Sisters' Fate (9 page)

I try to shake off my sadness. “If you’d like to see him, I’ll take you to meet him.”

Prue frowns, and her glasses slip down her nose again. “You know where he is? He’s been in hiding for years.”

I stand. “I know where he’ll be on Thursday night. I’ve joined the Resistance movement, and there’ll be a meeting.”

Rory lets out her loud bark of a laugh. I’ve missed that sound. “What else have you done in the last two weeks, Cate? It seems you’ve been quite busy.”

• • •

Chatting with Sachi, Rory, and Prue restores my spirits. At first I fret about being so candid in front of Prue—an utter stranger—but it’s obvious that the three of them have struck up a friendship. I fill them in on the goings-on at the convent, the tension between Inez’s faction and ours. Without Tess in the room, I tell them that she’s the oracle and beg them not to treat her any differently.

“But she’s not—like Brenna?” Rory twirls a finger around her ear, unwilling to speak ill of the dead.

“No. Tess is utterly sane. But she worries about going mad, so no jokes, if you please.” I give Rory a stern look.

“Brenna borrowed this dress, didn’t she?” Rory’s brown eyes fill with tears. “It smells like her. She always loved violets.”

I nod. “She did. Tess went out and got her some scented water. They became quite close; Tess was the one who took her meals up and read to her. I think she’s more upset about Brenna than she’s letting on. I ought to go check on her and make sure Maura hasn’t taken her head off.”

“We’ll stay here and keep a lookout for Elena,” Sachi promises, poking at the fire.

“Thank you.” I give her a grateful smile.

“Cate, you saved our lives! We ought to be thanking
you,
” Rory says.

“Think about what I said,” Sachi urges as she lights the gas lamps. “You should tell Finn the truth. You deserve to be happy.”

I nod, though I don’t know what deserving has to do with it. After all, Brenna hardly deserved her fate.

Still, I ponder it as I walk upstairs to Tess’s room. Why am I so reluctant to tell Finn? Is it because of the danger he’d be in from Maura and Inez? Or is it because I’m afraid that, now that he doesn’t love me anymore, he’ll decide I’m not worth the trouble?

Worse—what if he feels
obliged
to try and love me again? Rilla suggested I could make him. But I didn’t
make
him love me the first time. I never employed any of the charming, coy little tricks that girls are meant to use to catch a husband. I was just myself.

What if that isn’t enough, a second time around?

I knock at Tess and Vi’s door, and Tess calls for me to come in. She’s lying on her bed, curled on her side. Cyclops peeks out from beneath the comforter, as though she’s just shoved him aside, embarrassed to be caught with such a childish comfort. She shouldn’t be. I’d love to have a thing that brought me comfort when I was sad or afraid.

“How did it go with Maura?” I ask.

She pats the space next to her. “Not well. She feels like you’ve chosen Finn over her.”

“Would it be so terrible if I did?” I sit, pulling off my boots so I can tuck my feet under me. “It didn’t have to be this way. She’s the one making me choose.”

“You know Maura. She’s always trying to test people, prove that they love her best.” Tess fiddles with the black lace at her cuffs. “I’m afraid we’ve both failed on that score.”

“No.” I lean forward, angry all over again. “It’s not our fault she’s got this—this chasm inside her that she’s always trying to fill.”

“We’re not to blame, but we’re not helping. She’s so hurt, Cate. She feels like everyone chooses you—Mother, Elena, Cora, me. Inez is the only one who keeps choosing Maura.” Tess takes a deep breath, holds it, and then slowly lets it out. “I know you won’t like this, but I think you ought to go to her. Tell her you didn’t mean it, that you aren’t giving up on her.”

I shake my head. “I do mean it. I
have
given up on her.”

Tess massages her temple and continues on as though I haven’t spoken, haven’t already refused. “I know she acts like she doesn’t want you looking out for her, but she needs you.”

I give an unladylike snort. “I doubt that very much. I appreciate you trying to make peace, I do, but you’ve got to stop worrying about us. Your head’s bothering you, isn’t it? You ought to lie down for a while. I’ll come tell you when Elena’s back. Unless . . .” I look at Tess’s pinched face. “You had a vision this afternoon, didn’t you? Right as we came into that alley. Did you see something about Elena?”

“No—I mean, yes, I did have a vision, but it’s nothing to do with Elena.”

Her eyes have tired shadows under them, and her shoulders are slumped, her jaw clenched. Certainly enough has happened today to account for all that, but Tess’s moods have been unpredictable lately. Is it just being twelve, and being an oracle on top of it? Or—I think back to Brenna’s warning—has Tess seen something that’s weighing on her?

“Did you know that Brenna was going to die?” I whisper. “Like with Zara?”

“No!” Tess shakes her head. “I never imagined—it’s only that I think
she
knew. She said something this morning when I brought her breakfast. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now . . . I think she was saying good-bye.”

“Me too. She said—” I pull my knees up to my chest. “She said you’re keeping a secret from me. Is it about the prophecy? Did you—did you see me hurting Maura?”

“No.” Tess grabs my knee. “It’s not that.”

“What, then? Brenna—she worried it would break you.”

“It feels that way sometimes.” Tess gives a sad little laugh. It’s too grown-up for a twelve-year-old. Too bitter. “I’m not ready to tell you yet. Give me a little more time?”

I want to press, demand that she tell me everything now. Is it something to do with Finn? With me? But Tess is clever. I have to trust that she’ll tell me when she’s ready. When it’s right.

“All right,” I agree slowly. “But you
will
tell me?”

The look in Tess’s eyes is terrible. “I don’t see how I can avoid it forever.”

CHAPTER

9

I’M BALANCING A PLATE ON MY KNEES,
spooning up mashed sweet potatoes, when the front door crashes open. Heart hammering, I jump up so quickly that my napkin and dinner roll go flying to the floor. I set the plate on the tea table and rush out of the parlor into the front hall, Mei right behind me. The rest of the convent is having supper, but we’ve been in here, worriedly keeping watch for—

Elena. She’s propped against the heavy front door as though it’s the only thing preventing her from collapse. There are six—no, seven—girls with her, all cloaked in black. One of them sinks to the floor with a moan. Another hobbles to the stairs and sits on the bottom step with the help of two friends. The rest seem overwhelmed, their frightened eyes darting around the gloom of the front hall.

“Thank the Lord,” I murmur, torn between the urge to shake Elena and embrace her. “Are you all right? What happened? I’ve been so worried! It’s been
hours.
”

Elena gives me a tired smile. “Will you tend to Jennie and Dora? They’re hurt, and my magic . . .” She waves a hand. “Sarah Mae’s got a bad bump on her head, too, where some oaf knocked her with the butt of his rifle.”

“I’ll take a look at it.” Mei kneels by the girl on the floor. “Do you think you can make it to the healing classroom? It’s right down the hall. I can fix you up there, and I’ll ask someone to bring us hot cocoa and some leftover supper.”

The girls look at Elena, who nods approval. “Go with Mei. I’ll be along in a minute.”

They scurry after Mei. Now that I see their faces, I recognize two of them—Jennie Sauter, who’s from a farm outside Chatham, and Sarah Mae, a girl I met in the uncooperative ward. The one who buried dead birds on her afternoon constitutionals.

These girls make seventeen. Seventeen prisoners saved out of sixty. That’s a sizable portion. I feel a great glad swell of relief that they’re here and they’re safe.

“What happened?” I ask again.

Elena rubs a weary hand over her face. “As soon as I got out of the square, I grabbed two girls and hid them in the storeroom of a shop on Second Street. I stood in the doorway and plucked more as they went by. A guard was chasing Dora and it’s a mercy he didn’t shoot her before I compelled him. Between that and the magic in the square, I couldn’t cast for hours. Dora’s leg’s broken, Jennie’s been shot, and Sarah Mae says she’s all right but I think she’s concussed. I thought it best to wait until it was dark and I was rested enough to disguise them. Loads of guards are still out, though. One saw Dora limping and was about to question us. If it hadn’t been for Sarah Mae’s quick thinking . . .” Elena shivers. “It was a close call. Too close.”

“I’m glad you’re all right,” I say, a little surprised by the force of my relief. “Is Sarah Mae a witch?”

Elena runs a hand through her black curls, which have come undone from their careful pompadour. They fall over her shoulders in perfect, tight black ringlets, and I realize I’ve never seen her with her hair down before. “No. She threw a rock that shattered a streetlamp and sent the guard running in the opposite direction. I don’t think any of these girls are witches.”

“Why would you risk your life for them, then?” Maura stomps around the corner, her face puffy, eyelids pink and swollen from crying.

“Maura—” Elena begins.

“No! I don’t care what you’re about to say, what reason you have. It’s not sufficient. You cannot go around putting yourself in danger like this. I won’t allow it!” Maura stamps one foot, clad in a pretty pink slipper that matches the sash at her waist.

I expect Elena to argue with her, to insist that Maura hasn’t got any say over what she does or does not do. Instead, a tiny smile plays over her lips. “Is this your way of saying you were worried about me?”

“Of course I was worried about you!” Maura plants her hands on her hips. “I used to think you were clever, you know. But you’re nothing but a—a fool! Good Lord, what were you
thinking
?” She turns to me, eyes like ice, and I brace myself. “You weren’t thinking, obviously. Just following Cate’s orders.”

Elena laughs. “Maura. Call me all the names you like, but you can’t blame this on Cate.”

“Of course she can,” I mutter. “She always finds a way.”

“You should know better than anyone that I don’t follow orders well.” Elena’s chocolate eyes rest on my sister’s face. “Everything I did today, I did because my own conscience told me it was the right thing to do.”

“Then you’re a complete imbecile,” Maura says. “The entire point of being a witch is that we can protect ourselves! Letting yourself get so drained that you couldn’t even compel—”

“I’m fine,” Elena interrupts, voice soft. She lays a hand on Maura’s ruffled emerald sleeve. “I’m safe.”

Maura’s cheeks go pink. “Well, good.” Her eyes fall to the wooden floor. “You’re one of the best witches we’ve got. There are only a handful of us capable of mind-magic, and we’ll need all—”

Elena jerks away as though she’s been burnt. “
That’s
why you were worried? If I’d been murdered, your army would have one less witch with mind-magic?” She shakes her head, curls tumbling, and finally spares a glance for me. “I’m going to check on the girls. They were terrified half out of their minds on the walk here.”

She turns the corner in four long, angry strides. Maura sputters. “What—what did I do?”

“If you don’t know, then
you’re
the imbecile.” I pause before following Elena. “She deserves better than you, Maura.”

• • •

“This is like a scene from one of my novels. Sneaking out for a romantic midnight tryst!” Rilla bounces on the leather seat of the carriage.

“It’s only ten o’clock, and it’s hardly going to be romantic.” I fidget with the button on my black satin glove. “I haven’t even figured out what to tell him.”

“You should tell him the truth.” Rilla peers out between the curtains. “I’ve never seen so many guards on patrol. I’ve never been out this late, either. It feels rather scandalous.”

“It feels stupid to me,” I mutter as the carriage turns into the narrow alley behind the Fifth Street shops. It’s late enough that most people should be abed, Rilla and I among them. If Maura knew what I was doing, she would call me seven different kinds of a fool, and she might be right.

I tug on the threads of magic running through my body, twining alongside bone and muscle, but I only feel the barest trace of power. Jennie Sauter lost a great deal of blood, and neither Mei nor Addie were able to patch her up. They worried she might lose the arm. In the end, I was able to heal her, but after all the day’s exertions, it sapped what magic I had left. Elena flat-out forbade me to come tonight. But if I missed my meeting with Finn, he would come to the convent; I’m certain of it. And I’d rather risk my own safety than his.

The carriage rolls to a stop. I hop out and help Rilla down into the shadowy alley. The coachman, Robert, sits on the carriage box. “Come back for us in an hour?” I ask.

“Thirty minutes. It’s a bad night to be out,” he insists with a fatherly frown. He doesn’t wait for my agreement before clucking to the horse and heading off.

My hand is tugging on the ruby necklace at my throat when I hear heavy steps turning the corner.

“Halt!” a male voice cries out. I cringe.

The guard is a tall, broad-shouldered man with blond hair and a mustache. He closes the distance between us quickly. “Sisters? What are you doing out at this hour?”

“We . . .” I start, then fall silent as my mind goes blank. I should have prepared a lie. Rilla just stands next to me, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

The guard shoulders his rifle, peering closer. He smells strongly of pipe tobacco. “Unless you ain’t really Sisters. I wouldn’t be the first man fooled by a witch today. State your business, or I’m taking you to the National Council building for questioning.”

What reasonable excuse could good religious girls have for being alone in a back alley at ten o’clock at night? In a fit of inspiration, I remember the woman coughing in the square earlier. “We’re paying a call on the sick. A family with the fever.” I wave a vague hand toward a house with a light still on.

“To pray for them. With them. They’ve got a boy who’s bad off,” Rilla adds, twisting her hands together in a convincing display of distress. “Poor little Johnny. They aren’t sure he’ll make it through the night.”

“Fever’s spreading? I thought it was just them river rats coming down with it.” The guard looks toward the house, alarmed, and then scowls. “Wait a minute. That don’t sound quite right. Why wouldn’t you go in the front, instead of sneaking around through the alleys? Where’s your carriage?”

“Oh, well, we . . .” Blast. I tug on my magic, frantically sorting through possible plans of escape.

More footsteps turn the corner. The dim moonlight glitters on a pair of glasses. Finn. I breathe a silent prayer as his eyes meet mine, and he takes in the guard and the gun.

“What’s this?” He strolls closer. Ambling as if he hasn’t a care in the world. But his back is straight, chin up, and I know that look. “You aren’t detaining these good Sisters, are you? They’re here to meet with me.”

“Meet you?” The guard keeps his gun pointed at us. “Then why did they just spin some nonsense about nursing a sick boy?”

Finn gives his gap-toothed grin. “It’s a matter of security.”

“Security, huh?” The guard raises his thick eyebrows. “Look, what is this all about? If you’re out to have some fun with one of them, just say so.”

Finn’s smile goes tight. “These girls are here to give me information about a suspected witch. They’re risking a great deal. I ought to report you for insulting them.”

Oh, he’s magnificent.

I do my best to look outraged at the notion of having a bit of fun with him, when really I want nothing more than to hurl myself into his arms.

The guard relaxes his hold on the rifle. “I apologize, sir.”

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to.” Finn’s voice is low, dangerous. Thrilling.

The guard nods. “I meant no disrespect, Sisters.”

“That’s all right,” Rilla says graciously. “It’s been a difficult day.”

“You may go,” Finn commands. “I’ll see them safely home.”

The guard goes. As soon as he’s out of sight, I rush to the back door of O’Neill’s Stationery, the ruby already transforming into a key in my hands. “Quickly, before someone else comes,” I urge, ushering them into the dark storeroom.

By the time I’ve got the door closed and locked behind us, Rilla’s lit a candle. Her hands are trembling, sending shadows dancing all around us. “That was a close call.”

“Careful, or this place will go up like a tinderbox,” Finn warns, eyeing the shelves of stationery.

“Finn, this is Rilla Stephenson, my roommate. Rilla, this is Finn Belastra.” I loop the necklace back around my neck. My nerves are still jangling—not so much from the encounter with the guard as from Finn’s proximity. He is bound to ask questions that I can’t—won’t—answer. What if it makes him hate me?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stephenson,” Finn says. He turns to me. “Is there somewhere private we can talk, Cate?”

My heart gives a silly little flutter. “Why don’t you stay here, Rilla, and we’ll go down to the cellar?”

“Take your time.” Rilla slips a hand into her pocket and pulls out one of her romance novels. “I brought a book.”

Finn chuckles, delighted. They’re of the same tribe, these two, never without a book in hand. I head downstairs, and he follows me with another candle. He sets it down on the table, shucking off his cloak and laying it over the back of a wooden chair.

“Thank you for coming to our rescue. That could have gone badly.” I’m not quite sure what to do with my hands. I toy with Mother’s pearl ring, trying not to think about the engagement ring Finn gave me months ago. I gave it back to him when I announced my intention to join the Sisterhood. Where is it now?

He braces his hands against the back of the chair. His rumpled white shirt is rolled up to the elbows, displaying forearms wiry with muscle and spotted with freckles.

I have the absurd urge to trace the patterns they form over his tanned skin.

“Are you a witch?” he asks.

I respect him all the more for coming straight out with it.

I should lie to him. For his own good. I should, but I don’t. “Yes,” I say quietly. “But I’m not the one who erased your memory. I swear it.”

He leans forward, squinting. “How do you know my memory’s been erased, then?”

My breath catches. Because I was there when it happened. I know who’s responsible. I will never forgive her for it, and yet I still want to protect her. Or Finn. Or myself. My reasoning is cloudy, even to me.

“Because I know you,” I say finally.

“Do you?” His voice is soft. “I don’t remember much about you at all. It’s the most curious thing. Like little pieces of me have been carved right out. I do things, think things,
feel
things, and I don’t know why. And then there’s the missing time. Hours here and there, whole evenings, just . . . gone.” He snaps his ink-stained fingers. “I remember working in Denisof’s office that afternoon, helping with some correspondence, and then it’s all a blank, right up until I found myself on the convent steps with you. Where was I before that? It’s a mystery to me. A vexing one.”

The frustration of it is plain in his voice. It twists his lips and furrows his forehead, and I want so badly to fix this, to fix
him.

“You were with me. At Harwood Asylum.”

A grin ghosts across his face. “I helped break out the patients?”

I nod, an answering smile playing over my lips. “You were instrumental.”

He turns his head and swears like a sailor. “I knew it! That’s why I joined the Brotherhood, isn’t it? As a spy?”

His relief breaks my heart. I tap my fingers against the rough wood of the chair nearest me. Anything to keep myself from going to him, throwing my arms around him, and begging his forgiveness.

Begging him to remember me.

“Yes. That, and to keep your mother safe.”

“Thank you.” His voice is fervent as a prayer; his smile is huge and exuberant. “It’s been driving me mad. The letters from my mother—she doesn’t come out and say it, but she implies there’s another reason for me to be in New London. I’ve never been what you’d call devout, and Mother—well, you know how she is. She raised me to question things, not follow doctrine. I couldn’t think what the hell I was doing in the Brotherhood. Pardon my language.”