Star Cursed: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book Two

by Spotswood, Jessica

  So am I.

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  CHAPTER

  10

  SISTER INEZ KEEPS ME AFTER CLASS the next afternoon. I plod slowly to her desk, dreading the reprimand I’m about to receive. Today’s lesson was on glamouring ourselves to look like specific Brothers. Rilla was marvelous, spooking us all with her eerie impersonation of Covington. Maura transformed herself into Brother Ishida for most of class. But though I kept a very distinct image of O’Shea in my head, I couldn’t maintain the illusion for more than two minutes at a time. The result—my chocolate brocade dress with his long, thin face and bald head—was deserving of Alice and Maura’s snickering, and this lecture, too.

  Truth be told, I can’t stop worrying about Tess. I never relished the notion of being the prophesied witch, but I hate that the burden has fallen on her small shoulders instead. It will be four years yet before she comes of age and leads the Sisterhood, but in the meantime, she will want to be involved in Inez’s governance—and I can’t help wondering how Inez will react to that. Tess is young, but she’s always had very strong opinions; she won’t be anyone’s puppet. Will Inez be willing to take her feelings under advisement, or will she—like Maura—wave off Tess’s opinions as those of an immature child?

  I’m proud of Tess for keeping her head, despite her fear. She really is the smartest and be nessthphesiedst of the three of us.

  “We have a problem, Miss Cahill,” Sister Inez says now. Her voice is hard, clipped, and I realize that this is more serious than my performance today.

  “We do?” I ask.

  “Brother Belastra has applied to be Denisof’s clerk, but it seems that someone is standing in his way. In our way.”

  “Who?” Finn isn’t beholden to anyone except his mother. Has something happened in Chatham? I remember Hannah Maclay and shiver.

  “Brother Ishida is reluctant to give up his new recruit,” Inez says. As she speaks, she casts illusions over the books on her shelves, transforming them from magical textbooks into respectable Spanish primers. The twelve hand mirrors that showed our Brotherly reflections become a dozen small easels displaying innocent watercolors. “He claims Belastra should serve the Chatham council for a full year before he begins elsewhere. Denisof is of much higher standing, but clerks are a dime a dozen; he won’t choose Belastra if it will make a fuss.”

  Blast. Of all the people to stand in our way, it has to be Ishida. I hate that man. “What should we do?”

  “How much do you want Brother Belastra to remain in New London?” Inez asks.

  My eyes meet hers. “Very much.” Perhaps I ought to let him go, see this as a sign that he would be safer at home, but the thought of him going back to Chatham is devastating.

  “You know Ishida. Call on him. Compel him to let Belastra go.” Inez leans over the desk toward me like a long black shadow. “Can you do that?”

  My mouth curves into a smile. Truth be told, it would not trouble me to use mind-magic on Ishida. “I can.”

  “Excellent. Time is of the essence, Miss Cahill.” There’s a sense of barely leashed impatience in her as she taps her skinny fingers against the desk. “Tell Belastra that his first order of business will be to discover the time and location of the next Head Council meeting.”

  “I’ll take care of it today,” I promise.

  This time I don’t ask any questions.

  I can’t find Rory anywhere—not in the third-floor room she shares with Daisy or in the sitting room or in the kitchen. The library is an unlikely place for her, but I check there, too. Sister Gretchen sits behind her desk, reading a German novel and watching over a dozen studying girls.

  “Have you seen Rory?” I whisper.

  “Cora sent for her a few minutes ago,” Gretchen says.

  Oh, no. I take the steps two at a time. What has Rory done to warrant a disciplinary meeting already? She promised me she’d behave! She’s seemed fine—a little subdued, perhaps, but I haven’t smelled sherry on her once or heard her making inappropriate jokes—though, honestly, I’ve been preoccupied. Perhaps I should have been looking after her more. She must be lonely and half mad with worry for Sachi.

  Sachi. I’ve hardly thought of her lately, in all the bustle of my sisters arriving. What sort of place are they holding her in? What must she be going through, waiting for her trial, knowing how likely it is she’ll be sentenced to Harwood for the rest of her life?

  I burst into Sister Cora’s sitting room in a panic. “Whatever she’s done, she’s sorry,” I announce breathlessly. “Please don’t dismiss her.”

  “Catherine,” Sister Cora says, “what on earth are you talking about?”

  “Me, I think.” Rory’s sitting in one of the green-flowered chairs by the window, in a tomato-red dress with enormous puffed sleeves and a daring décolletage. She looks more courtesan than nun. “She thinks I’ve been misbehaving. Reasonable assumption, really, but I’ve been a model student, Cate. No flirting with men on the sidewalks.”

  Sister Cora chuckles. Sister Sophia must have been to see her recently; she looks hale and hearty in a purple gown with silver fringe. “It’s not a disciplinary meeting. I wanted to speak with her about her cousin Brenna.”

  “Oh. Well.” I hover in the doorway awkwardly. “I’m sorry for doubting you, Rory.”

  “You’re forgiven. It’s quite nice, really, the way you came flying to my rescue.”

  Sister Cora beckons me in. “Now that you’re here, you may as well join us. Victoria was just giving me a bit of background on Brenna.” She waves a hand, and the high-backed desk chair slides across the room to rest opposite her and Rory.

  Rory nods, the red feather in her hair wagging. “We grew up together, in and out of each other’s houses a dozen times a day. Brenna’s father and my stepfather, Jack, were brothers.” Rory’s brown eyes dance, remembering, but then the light in them dims. “When my mother—fell ill, Brenna’s family kept her from visiting so much.”

  “How did you find out about her prophecies?” Cora asks.

  “Brenna came to us the day before Jack died. She told him not to go Newburgh—not to go anywhere he couldn’t walk. He laughed it off. And then on the way back from Newburgh, his horse spooked and the carriage crashed into a tree. Just like Brenna said it would. The day after the funeral, her father sent her to Harwood.”

  So Brenna tried to stop it. She must have known how dangerous it was to speak of having visions, but she tried to warn him anyway, and look what thanks she got for her troubles.

  No one can find out what Tess is.

  “She’s always been a bit odd, but it was Harwood that turned her mind,” Rory says, her full lips pursed, and I know that she must be thinking of Sachi. Of whether that place will break her sister, just as it did her cousin.

  “Was it Harwood, or was it her prophecies? Do oracles often go mad?” I’m frightened to ask, but I need to know. Have there been others besides Brenna and Thomasina?

  “She’s not the first,” Sister Cora sighs. “But Brenna’s visions aren’t the cause of her illness—or at least they’re not the only cause. I daresay you girls ought to know the truth of it, especially you, Cate.”

  Rory and I exchange mystified glances.

  “We tried to intervene at Brenna’s first trial. When I heard she was an oracle, I wanted her safe at the Sisterhood. Witch or no, it was the best place for her.” Sister Cora’s voice is kind, as though they were doing Brenna a favor. “As she wasn’t a witch, however, we gave Brenna the choice. She refused to come to New London with us. She was frightened; she wanted to stay in Chatham. Honestly, I didn’t think it would be long before she was arrested again.”

  “So you sent her to Harwood?” Rory shoots to her feet, incensed.

  Sister Cora holds up a silencing hand. “That wasn’t our original intention. I meant to erase her memory of the conversation and our presence there. I’d brought a student with me who was capable of mind-magic; I thought it beneficial for her to witness a trial. I a
llowed her to compel Brenna. Unfortunately, it all went wrong. Understand—this is a risk we take, each and every time we perform mind-magic. Brenna’s not been the same since.”

  Alice must be the one who ruined Brenna.

  Brenna’s creepy chatter makes sense, suddenly. Holes in my head. The crows put them there. They came to my trial. The Brothers left me alone with them. I was so frightened. I thought they would peck out my eyes, but they only took my memories.

  I’m so horrified I can hardly think straight. This is why Mother preached against mind-magic, why it mustn’t ever be used casually.

  At the same time, a tiny part of me is relieved. Brenna’s madness isn’t because of her visions. That’s one less thing for Tess to fret about.

  There are tears in Rory’s brown eyes. “You broke her. You let a student practice on her, you broke her, and then you abandoned her!”

  “Victoria, I understand this is difficult for you. Please, sit down, so we can discuss it,” Cora says. “Brenna wasn’t well. Harwood was the best place for her.”

  “Harwood isn’t a place anyone goes to get better,” I object. Cora must know that.

  “That’s a lie. You were afraid she would give you away,” Rory accuses, looming over us. She’s as tall as I am, but voluptuous in all the places I’m not. Her eyes narrow. “You sent her there to rot, thinking no one would pay any mind to the ravings of a madwoman. But now they are paying attention, and you—I’ve heard the rumors. The war council met to discuss killing her!” Tears run down Rory’s face, and she’s trembling like a snowflake on the November wind.

  “I’m sorry.” Sister Cora spreads her hands wide, shaking her snowy head. “I would like to promise you that no harm will come to Brenna from the Sisterhood, but I cannot. My first duty is to protect our girls, especially the next oracle. I can only tell you that, for now, we intend Brenna no injury.”

  I wince. Lord, what a dreadful decision to make.

  I’m glad I’m not the one who has to make it.

  Will it be Tess soon? If Tess argued against killing Brenna but Inez argued for it, whose vote would win out? Would Tess have a vote, as the future headmistress? I am helping Inez, and yet it strikes me that if I were the oracle and had to let her rule in my stead for a matter of years instead of months, I would not be entirely comfortable with the arrangement.

  “Can’t promise? Won’t, you mean. If it were Cate, you’d move heaven and earth to get her free,” Rory says bitterly. “But my cousin—my sister—they’re expendable!”

  She stomps toward the door, her words reminding me of Zara’s warnings about Cora. Then she’s flailing, sliding back toward us. She collapses awkwardly into her chair, as if pushed by an invisible hand.

  Sister Cora rises. There’s no sign of her pain today; her movements are graceful and strong. “You should thank Persephone it is not Cate. Do you know what could happen if it were? The prophecy says very clearly that if she falls into the hands of the Brothers, it could cause a second Terror.” Glaring down at Rory, her tall body clad in purple, Cora still looks like a fierce old queen. “Brenna wouldn’t be the only one imprisoned. We’d all be locked up, or worse. Burnt in our beds at night like the witches in the Great Temple, or in town squares throughout New England. Beheaded in front of our families—and our families beheaded, too, as sympathizers, if they tried to interfere. Weighted down with stones and thrown into rivers to drown. Is that what you want?”

  “Of course not! I just want my family back!” Rory shouts.

  “Rory. Let’s go to my room and talk,” I suggest, pulling her away. I need to get her out of here before she loses control. Frankly, I think she has a point. Sister Cora had a duty to Brenna, and she failed her.

  “You can’t fix this, Cate.” Out in the hallway, Rory grips her satin skirt in both fists as she sinks against the wall. I pull her into the alcove of the third-floor window seat. We settle onto the soft cushions, staring out at the slush falling from the gray sky.

  “I can’t fix Brenna,” I admit. “And I can’t stop Sachi from being sent to Harwood. I wish I could make it right, but I don’t know how.”

  Rory sniffles. “I want to go to her trial.”

  “I’m not s“oulsure that’s a good idea.” Rory’s been learning to control her magic and her temper, but under those circumstances—well, who wouldn’t be tested?

  Rory frowns. “I’m not asking you for permission, Cate. She needs to see a friendly face.” There’s a touch of iron in her voice.

  “Well, then I’ll go with you; you mustn’t go alone,” I decide, crossing my ankles. “But first, we need to find out when the trial is. Your father would know that, wouldn’t he? Even if he’s not planning to attend?”

  “I doubt he’ll be able to stay away. Maybe he’ll even testify against her.” Rory reaches up and adjusts her feather, which has blown askew in the draft from the window. “The way he’s acting now would break her heart.”

  My lips twitch into a smile. There is one thing I can do for Rory. “How would you like a chance to tell him what you think of him? Without being arrested for insubordination?”

  Rory squints at me. “How is that possible?”

  “It just so happens that I’ve got an errand to run that involves your father and compulsion,” I confess. “Would you like to come with me?”

  She grins. “I’d have to be mad to pass that up.”

  • • •

  The cobbled sidewalks are covered in a thick, slippery layer of ice, and it’s treacherous going. Perhaps we should have waited for the carriage to be free after all. Freezing rain pelts down, stinging my exposed nose and cheeks. Above us, the sky is a stormy gray just the color of Tess’s eyes.

  Rory pauses before a four-story brick hotel. A doorman in black livery ushers us inside, where our cloaks drip onto the white marble floor. Rory leads the way to the second floor, where she hammers on a heavy oak door. The hallway around us is papered in rich gold, with ornate crown moldings. I feel like a sodden mess in this elegant place, but hopefully the Sisterhood’s cloaks afford us at least a little respectability. It’s a long, nervous moment before Brother Ishida opens the door, dressed in black trousers and a gray collared shirt. It’s strange to see him without his black cloak of office. It makes him look more like a man, a father, than a priest.

  “Miss Elliott.” He nods brusquely, not quite meeting her eyes. “Ah, and Sister Catherine. Good day.”

  Now that the moment is here, Rory seems to have lost all her bravado. She stares at her father wordlessly.

  “May we come in, sir?” I ask. “We’d like to speak with you.”

  “Certainly.” He steps back, bowing. My hand flies to my cheek. The cut has healed, and he won’t remember slapping me for my insubordination. Tess saw to that. But I’ll never forget it, nor the ravings that accompanied it. He said if it were up to him, he’d resurrect the burnings.

  The memory strengthens my resolve.

  “How can I help you?” Brother Ishida forgoes the usual ceremony, gesturing for us to sit on the green sofa. His sitting room is grand: full of velvet sofas and chairs, heavy gold damask drapes with a leafy print, and shining rosewood tea tables with curved legs like serpents’ heads. A brown and gold Oriental rug stretches across the wooden floor, and gas lamps with gold fixtures give off a bright, steady glow despite the gloom outside.

  “Have you had any news of Sachi?” I ask.

  “She’s in prison, awaiting her trial, as she ought to be,” Brother Ishida says flatly, taking the chair opposite us.

  “As she ought to be?” Rory echoes.

  “Indeed.” He turns black marble eyes on her. “She is a witch. She deserves whatever punishment the New London council deems appropriate.”

  “Do you know when her trial is?” I ask.

  “Saturday,” he says.

  “Have you been to see her?” Rory asks. “Is she well?”

  Brother Ishida taps his fingers on the dragon’s head carved into the arm of his chair. �
�I have not, nor will I.”

  I expected it, but I’m still taken aback by his coldness.

  “It’s that easy for you to cut her out of your heart, just like that?” Rory snaps her fingers.

  Brother Ishida eyes her with distaste. “It was not easy, but it is the Lord’s will. The moment Sachiko first did magic, she erased herself from our family and from all good society. She is a blot on the Ishida name, and I will not—”

  “But she’s still your daughter,” Rory says, her voice low and tense. “Isn’t there anything you could do for her? To help her?”

  “Do not interrupt me.” Brother Ishida tugs at his collar with fleshy fingers. “There is nothing I could do, even if I were moved to intercede. And I am not. I have erased Sachiko’s name from our book of Scriptures. I no longer have a daughter.”

  Rory gives a strangled laugh. “Yes, you do.”

  A strand of black hair falls over Ishida’s forehead as he shakes his head. “No. I have cast Sachiko out. That is my duty to—”

  “I don’t mean Sachi,” Rory says softly. “Me. I’m your daughter.”

  Brother Ishida freezes, his eyes darting to me. “That’s ludicrous.”

  “It’s not. You gave my mother money to keep her quiet.” Rory lifts her chin. “I’m your daughter.”

  Brother Ishida rises, his face flushed with anger. He turns to me, not Rory. “Lydia Elliott is a common slut. She could have consorted with half a dozen men. Sister Catherine, I beg you not to listen to this nonsense.”

  “Is it nonsense?” I ask, my hands clasped in my lap. “There have been—rumors, to the contrary.”

  “That’s nothing but malicious gossip!” He turns on Rory, the vein in his forehead bulging. “How dare you come here and prey on a father’s grief? What a scheming, manipulative girl you are. Perhaps you knew of my daughter’s witchery—even encouraged it, thinking you could make a place for yourself in my home. As if the likes of you could ever replace my Sachiko! You were never worthy of her friendship. Perhaps you’re the one who taught her such wicked ways!”