Yet your godmother spent years researching the oracles, and she found no fallacies. The prophecies of Persephone’s oracles always come to pass.

I stop reading, though there is more.
I go back and reread my mother’s words, sure I’ve misunderstood.
No, it says it quite plainly:
one sister will kill another.
It can’t be me and Maura and Tess, then. I might want to slap them sometimes, Maura especially, but I would never harm them. Never. I keep reading.

If Tess has manifested, I imagine the Sisters are watching the three of you closely. Mind-magic is a rare gift. If they discover that you possess it, they will want you to join their fight against the Brotherhood. They can offer you many things—protection and education among them. But they don’t think of individuals, only the legacy of magic.

I do not regret many things in my life, Cate, but I used mind-magic at the Sisters’behest when I was at their school, and I do not believe it was warranted or right. I used it again to escape that life, and I have never forgiven myself. It is wrong to go into the minds of others without their consent. I have tried to instill in you the belief that it must be used only under direst circumstances. The Sisters would have us wield it freely to regain the witches’power. Their goals are worthy, but their methods can be suspect.

I would not have you forced into a war you did not choose, but with your gifts, I fear it is inevitable.
Be careful, Cate. Choose wisely. Protect your sisters.
Love always,
Mother

By the time I finish, I’m hunched over on the floor, my knees tucked to my chest. Bile rises in my throat, and I force it back down. It leaves my mouth dry and sour.
Now I remember Elena’s warning that making Maura angry was tempting fate. She promised to do everything she could to keep all three of us safe—but the way she said it, with doubt in her voice—and the way she looked at me when she said it, her brown eyes filled with pity—
Brenna’s haunting voice:
You can stop it. But not without a sacrifice.
Mother believed in the prophecy. Elena believes it. The Sisterhood believes it.
How will I stop it?

I RETREAT TO THE SAFETY OF MY room, Mother’s letter crumpled in my hand. I open the curtains and sit on her old velvet settee and inhale the very faint scent of rose water that still permeates it. I watch the sun rise, salmon and pink, over the hill. I listen to the bright twitter-songs of birds and the sounds of the house waking up around me. I think of what to do.

The Sisters will do what’s best for the Daughters of Persephone, not what’s best for the Cahill girls. Mother’s letter made that painfully clear. But how can I keep us out of their clutches?
I don’t want girls throughout New England to grow up frightened and powerless. But my first priority is my promise to Mother. First and foremost, I must keep my own sisters safe.
When I go downstairs for breakfast, I find Elena lurking in the hall. She gives me a serrated smile. “I was waiting for you.”
“Why?” I demand gracelessly.
“It’s time to tell me the truth. Can you do mind-magic, Cate?”
I fight the urge to back away. Instead, I draw myself up to my full height, looming over her. “I told you, I don’t know.”
Elena’s brown eyes bore into mine. “I don’t believe you.”
I glare down at her. “Are you calling me a liar?”
She sidesteps the question, fiddling with one jade teardrop earring. Her dress is pink with mint-green piping today. “I think you’re frightened. I couldn’t break your glamour in the garden. Neither could your sisters. A witch that powerful would be welcomed—celebrated—by the Sisters. You’re too powerful to fritter away your talents like this.”
“What happened in the garden was a fluke.” I avoid her eyes, looking into the gilt-edged mirror above the hall table. My face is paler than usual, with enormous purple shadows beneath my eyes.
“Was it?” Elena lays a hand on my arm, her smooth brown skin a contrast against the icy blue of my dress. “I know one of you can do mind-magic, Cate.”
I pull away under the pretext of fussing with my hair. “I don’t see how that could possibly be true.”
“Your father’s got some very interesting holes in his memory,” she says.
I freeze. How could she know that? “My mother could do mind-magic.”
“But these gaps are from
after
her death. He doesn’t seem to have any memory of Mrs. Corbett suggesting that you go to the Sisters’ convent school,” Elena says. “Funny, that. Who would have used such dark magic to keep you all together?”
Mrs. Corbett, that wretched old bat. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I ought to be thankful she hasn’t turned us in to the Brothers.
“Tess would have been only, what, nine at the time? Ten? That’s too young for her magic to have manifested. That leaves you or Maura, and if Maura knew she could do mind-magic, she would have told me. So we’re back to you.” Elena’s reflection gazes at me from the mirror. “I have an obligation to the Sisters. I don’t think Maura is the one they want, but if you won’t cooperate with me, I daresay she will. She’s eager to go off to New London. She’d leave today if I suggested it—especially if she found out how many secrets you’ve been keeping.
“I’m quite fond of Maura,” she continues slowly. Her chocolate eyes never leave mine. “I wouldn’t want to see her come to any harm. Unfortunately, those who run the Sisterhood—they subscribe to some rather Machiavellian notions. They wouldn’t harm her irreparably, but they aren’t above using her as bait.”
I whirl around, my heart pounding like a drum. Enough. “Leave Maura alone. It’s me. I’m the one you want.”
Elena peers up at me. “I’ll need you to prove it. I can’t trust you, Cate. I believe that you’d lie to me, even now.”
I ball my hands into fists. “You pretend to be her friend, but you don’t care about her. The only thing you care about is the damned Sisterhood.”
Elena’s hand twitches up, as though she’s tempted to slap me. “
I’m
not the one putting her in danger—you are. If you’d just cooperate—”
My nails cut crescent moons in the center of my palms. “What do you want me to do?”
Elena’s smile is serpentine and triumphant. “You can start by meeting me this afternoon for a lesson in mind-magic. Half past two, in the rose garden.”
“Half past two,” I agree, cursing her. “And if I prove that I can do it, you’ll leave Maura and Tess out of this?”
“Insofar as it’s in my control, yes,” she agrees, cagey as always. “If you prove that you’re the prophesied sister, and if you agree to join the Sisterhood and play your role in the prophecy, we’ll keep them safe for you.”
It’s not much of a promise, but it’s better than nothing.
“Fine,” I snap. What choice do I have?
I tell Mrs. O’Hare I won’t be having breakfast. I can’t stand to see the smug look on Elena’s face—not without hurling the china at her. I grab an apple from the kitchen on my way out the back door. All around me, the autumn air is as crisp as the apple. Fallen leaves drift across the path, crunching beneath my boots.
I stop beside a bed of blowsy white roses. Their plot needs a weeding. I listen for the sound of hammering up at the gazebo, but I suppose it’s too early for Finn yet. My shoulders slump. Perhaps it’s just as well.
Giving him up would be a heavy sacrifice—is that what Brenna foresaw? It’s far more than anything Mother asked of me. I know a life with him would require sacrifices, too—learning to cook, to sew, to make do with twice-turned dresses. But if I could be with him, living in the Belastras’ cramped flat would be like heaven. I could still see my sisters, still practice magic with Sachi and Rory, still visit my garden when I needed to get away from town and all its gossiping tongues.
New London is so very far away.
But if it would keep my sisters safe—what I want can no longer matter.
I drop to my knees, wrap my hand around the stem of a stubborn weed, and yank. Five minutes later, there’s a pile on the path next to me. The plot looks much better, and I feel a good deal calmer. I glance at the next plot over—wine-dark roses in front of the Cupid fountain, just beginning to bud again. They could use some attention, too. I scoot over, humming to myself and smoothing the rumpled soil.
A shadow falls over me. “Stealing my job out from under me?”
My heart beats faster at the sound of his voice. “You can help if you’d like.”
Finn kneels next to me, keeping a careful distance. We’re in full view of the kitchen window. “You wouldn’t mind the company?”
I smile at him, besotted. At his cherry lips and freckles and warm brown eyes. “Not yours.”
“You love this, don’t you?” he asks, gesturing at the flowers. “Not just the pretty result, but the work.”
“I do.” Mrs. O’Hare is always fussing at me about it. I never remember my gloves, and she’s always going on about ruining my hands and getting dirt under my nails. Personally, I do not see how a little dirt hurts anyone. “I find it satisfying, leaving things better off than when I started. And I don’t like being cooped up inside.”
“I see that.” He rubs the pad of his thumb across my cheek. “You’re beautiful, you know. I’ve been remiss in not telling you that more often. Like a modern-day Pomona. Or Venus—she was the goddess of gardening and fertility before she became the goddess of love.”
He holds my eyes for a moment—long enough to turn me flushed and prickly—then begins to untangle the bindweed that’s twisted its way through the roses. I rock back on my heels, watching his fingers move, gently separating the leaves.
He’s so tempting. When I’m with him, I want to forget all about prophecies and obligations and sisters. I want to be a normal girl in love.
I move to sit on the lip of the fountain, trailing my hands behind me in the cool water. “What do you love?” I ask.
“Pardon?” He cocks his head at me like a parakeet.
“I garden. Tess bakes. Maura—” Maura dreams of escape. I shake my head, refusing to go down that path. “If you didn’t have to work here, if you didn’t have to work at the bookshop even, how would you spend your time?”
He takes a minute to think. “Cooped up inside, probably. Before my father died, I’d planned to go to university. There isn’t much of a market for independent scholars these days, but I’d like to do my own translations of the myths. Orpheus and Eurydice is one of my favorites. Baucis and Philemon. All of Apollo’s exploits.”
I know those stories; they’re the ones Tess has been studying with Father. “Well—you can still do your translations, can’t you?” I ask, plucking a stray leaf from the fountain.
“I try. It’s hard to find time.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, remembering that I’m not the only one who’s suffered a loss. “About your father. That must have been awful.”
“It was very sudden. I don’t know if that made it better or worse. Mother’s been a rock, but I know it’s been hardest on her. I try to help where I can.”
“I’m sure you’re immensely helpful.”
Finn runs a hand over his already-rumpled hair. Does he even bother to comb it in the morning? “Perhaps. I wish there were more I could do.”
I feel a great surge of protectiveness. I have enough worries of my own, I know, but somehow I want to take his on, too. “I want to know what worries you. I want to know
you
. Everything. Your favorite flower. Your favorite foods. Your favorite book.”
Finn smiles. “There’s plenty of time for that.”
But there isn’t! I haven’t got any time left at all. Once Elena confirms that I can do mind-magic, will she even wait for my intention ceremony? Will I get to see him again before I’m shipped off to New London?
My mood darkens. I lean forward, yanking at more hapless weeds. A branch of the rosebush breaks under my careless hands. I snap it off and hurl it across the garden.
“Cate? Did I say something wrong?” Finn stands, hovering over me uncertainly.
“No. It’s not you.” A muscle tics in my eyelid. I press the back of a hand to it.
Perhaps the Sisterhood won’t be so bad. They’ll protect us from the Brothers; they won’t send us to prison or the asylum. They want to help girls like us. Can I really blame them for their ruthlessness? I’d do anything to protect Maura and Tess, even if it hurt other people. The Sisters feel the same way, only their scope is much bigger.
I might be able to forgive their methods if they weren’t aimed squarely at my family.
If they weren’t willing to hurt Maura to force me into a future I don’t want.
The future I want is standing in front of me, his forehead furrowed, his eyes full of worry. “What is it then? Tell me,” he says.
“I can’t.” I push back onto my feet.
“If something’s making you unhappy, tell me. Please.”
I look at him—really look, beyond the freckles and the messy hair and the magnificent kissing. Finn is a clever, capable man, raised by a clever, capable mother. He likes me as I am—not just the laughing girl who caught minnows in her hands and climbed trees, but the stubborn, snappish girl I can be at my worst. I think he would still like me—love me—even if he knew about my magic.
But what if he knew I’d done magic to him? I stare at the cobblestone path beneath my boots. It’s unforgivable.
I don’t deserve him.
I brush dirt from the knees of my pale-blue dress. “I should go in. I’m not good company today.”
He watches me go, plainly puzzled, and I can’t say I blame him. I’m halfway down the path when he calls after me. “Lilies, I suppose. And a good apple pie, and the
Metamorphoses
.”
I can’t stop my answering smile. “Red roses, strawberries, and
Tales of the Pirate LeFevre
!”
Mrs. O’Hare scowls at me as I enter the kitchen. “Miss Cate! Wash those hands before you touch anything. And take off your boots before you track dirt across my floors. You’ve been playing in the mud again, I see.”
“I’ve been gardening,” I correct, unbuckling my boots and stepping out of them. “The roses needed me.”
“I thought we hired young Finn Belastra to take care of the roses.”
“He’s been busy.” I bend over the sink to hide my blush, lathering my hands with soap. “With the gazebo.”
She harrumphs and rubs a spot on my cheek. “You look like a street urchin. You might have fine airs now, but you’re still the little girl who liked to splash about in mud puddles, aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am.” I give her a quick, fond squeeze. She smells like buttered toast—it’s been her standard midmorning snack for as long as I’ve known her.
“Oof,” she huffs, but she smiles. “And what was that for?”
“For being you. For always being here for us,” I say, and she flushes with pleasure.
She must be getting on in years; she’s always had gray hair and wrinkles. Sometimes, when it rains, her bad left knee protests, and she draws her chair up to the kitchen fire and calls it a sewing day. She doesn’t show any other signs of slowing down, though, and it’s a good thing, because I don’t know what we’d do without her. Tess will need her more than ever now, if I’m gone.
Maura pops her head into the kitchen. She’s wearing a simple, cream-colored day dress with a red sash, and her hair is in one long red braid down her back. She looks very young.
“Excellent,” she pronounces, but her grin has a touch of nervousness to it. “I wanted to talk with you, Cate. It’s important. Can you come upstairs?”
I follow her to her room, dread creeping over me like a shadow. Maura pushes the door shut behind us and ushers me over to the window seat.
“I know you won’t like it, so I’ll just have out with it. I’m going to write Father this afternoon. I’ve made a decision. I’m going to join the Sisters.”
She can’t. Not without knowing about the prophecy and what it portends. I bite my lip, torn between what my sister needs to know and what my mother asked me to do. “Maura, you don’t have to declare yourself for an entire year!”
Maura turns, gesturing for me to retie the bow at her waist. “Why wait?”
“Why are you in such a rush? Are you that eager to leave your family?”
“I’ll have a new family. Dozens of sisters.” Maura beams.
My heart bangs, wounded, inside my chest. I give a hard yank on the knot. “You already have sisters.”
“I know. I didn’t mean—” Maura admires herself in the mirror, then turns to face me. “I know we’ve been arguing more than usual, but I’ll miss you, Cate.”
“But you’d still leave us without a second thought, just like that?” I snap my fingers.
“No.” Maura sits next to me, pushing the yellow curtains aside. She looks out over the potholed drive and the red maples. “I’ve had second thoughts, and third and fourth ones, too. Mother didn’t teach us half of what she ought, and we haven’t practiced enough. I’ll be behind for my age. But magic is part of our heritage. I want to learn more about it.”
“You can’t go!” I insist. “Father won’t allow it.”
Maura rolls her eyes. She can get around him and we both know it. “Father might be surprised at my sudden religious fervor, but he won’t fight me. He’ll appreciate how scholarly and charitable they are.”
“I’ll tell him,” I threaten, standing. “I’ll tell him what they really are.”
“You wouldn’t risk it. Father’s rebellious about his books, I grant you that. But if he found out his daughters are all witches, he’d have the vapors. His health might not withstand the shock.”