Sisters' Fate (8 page)

“Someone fetch the fire department, quick, before the whole square goes up!” the bearded man near us shouts.

Onstage, Rory is grinning.

A dark-haired guard reaches for his bayonet. “Witchery!” he roars.

Tess squeezes my hand, and my magic flows into her and merges with her own considerable power. She casts silently, immobilizing the guards. The man with the bayonet has lunged forward; the wicked-looking blade stops just short of Rory’s back. It came entirely too close to skewering her. A blond soldier is still holding his noose, frozen in the midst of shoving a skinny dark-haired girl’s head toward it. She ducks away.

The ropes that bound the prisoners’ wrists are floating through the air like snakes, winding around the guards’ chests. If our spell fails, they won’t be able to fire their rifles until they’re freed. That’s Elena’s work.

Rory and Sachi grab the dark-haired girl and shout something. All six girls onstage run toward the steps.

The flames are moving quickly, spreading down the legs of the platform, licking at the dead brown grass. I can smell the smoke now—taste it, bitter, in the back of my throat. I can hear the crackle and pop of it. It looks as though the gallows could collapse in a moment, crushing those nearby.

The guards on the ground are hollering. Their rifles are out but they can’t get off a good shot—not with half a dozen guards like statues in the way. A squadron moves to intercept the girls, but as Tess casts, the first soldier stops abruptly, frozen in his tracks with one boot on the first step. The man behind him bumps into him, and they all fall to the ground like a stack of dominoes and lie there, unmoving, eyes staring up at the flames coming toward them.

I hope they’re scared. I hope they’re bloody well
terrified,
thinking they’ll be burnt to a crisp.

The girls rush down the stairs. Sachi steps delicately over the guards at the bottom; Rory plants a heel right in one’s stomach. They’ve linked hands with the dark-haired girl between them. I spare a glance for the dozens of other Harwood girls huddled beside the stage, staring with dumbstruck expressions at the fire. Their guard is a quarter what it was. Half the soldiers are trying to control the stampeding crowd; a quarter more are chasing after the fleeing witches.

As I watch, the ropes that bound the girls’ hands slither to the ground and then swoop toward the remaining guards. Some of the soldiers fight off the ropes, but Tess immobilizes them as they reach for their rifles. Others make a run for it, and we drop them as they go. They’re shoved to the ground and trampled by the crowd. As the girls’ laudanum-soaked brains finally grasp their chance at freedom, they begin to run.

Richmond Square is bedlam. All around us, panicked people push and shove and trip over one another, shouting in fear and anger. Tess and I are being jostled, but our hands are firmly linked, fingers interlaced. Alice and Rilla press close behind, the four of us an unmoving unit against the madness.

A man plucks at my sleeve. “Come on, Sisters! We’ve got to get out of here!”

“What the hell are you doing, standing around like sheep? We’re all going to be burnt alive!” his less-chivalrous friend insists.

I risk a glance at them before turning my attention back to the gallows. “Don’t you see we’re praying? Go!” I snap. If they distract Rilla and Alice, the glamour will give way, and we can’t have that yet.

Most of the Brothers are rushing for the exits, but a few are trying to stop the Harwood girls. “Tess,” I hiss, but Rilla and Alice beat me to it. A wall of flame leaps across the grass, encircling the flock of Brothers in a fiery prison. Tess and I scan the crowd for more guards, but it’s impossible to track them in the crush.

I hear gunshots and wince.

Everyone around us has fled, leaving the middle of the square empty. Behind us, Alice and Rilla are kneeling in the grass, grasping each other’s hands as they stare toward the gallows, lips moving as if in prayer. It’s a persuasive picture of two devout Sisters.

“We need to get closer,” Tess says, and we run, still hand in hand, toward the front of the square. Someone is ringing the fire bell atop the National Council building. Two horse-drawn, steam-powered fire engines pull up, firemen jumping down from the carriages. The machines block the street in front of the cathedral, adding to the chaos. In their hurry to get out of the square, people are pushing so close, they’re in danger of being burnt by the steam from the engines or trampled by the horses’ hooves.

Up ahead, a Harwood girl is struggling with a man twice her size. Her blouse rips across the shoulder as she tries to free herself. I cast silently, flinging him back, and the girl scrambles away.

Tess drops to her knees and crawls beneath the carriage of one of the fire engines. I follow her, figuring the lack of Sisterly dignity can be forgiven in such an emergency. Children are crying as they’re separated from their families. Shopkeepers on the surrounding streets are crawling out their upper windows to wet down their roofs, lest they catch fire from the sparks floating so convincingly on the wind. Throngs of people are flowing down Church Street.

I feel a grim satisfaction at causing such chaos.

As we run, I see a body—one of the Harwood prisoners—lying half in the street, half on the cobbled sidewalk. She’s been shot in the head; blood pools on the street around her and mats her long blond hair. She has staring blue eyes and looks strangely familiar. I bite my lip, and then—oh, Lord—I recognize her as the woman I healed in the Harwood infirmary, the one who’d lost her baby girl.

She won’t be going home to her sons after all.

Tess tugs on my hand, leading me onto a side street that’s less crowded. Women throw open their windows and lean out, modesty forgotten, as they call to neighbors to try and find out what’s happening. Men congregate on the street to share news, then march toward the square to see for themselves. Good. The more curiosity-seekers standing around the fence gawking, the more trouble the remaining guards will have controlling the crowd.

How much longer can Rilla and Alice keep this up?

I’ve got a stitch in my side and I’m exhausted from casting so many spells in quick succession, but I don’t slow my pace. We’ve got to find the prisoners and get them to safety before our magic runs out. How many have Mei and Mélisande and Elena managed to grab?

I spot four guards dodging into the alley that runs behind Fourth Street and pull Tess after them, sensing trouble. As we round the corner, Tess stops so abruptly, I knock into her.

Up ahead, an abandoned milk wagon blocks the road. Sachi, Rory, and the dark-haired girl who was with them are running pell-mell toward it. “Stop!” shouts one of the guards, but the girls keep running.

I cast silently, trying to immobilize the soldiers, but it doesn’t work.

“Intransito,”
I mutter aloud, but nothing happens. My magic gives a weak flicker.

Three of the guards fire their rifles.
Pop-pop-pop,
just like Brenna said, Lord help us. Sachi screams. The skinny dark-haired girl stumbles and knocks into the side of the wagon, clutching her arm. Glass bottles crash and the horses skitter sideways in their harnesses.

I’m almost crying with frustration and panic, and in front of me, Tess is swaying dizzily, bracing her hands on her knees. She cannot be having a vision
now,
can she?

“Tess!” I cry, grabbing her shoulders, trying to draw magic from her, but it doesn’t work. Her gray eyes stare right through me, and I don’t feel any magic in her. We’re going to be too late. I hear boots pounding on the far side of the wagon and it must be another guard coming and I’m so useless; we’re all going to be killed. The dark-haired girl ducks under the wagon, reaching out a hand to pull Sachi forward. A guard fires again and I scream it this time, with everything in me:
“Intransito!”

Two of the guards freeze. Rory turns back at the sound of my voice, hesitating just as another soldier lunges forward with his bayonet and—

“Rory!”
It’s Brenna, ducking between the brick wall of the shop and the back of the wagon. She flings herself between Rory and the guard, arms outstretched.

Brenna impales herself on the bayonet. It slices into her,
through
her, the
sound
—

“Intransito!”
Tess shouts, and the last two soldiers are immobilized a second too late.

“Brenna!” Rory screams. Tess and I run toward them, skirting the guard-statues.

Brenna’s pinned to the wagon. Red blossoms across her stomach, mimicking the peonies splashed across her skirt. Where did she come from? How did she find us?

Rory clings to my arm. “Cate, do something! Fix it!”

I swallow. “I can’t.” Brenna’s blue eyes are empty, staring past us at—what? What was she thinking in her last moments? It happened so fast.

Thank you, Cate.
Did she know? Did she see this? How else would she have been here, at the exact right moment?

Rory pulls the rifle from the nearest soldier’s frozen hands and turns it on the guard who killed Brenna. He cannot move, but his eyes are aware, terrified, pleading.

“No.” I step between them.

“He killed Brenna! He would have killed me!” Rory lifts the rifle to her shoulder, shaking the dark hair from her face.

Sachi puts a restraining hand on Rory’s arm. “We have to get out of here before more guards come.”

“Get out of the way, Cate,” Rory commands, brandishing the bayonet. Tears are slipping silently down her face. “I’m going to run him through, just like he did her.”

“No. You’re not a murderer. You’re better than that,” I insist, planting my feet.

“That isn’t what Brenna would want,” Tess says quietly. She casts a quick glamour over the girls, turning their Harwood uniforms to Sisterly black.

“She’s right,” I agree. “This morning—she kept talking about saving you, Rory.”

“She
knew
?” Rory sobs harder, relaxing her grip on the rifle, allowing Sachi to take it from her and toss it aside.

“We have to go.” Tess grabs my hand and gestures down at the guards. “I’m going to erase their memories.”

She pulls the magic from me, and this time it feels like squeezing water from a stone. My muscles feel sore, my fingers stiff. My magic flickers and fades until I’m wrung out.

Sachi puts one arm around Rory and leads her through the gap between wagon and wall. I give Brenna one last glance. I hate leaving her like this, but what choice do we have? We can hardly parade her body through the streets. I stagger after my friends, dizzy.

“Are you all right?” the dark-haired girl asks. Behind her spectacles, she has enormous gray eyes. She’s clutching her shoulder with one hand, blood on her fingers.

“I should be asking you. You were shot,” I point out.

She shrugs. “I think it only nicked me. Stings a bit, but the laudanum helps.”

“Here.” I pull off my cloak and put it around her shoulders. “Don’t want anyone seeing that.”

“I suppose not.” She holds out her other hand for me to shake. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Cate. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Prudencia Merriweather.”

CHAPTER

8

IT’S NOT ENOUGH. IT’S NEVER ENOUGH.

We’ve saved ten girls. Mei was already waiting with three when we got back to the convent. Mélisande crept through the garden gate with four more shortly after we arrived. That’s ten, counting Sachi and Rory and Prue Merriweather.

For that, Brenna is dead and Elena is missing.

It’s been hours. The sun is going down now, silhouetting the gabled roofs across the street in gold. Sachi, Rory, and Prue are crammed together on the olive settee in the parlor. I healed Prue’s shoulder as soon as my magic came back. One of Mélisande’s girls had a wicked-looking slice from a bayonet on her forearm, and another had been trampled in the crowd and twisted her ankle. They’ll all be fine, but now I stare out the window, leaning my forehead against the cold glass, stomach tumbling. Where is Elena?

Rilla and Alice got home an hour after we did and that was nerve-racking enough. A group of Brothers had invited them into Richmond Cathedral for prayer and they hadn’t felt it prudent to refuse. They both looked foxed when they stumbled in the front door, eyes bleary with exhaustion. Alice nearly swooned in the front hall. Rilla reported they’d seen three corpses on the walk home.

I sent them both to bed. Tried to send Tess, because I could tell from her pinched face and the way she rubbed her temples that she had another headache. She refused to go—Inez has her so afraid of looking weak—but she’s sleeping curled up in the silk chair by the fire. Her blond eyelashes flutter rapidly as though she’s dreaming. Of what, I wonder? What did she see in that vision?

Brenna said Tess asked her to keep a secret from me. A secret Brenna was afraid would break her. Has it got something to do with the old prophecy—the one about Maura and Tess and me?

Footsteps move down the hall and my heart leaps. Perhaps Elena came in through the garden gate instead? I throw open the door, startling Tess awake.

It’s Maura. She sashays into the room in a garish emerald gown I thought pretty a few weeks ago. Now it seems too bright. We should all be in black, mourning for Cora and Brenna.

The dress makes Maura’s eyes go grass green and for a moment, as she looks at me and Tess, still flushed from sleep, she seems—relieved. Tension melts out of her stiff shoulders and the downward tilt of her mouth relaxes. Could she be glad we’re home safely?

It doesn’t last.

“Ten girls,” she says, tossing her red curls. “You saved ten out of sixty. Was it worth it?”

“Yes.” I glance at the girls on the settee. They’ve all changed out of their ugly Harwood uniforms. Sachi borrowed a girlish peach brocade of Tess’s, Rory’s in her own red velvet, and Prue borrowed a dove-gray gown of mine.

“I just paid a visit to the corner grocer at Church and Third. Wanted to hear if there were any consequences for your daring rescue.” Maura’s fists curl at her sides. “Three of the prisoners were shot and killed anyway. Two bystanders were killed, too. One was a cobbler—father of four, they said—and one was the French ambassador’s wife.”

I bristle. “I’m not responsible for what the guards did. I thought they’d have the sense not to fire into a crowd.”

“A little girl was trampled in the crush. Both her legs were broken. I suppose that wasn’t your fault, either?”

My temper snaps. “I didn’t step on her. What are you getting at, Maura? How would
you
have managed this? I know you’re dying to tell me, so go on.”

“I would have let them all hang.” Her voice is utterly matter-of-fact.

“Good Lord,” Rory mutters.

“It’s a good thing for us you’re not in charge.” Sachi’s voice is so withering, I’m surprised Maura doesn’t brown at the edges.

I knew Maura backed Inez in this, but to hear her say it so coolly! Anger heats my cheeks. “How can you say such a thing? Sachi and Rory are my friends.”

“And that’s made you stupid,” Maura says. “How much magic did you do out on the street today? You, who were always so cautious, harping on Tess and me about never risking our safety! That time Tess fixed my dress in church, you nearly had a fit. You remember, Tess? But now that you want to play the hero, you’ve gotten reckless. You were casting illusions left and right to disguise girls and create that fire. And what’s worse, you were dressed as Sisters the whole time! How many people could have seen you?”

Tess sits up straight, crossing her ankles. “It would have taken too much magic to glamour ourselves, and split our focus. Looking like Sisters was the best way to escape suspicion. No one stopped us or tried to question us. And we were careful.”

“Were you? What if someone was looking out a window and saw you? All it takes is one witness. The Brothers could come knocking at our door any minute.” Maura plants her hands on her hips, hooking her fingers through the pink sash at her waist. “You risked us all to save ten girls. And most of them aren’t even witches! What use are they?”

“Pardon me?” Prue gasps, obviously unaccustomed to having her personal worth so lightly dismissed.

Maura whirls on Prue, all lovely wide-eyed smile. “I’m forgetting my manners. Who’s this? Are you a witch?” she asks, and Prue shakes her head. Maura sighs. “Of course not. Then why did you bring her here, Cate? Are you confused about the purpose of the Sisterhood? We aren’t an orphanage. We’re not in the business of feeding and clothing strange girls off the street just out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“Oh, no one would suspect you of that.” I glance out the window. Still no Elena.

“I shan’t prevail upon your charity very long. I’ve got family in the city,” Prue says stiffly, and I pray she won’t mention Alistair. Is she his cousin? A sister? Surely not his wife; I didn’t see a ring on his finger. Whatever the connection, I don’t want Maura getting her hooks into Prue.

“At least you all made it back in one piece,” Maura grumbles.

There’s a long silence. Rory sniffles. The others look down at their laps.

Maura raises her chin. “Who?”

I bite my lip. “Brenna’s dead.”

Maura’s eyebrows shoot heavenward. “You took a mad oracle into a battle?”

“We didn’t bring her. She got out. It wasn’t Cate’s fault,” Tess insists.

“Of course not. Nothing ever is.” Maura’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “Do you hear yourself? You’re like a puppet.”

“As if you cared one whit about Brenna,” I snap. “You wanted to assassinate her weeks ago!”

Tess shoots to her feet. “And you’re a fine one to talk about being a puppet, Maura. You haven’t had a thought in your head that Inez hasn’t put there in weeks!”

I risk another glance out the window at the street. It’s empty but for the shadows. Where is Elena?

Maura notices. “Is our conversation boring you, Cate? What are you doing? Who are you looking for?”

I hesitate. Even after everything she’s done, my first instinct is not to worry Maura unnecessarily. As if she minds worrying me, breaking my heart and stomping it into pieces.

Sachi speaks first. “Elena isn’t back yet.”

Maura’s smile goes ghoulish. “What do you mean?” Her voice rises, turns shrill. “Where is she?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be standing at the window, would I?” I ask.

Maura knots her hands together. “Why aren’t you out looking for her?”

Oh. No matter what she’d have us believe, she cares. Somewhere under this brittle exterior, this merciless talk, my sister’s still got a heart.

“Elena is the canniest girl I know. I bet she has some of the Harwood girls and they’ve found a place to hide until after dark. I’m sure she’ll be home soon.”

“You’re sure? If you were so sure, you wouldn’t be waiting at the window like that!” Maura throws both hands into the air, and I flinch, thinking she’s going to toss me across the room. Has it come to this, that I’m always bracing myself for her attack? “She could be lying dead in the street for all you know!”

“Rilla saw three bodies. She would have said if one of them were Elena,” Rory points out helpfully.

“And you accuse
me
of being reckless with people,” Maura seethes. “If you’ve gotten her killed, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” My voice is low. “What more would you do to me?”

Her eyes narrow into green slits in her pretty face. “I saw you talking with him this afternoon. Right in the square, bold as brass.”

Fear slides down my spine. I parrot the same words I told Alice. “It was nothing. He was warning me that Sachi and Rory were on the list of girls to be executed. Thought I might find it upsetting.”

“I can’t believe you would have let us hang,” Rory complains, tugging at the lace cuffs of her dress.

Maura doesn’t take the diversion. “I tried to warn you before, Cate. I told you we couldn’t work with Brothers. They’re our enemies.”

“Oh, don’t pretend you did this to protect the Sisterhood. Finn was on
our
side.”

“On
your
side, perhaps. It’s not the same thing anymore.” There’s a thread of sadness in Maura’s voice, but I’m too far gone to care. “What I did—that’s on you. You didn’t listen. You’re still not listening! Every time you even
look
at him, you’re putting him in danger.” Maura shakes her head as though I’m too stupid to comprehend what she’s saying.

Which is that she’ll do it again. She’ll hurt Finn, again and again, until there’s nothing left of the man I love, until there’s nothing left but a shell who can’t think for himself.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Magic crackles through me, the static electricity of it sparking at my fingertips, lighting me up like fireworks.

“Or what?” Maura thrusts her hand into my face. There’s a jagged white line across her palm, a scar from where I hurt her. She could have had someone heal it if she’d wanted; it would have been easy enough. Perhaps she likes the reminder. “Did Cate tell you what she did? She lost control right in the middle of Cora’s funeral reception. Smashed a teacup in my hands. Anyone could have noticed; there were a dozen Brothers there. Afterward I went to her and asked her to heal the cut, and instead she made it worse.”

Tess looks at me in shock. I hadn’t told her. “Did you really do that?”

“I did, and I feel badly about it.” Not bad enough to apologize to Maura, though. “It won’t happen again.”

Rory tosses her dark hair. “I hardly blame you, if she’s going around acting like this all the time.”

“A leader can’t lose control like that. It’s a lesson I’ve learned the hard way.” Maura tuts. “You’re weak, Cate. Your misplaced sympathy for those who aren’t witches, your feelings for Finn—they make you weak.”

“No.” I think of Finn and for once I’m not sad. I’m
grateful.
“Loving the right person, having them love you back—it makes you strong. You want to be better for them—be the woman they see when they look at you—beautiful and brave and clever. You want to live up to that vision, even if—” I take a deep breath. “Even if they don’t see you that way anymore. Loving Finn has
never
made me weak, and losing him—I won’t let that break me, either. I’m stronger than you think I am.”

Rory leans forward, exposing a rather scandalous amount of bosom in her low-cut red gown. “What the hell happened in the last two weeks?”

“Rory! Shhh,” Sachi hisses, smacking her sister’s arm.

Maura smooths her emerald skirts. “I did it for you. For the Sisterhood.”

“Liar. You did it because you were jealous.” It will hurt her pride, my saying that in front of the others, but I’m past caring. “If you’d ever really been in love, you would never have done this to me.”

Maura’s eyes flash. “I was in love and you ruined it and now you’ve possibly gone and gotten her killed!”

“And how does that feel?” I ask, and Maura sputters. I stalk toward her, edging past Tess in the brown silk chair, and Maura backs away. “It’s what you’re threatening to do to Finn, isn’t it? I don’t want to hurt you, Maura. But if you ever do magic on him again, I
will.
I swear it. I will use every ounce of power I have to ensure that you won’t ever go near him again.”

“Cate!” Tess clutches at my arm, but I shake her off, staring Maura down.

“You’d choose a man over your own sister? Over your promise to Mother to look after us? That used to be the most important thing in the world to you,” Maura says.

I set my jaw. “You’ve made it quite clear you don’t need me anymore.”

Maura blinks back tears. “I don’t. I haven’t for ages,” she says, and then she flees.

“Maura, wait!” Tess calls. She presses one hand to her temple as if her headache’s flared and then runs after Maura. I can hear their footsteps pounding up the stairs.

How does Maura always manage to leave me feeling the villain?

Sachi is at my side, putting an arm around me. “Maura erased Finn’s memory?”

I nod. “The night of the Harwood breakout. He doesn’t remember me as anything more than a customer in the shop. A neighbor.”

Sachi shepherds me to the chair, and I sit. She kneels next to me, her silky black hair brushing my elbow. “You’ve got to tell him the truth.”

“I can’t. You heard her. If she sees us together, she’ll attack him again. Or Inez would, in a trice.” Sachi’s dark eyes are full of sympathy. I can hardly bear it. “Who knows what another attack would do to him. He’s already so muddled. He approached me earlier because he suspects I’ve got something to do with it, because I’m a terrible liar, and I’m supposed to meet him tonight—I had to agree to it, to get him to leave me alone—and I don’t know what to tell him!”

Sachi puts her hand over mine. “Just tell him the truth. He deserves to know.”

“What should I say?” I rub my tired eyes with both fists. “That we were in love, mad as that might seem, and my sister erased his memory? You think that will make him fall right back in love with me?”

I bury my face in my hands. When I resurface, all three girls are watching me. “I’m sorry, Prue, for subjecting you to all this. Do you have sisters?”

“A brother.” Prue pushes her spectacles up her nose with her forefinger. The gesture reminds me of Finn.

“Alistair Merriweather’s your brother?” I ask.

Prue nods, toying with her long black plait, and I can see the resemblance, especially in the eyes. She’s as pretty as her brother is handsome; it’s just hidden behind the spectacles and the clothes that don’t quite flatter or fit.