Born Wicked: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One (23 page)

I imagine myself knocking on the door of Father’s study. Sitting in one of his leather chairs. Leaning forward, opening my mouth, and telling him that Mother was a witch. That Tess and Maura and I are witches, too. Then—what? What would he say? Mother loved him, but she obviously didn’t believe he could handle it.
“You can’t stop me. You might as well accept my decision. I’ll write you. I won’t be able to say much in case the post is intercepted. But you can visit if you like. I hope you will. Perhaps once you see how happy I am there . . .” Maura trails off, standing and taking both my hands in hers. “I
will
miss you.”
She’s right. I can’t stop her; she won’t hear anything I have to say. I can only go around her, and that means making a deal with Elena. “I’ll miss you, too. Desperately,” I say truthfully.
Maura wraps me in a tight hug. “Thank you. I didn’t think— I’m so glad you’ve decided to support me. You’re the
best
sister, Cate. Really you are.”
“You’re welcome,” I murmur, feeling like a traitor.

It’s a full hour later when I storm into Belastras’ bookshop. Marianne is perched on her stool behind the counter, her reading glasses low on her little snub nose. She pushes them up with her index finger. The gesture is heartbreakingly reminiscent of Finn.
“Have you got any customers?” I ask.
She shakes her head, putting her book aside. “No, but—”
“I found this,” I interrupt, pulling the crumpled letter from my pocket. “Mother left it for me. The rest of the prophecy—it says that only two of the sisters will live to see the twentieth century—because one of them’s going to kill another. Mother wants me to find a way to stop it. She thinks there’s a war coming, and because of my
gift,
I’ll be at the center of it. I don’t see how I can avoid it. The Sisters are already threatening Maura to get to me. They’re ruthless. Did you know that?” I stomp up to the counter and throw the letter down. “Because I must say I think it’s an oversight on her part for not telling me before she went and died and left me in charge of everything!”
I’m full-out roaring, so I’m not surprised when Marianne’s brown eyes go wide. Only—she’s not looking at me. She’s looking—past me.
I gulp. I have the uncomfortable feeling there’s someone behind me, in the labyrinthine rows of bookshelves. And if it’s not a customer—
I turn around slowly.
It’s Finn, his face pale as a sheet. “You—Cate. What are you saying?”
My stomach claws its way into my throat.
He was not supposed to be here. Not supposed to find out like this.
The moment stretches out between us, interminable.
I can’t lie to him anymore. “I’m a witch.”

HE LOOKS—HOW? DISAPPOINTED? His eyes are inscrutable behind his spectacles. The only clue is the rumpling of his forehead, that crease between his eyebrows.
“You didn’t tell me,” he says.
“No.”
“Why?”
How can I explain it? He thinks I’m brave and strong, and I’m not. Not half as much as I’d like. Sometimes I’m scared and uncertain. Right now,
I’m a whole host of emotions—desperate and angry and so, so resentful of being the one who’s got to fix all this. If I admitted that—how would he feel about me then?
I don’t want to give him up. But telling him how I feel, how much he’s come to matter to me in just a few short weeks—
I’m not sure if I’m brave enough.
“I thought perhaps you’d guessed,” I say weakly. “When I came to see the register.”
He shakes his head. “I thought one of your sisters, perhaps—”
“All three of us. And we’re not just any garden-variety witches. We’re the subject of a prophecy. You—I assume you heard that.”
He shrugs. “You were shouting.”
I look at Marianne, glancing between the two of us with curiosity written plainly on her face. I wonder how much she’s deduced.
“I don’t know what to do anymore.” My voice comes out small and defeated. “They’re going to force me to go to New London. The prophecy says one of us will be the key to either a second Terror or the witches coming back to power. They think it’s me, and the Sisterhood—they’re all witches really and—I’ll have to leave Chatham forever and—”
My voice breaks. I gulp back tears, burying my face in my hands. I breathe evenly—in, out, in, out—struggling for control.
There’s a hand on my shoulder, turning me. I peek between my fingers, and Finn is staring down at me, eyes full of compassion. Compassion and—something else, something that makes me feel as though it would be all right with him if I did cry, or wail and throw things even. That he might not think any less of me. He pulls me into his arms, right there in front of his mother.
He’s braver than I am.
I sniff into the rough gray cotton of his shirt. “I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t want to lose my sisters, either.”
“I know.” He rubs my back. I curl into his chest and close my eyes, feeling fortified against the world.
His mother coughs. “Finn? May I speak to Cate for a moment?”
Finn’s hands slip down over my back. I wonder if he’s as reluctant to let go as I am.
“Of course.” He pulls away, barely glancing at Marianne. “I’ll just be upstairs.”
We both wait until he’s closed the door to their living quarters. Marianne eyes me over her glasses, and I feel like a recalcitrant schoolgirl who hasn’t done her work. It must be obvious there’s something between Finn and me now. She’s been so kind, and now she’ll hate me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I feel raw, all sharp edges.
Marianne puts her spectacles down on the counter and peers up at me. “For what?”
“You can’t want your son caught up in all of this.”
“Well, it does complicate things a bit, but we don’t choose who we love.”
“Oh—he—that is—he hasn’t—” I stumble.
“He may not have said the words, but I know my son. I saw the way he looked at you.”
“How?” I hate myself for wanting to quiz her on it.
“Like he’d do murder for you.”
I think of the pistol strapped to Finn’s calf. How he spoke of doing whatever was necessary to keep Clara and his mother safe. It intrigued me then, because it wasn’t the talk of a timid bookseller’s son. Now it terrifies me. Men are not punished as severely as women, but for rising up against the Brotherhood, or for serious offenses like murder, there are the prison ships.
“I can take care of myself. Of all three of us. I’ve made mistakes, I know, but my sisters are more important to me than anything in the world. I’d do
anything
for them.”
“You’re an impressive woman, Cate.” Marianne smiles at me. “You’re strong and capable and—”
“Capable?” I laugh, but there’s no mirth in it. “Hardly. I’ve gone about things all wrong. I’m so angry with Mother—I know it’s terrible because she’s dead and she can’t very well defend herself, but she kept too damn many secrets!” I slam my fist onto the counter. Pain splinters up my forearm. “She asked me to take care of them, and then she hobbled me!”
Marianne catches my fist before I can punch the counter again. “Anna was my friend, but she asked a great deal of you, Cate. Too much. Keeping it all a secret from your father—from your sisters—from everyone—it’s a wonder it hasn’t broken you.”
“No. I can do this. I have to.” I stalk away, staring out the front windows. At our neighbors passing on the street, going about their errands, oblivious to my heartache.
“But you don’t have to do it alone,” Marianne says, her voice mild. “Part of being strong is knowing when to ask for help. When to share things instead of keeping them in.”
I take a deep breath. Ink and parchment and dust. I let it out.
She’s right. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be the Sisters’ pawn. That’s why I came.
“Will you help me?” I ask quietly. “Please?”
Marianne smiles again. “Do you love my son, Cate? Do you want to marry him?”
I nod.
“Then let’s see if we can find a way.”
She pats the other stool, and I clamber onto it. “Maura wants to join the Sisterhood. Elena says they’d hurt her to get to me. If it’s my freedom for hers—what else can I do? They’ll keep her and Tess safe if I fall in line.”
Marianne frowns. “How do you know they would keep a bargain like that? They could renege on it the very next time you refuse something they ask of you. The Sisterhood doesn’t handle insubordination any better than the Brothers do, Cate. Why do you think they let the Brothers arrest Zara?”
I gasp. “They could have saved her?”
Pain flashes over Marianne’s face. “Yes. But she was a rather outspoken critic within the Sisterhood. She didn’t agree with some of their methods, and she made it very clear. That’s why she left the convent to be a governess. It gave her a bit of freedom and allowed her to live nearer to Anna. I don’t think the Sisters appreciated that two of their most powerful witches refused to further the cause.”
“I appreciate what they’re trying to do. But I don’t want to hand over my power to them.” I shake my head, cradling my aching hand against my chest. “I don’t want to hand over my sisters, either.”
“And marrying Finn
is
what you want? Not just a last resort against the Sisters?”
I meet her eyes without hesitation. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
Marianne nods and pinches the bridge of her nose as though warding off a headache. “Will you ask him to come downstairs, then? I have an idea, but I think it might take both of us to convince him.”
I climb the stairs to their flat and let myself in. Their sitting room is cramped but cozy, with a little fire burning in the grate. There are chrysanthemums in a glass jar on the end table, a basket of socks for darning beside the chair, and books piled helter-skelter. The juicy smell of roast beef drifts in from the kitchen and makes my stomach rumble.
Finn’s lounging on the sofa, staring at the floor instead of the book in his hands. He jumps to his feet when I enter.
“May I see your book?” I ask. He hands it to me. A collection of essays.
The magic tugs at me, invigorated by my nerves.
“Commuto,”
I say, and the book disappears, replaced by a bouquet of fuzzy-headed gold chrysanthemums.
“I’m a witch,” I say. I’m tired of feeling ashamed for the way I was born—a witch, and a woman. I’ve done the best I could with it, blessing or curse.
I raise my eyes to his. Despite Marianne’s reassurance, I still expect fear. Anger. Instead, he takes the chrysanthemums from me, studying them from every angle, then lets out a low whistle. “That’s amazing.
You
are amazing. I’ve never seen—for all the talk the Brothers do of magic, I’ve never seen it.”
“I—I can do more,” I say, hesitant. I focus on the cup of tea on the side table.
“Agito!”
The teacup floats across the room and into my hands.
“Good Lord,” Finn whispers. “What else?”
“Mind-magic. But I’ve only used it to keep my sisters safe.” I look at his smiling freckled face. I’ll tell him everything except what I did to him. And if we can find a way to make this work, I’ll spend my life making it up to him. “Are you—does it scare you?”
“No. I trust you, Cate.” He takes me into his arms, fierce and gentle at the same time.
“I wanted to tell you before. Weeks ago, when you showed me the register and talked about how you’d protect your mother and Clara, I wanted to tell you everything. I’m—I’m glad you know.”
Finn grins. “So am I. I love you—all of you. Your stubbornness and your prickliness and your witchery and your bravery.”
I laugh through the grateful tears blooming in my eyes. “You love my stubbornness?”
“And your laugh. And your pointy little chin. And your gorgeous hair,” he says, tucking a wayward strand behind my ear.
“My hair’s not gorgeous. Maura’s—” I stop. I need to learn to take compliments without comparing myself with my sisters. “I love you, too. I want to marry you.”
Finn pulls back. “I want that, too. More than anything. But I don’t see how—I’d do everything I can to protect you, but you’d be under more scrutiny from the Brothers. And people will talk. You’re marrying beneath you.”
“Don’t say that! I’d be proud to be part of your family. You have no idea—your mother has been so kind to me. Kinder than I deserve.”
Finn seizes my mouth in a long, drugging kiss, and my arms twine around his neck. “I take it she’s not worried about my virtue, if she sent you up here alone.”
“No. Actually—” I take a second to catch my breath and settle my hands back at his waist. “Your mother wants to see us downstairs. She said she has an idea.”
In the bookshop, Marianne sits behind the counter, her eyes rimmed in red. She waves off Finn’s concern. “It’s the end of one dream and the beginning of another,” she says, twisting the ruby ring on her finger. Finn and I stand in the center of the shop, a row of bookshelves concealing us from the passersby who might look in the windows. Finn holds my hand.
Finn squints at her. “It’s not the time to talk in riddles, Mother.”
She smiles. “This is the last day Belastras’ bookshop is open for business. We’ve had a good run of it, but I believe it’s time to close our doors.”
“What? No.” Finn drops my hand and strides forward. “You can’t make that decision without talking it through with me.”
“Technically, my dear, I can. I’m the proprietor.” Marianne keeps her voice light.
“Why now? What does this have to—” Realization slowly dawns over Finn’s face. “You can’t be serious.”
“Serious as a cemetery,” Marianne promises, standing up and patting his shoulder. “You may do whatever you like, but you can no longer be employed as a bookseller.”
“I’m not following,” I admit, feeling dim.
Finn swipes his hands through his messy hair. “She wants me to join the Brothers.” He turns back to me, leaning against the counter. “Brother Ishida came by last night to offer me membership. He sweetened the deal with a job in the secondary school, teaching Latin. Your father’s old position. They made the offer contingent on joining the council in Brother Elliott’s place.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s—You love the shop, both of you. You can’t give that up for me.”
“The shop’s already out of the equation,” Marianne reminds us. “Besides, Clara and I would be a good deal safer if Finn were a member of the Brotherhood. I’m far too old to be carted off to prison, and the Brothers don’t seem as though they’ll let up anytime soon. If Finn was stern enough to put his own mother out of business—why, that’s just the sort of man they’re after. And they would never suspect his wife for a witch.”
“She
is
right,” Finn says. “I could afford a wife on a teacher’s salary. It wouldn’t be grand, but—”
“I don’t care about that,” I interrupt. “I just—I won’t have you hating yourself for it. It’s too much. You’d have to arrest girls like me. Take them away from their families and lock them up in Harwood. They’re hardly ever real witches, Finn. Even if they are—it’s not right. You know that.”
Finn takes my hand in his. “I wouldn’t relish it, Cate. In fact, I’d hate it. But if this would keep you safe—” His voice catches. “You’d sacrifice yourself to protect your sisters. Let me do this for you. For us.”
I bite my lip. It feels like too much. I should refuse him.
I should but I won’t.
“What’s to stop them from hauling me off to New London tomorrow? Once Elena confirms I can do mind-magic, I don’t think she’ll let me stay in town for another two months,” I point out.
“The Brothers take the ceremony of intention very seriously,” Marianne says. “It’s a commitment before the Lord, almost as important as the marriage vows. It’s rare, but occasionally, girls get a bee in their bonnet and ask for special permission to move up their intention ceremonies. The Brothers are so used to girls dragging their feet about it, they’re happy enough to oblige.” She gives me a grim, determined smile. “You could announce your betrothal to Finn early. Say—tomorrow?”
“And if I’m as important as the Sisters say, they won’t want to risk calling attention to me with a broken intention.” I turn to Finn, my eyes searching his. “Are you very sure?”
Finn leans in, resting his forehead against mine. My entire field of vision is swallowed up by him. “Yes.”
I close my eyes for a minute, taking solace in his strength. Then I turn to his mother. “Marianne?”
“All any parent wants is for their child to be happy. In fact—” She pulls the ruby ring from her finger. “Perhaps this ought to belong to you, now. It was my engagement ring from Richard.”
“I couldn’t—” I protest.
But Finn takes it from her and weighs it in his palm. He holds my gaze, and the look in his eyes is a love letter in itself. When he speaks, his voice is rough. “Will you marry me, Cate?”
I go still, the question hanging in the air. I have never felt more accepted—for the girl I am, not the girl I want to be—never more loved and
respected
than I am in this moment. It’s a choice, and it’s mine to make.
“Yes,” I breathe.
Finn slides the simple gold band onto my ring finger. I tilt it, and the ruby sparkles, catching the sunlight. He leans down and brushes his lips against mine, sealing the promise. “I can’t wait to make you my wife.”
“Cate Belastra.” I try it out, and despite the solemnity of the moment, despite knowing what this will cost him, I can’t help smiling. “Catherine Anna Belas—”
I’m interrupted by a scream. It goes on and on, howling, until the hairs on the back of my arm rise.