Star Cursed: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book Two

by Spotswood, Jessica

  “I may never see them again,” she says softly.

  “Don’t think like that.” I kneel next to her.

  “Aw, Mei,” Yang says, putting his hand on her shoulder.

  She shrugs him off. “At least you got to say good-bye!”

  “Did they say how long the sentence will be?” I ask.

  Yang gulps. “Five years.”

  I stare down at the ugly brown rug, wondering if they would have been released had we not interfered. Instead of preventing her vision, did Tess and I make it happen?

  “At least it’s not Harwood,” he offers. “They have a chance, this way.”

  Mei stands, squaring her sq make shoulders, throwing off her despair in one quick movement. “They’ll make it through this. We’ve got to have faith.”

  “In who, the Lord? The Brothers?” Yang scoffs.

  “In Li and Hua. They’re strong girls. Smart. They’ll look out for each other.” Mei puts her hand on her brother’s arm. “You’re the oldest one at home now that Li’s gone. You have to watch out for the little ones and help Baba in the shop. And you mustn’t do anything rash, understand?”

  Yang nods. He’s only fifteen himself. “I won’t.”

  “Good. Get on home now,” Mei says, giving him a quick hug. “Be careful.”

  “I will,” he says, shuffling off, face red. His pant legs and coat are still dripping from the long walk here through the snow.

  Mei waves to him, shivering, from the open doorway. Vi’s father, Robert, is shoveling a path down the front steps. The sky is still a heavy gray, and snowflakes are still falling, but they’re the fat ones that mean the storm is tapering off. We watch until Yang disappears down the street, and then Mei walks back into the parlor, plops down onto the settee, and looks at me with utter despair.

  “I should go home,” she says.

  “I’m sure everyone would understand if you want to be with your family for a few days.” I crouch to light the fire.

  “I mean for good. If I left, perhaps I could get work from someone on the quiet. I’m not the seamstress Li is, but I could try. Or I could look after the little ones so Mama could work,” Mei says.

  I sprawl onto the hearth, rearranging the logs with the poker. “You’ll be seventeen in a few weeks. You’d have to find a husband right quick.”

  Mei kicks off her red slippers and tucks her feet beneath her. “Baba has friends whose sons want Chinese wives. Their families might pay a dowry for me. I’m not doing any good here. How long will it be before the Brothers shut the convent school down entirely?”

  “I’d be sad to see you go,” I admit, thrusting the poker into the fire again. A log crashes down with a shower of sparks. Selfishly, I hope she’ll stay and help me with the Harwood plan. My stomach tightens just thinking of it. It’s down to three days now. Elena’s been away this week, visiting family across town, but she was at breakfast. I’ll have to go to her and beg for help, loathe as I am to do it.

  There’s a timid knock on the door, and Tess peers in at us. She’s smiling, expecting news of the jailbreak. “What happened to your sisters, Mei?”

  I wave her away, nerves jangling. She’s going to be devastated. “I’ll tell you later, Tess.”

  Her smile falters. “No. Tell me now.”

  Mei props her chin on her knees. “They escaped yesterday, but they were recaptured this morning.”

  “No.” Tess’s gray eyes go enormous. “How?”

  “The guards were going house to house, rearresting all the prisoners, Yang said. They’re all being sentenced to five years on the prison ship.”

  “No. Oh, no. This is all my fault.” Tess sinks right to the floor, her gray taffeta skirts puddling around her.

  “Tess,” I warn, jumping up to pull the door closed behind her, “don’t be silly. You had nothing to do with this!”

  “I thought I changed it,” Tess mutters, tears gathering in her eyes. “I thought it worked. They were free. Cate, this means—”

  “I know,” I interrupt, kneeling next to her. We no longer have an example of a vision that hasn’t come to pass, a prophecy that was proven false.

  I can’t think about that now. I shove it to the back of my mind, filing it away for later. Right now I have to help Tess through this. She’s so clever, and she’s beend ing arn so careful, surely she won’t—

  “I’m sorry. I am so sorry,” she says to Mei.

  Sometimes I forget she’s also twelve.

  Mei isn’t stupid. “Yang said witches released the prisoners yesterday. That was you? Is that why you were asking me all the questions about where they were being kept?”

  Tess nods, and I want to clap a hand over her mouth to keep her from talking about prophecies, but I daresay that would be suspicious in itself. “I was only trying to help. It was freezing in there, and they were cold and hungry, and it was an old slaughterhouse.” She sniffles. “What if I made it happen?”

  I let out a little laugh. “Tess, you’re not making any sense. You couldn’t have known.” I stand, trying to pull her to her feet, but she doesn’t budge. “You’re upset. Let me take you upstairs.”

  She stares across the room, gazing out the frosty window. “The sky was gray like this, with big fat snowflakes. Just like when a snowstorm starts—or ends, perhaps. I saw the sky yesterday, and I thought, Now. This is my chance. I can change things. I was arrogant.”

  I glance nervously at Mei. “Come on, Tess. Let’s go upstairs.”

  “I failed them.” Tess buries her face in her hands.

  Mei is staring at us both. She gets up, and I think she’s going to storm away, but instead she stands on tiptoe and pulls the copper grate shut. Even then, she comes and crouches on the floor with us.

  “Tess, you’re the oracle?” she whispers.

  Tess raises her tearstained face. “Please forgive me.”

  “No one knows, Mei,” I warn. “Not even Maura. No one.”

  “I won’t tell. I swear it.” Mei is looking at Tess with sudden reverence, like she’s a god instead of a girl. Like she hasn’t seen Tess spill tea all over herself or beaten her at chess or teased her over awful Chinese pronunciations. “I thought perhaps—yesterday, when you went all funny during our lesson—”

  “I’m sorry.” Tess is sobbing, her whole body trembling. “I wanted to save them. I never thought the Brothers would have recorded all their names and where they lived.”

  “Shhh. Shhh, we know.” I look to Mei, praying that she’ll help Tess forgive herself. “Yesterday at breakfast, when she had that dizzy spell—she had a vision of the prisoners being put onto the ship. She wanted to stop it.”

  Mei puts a tentative hand on Tess’s knee. “I bet some of them got away. Yang said if the guards had come an hour later, Li and Hua would have been gone to our cousin’s. I bet a lot of the prisoners weren’t home or gave false addresses, or something.”

  “I couldn’t change it. It was always going to happen like this.” Tess wipes away tears with the backs of both hands. “The books say the oracles are infallible, but there’s never been a witch who was an oracle before, so I thought—but I was wrong. No matter how many awful things I see, I’ll never be able to stop them.”

  I look helplessly at Mei. This isn’t as simple as a bruise to kiss, a tangled lace to straighten, or a missing necklace to find. This is a waking nightmare, and I don’t know how to fix it.

  “You were brave to try,” Mei says. “That’s all we can do, isn’t it?”

  “Can you ever forgive me?” Tess’s voice is small.

  “Nothing to forgive.” Mei pats her again. “And you needn’t worry—your secret’s safe with me.”

  • • •

  We talk a bit, until Tess is sufficiently calm, and then I take her upstairs and see her snuggled back into bed with Cyclops and one of Maura’s romance novels. Strange bedfellows, but both owsa bit, untseem to comfort her, and it serves to remind me again that she is a strange mix of woman and child, carrying a burde
n far too heavy for her.

  I’ve got to do everything I can to help her. Even if it means making a deal with the devil.

  “Come in,” Elena says when I knock at her door. Her bedroom is smaller than the double rooms students share, but big enough for a canopy bed draped in gauzy pink and a settee covered in soft yellow chintz. There’s a satchel lying open on the bed, as though she was just unpacking.

  She gestures for me to sit on the settee. “How was your trip?” I ask.

  “You noticed I was gone? I’m flattered, Cate.” Elena sits at her dressing table. “I was visiting my aunt on the other side of town. Inez told me to go off and clear my head, with the understanding that I’d return cured of any romantic feelings for a student.”

  I gasp at her frankness. “Romantic feelings for a—for Maura, you mean?”

  “For a clever girl, you can be utterly obtuse about people.” Elena’s words are mild, without bite, but I bristle anyway. She has that effect on me.

  “Well, you did say—”

  “That she misunderstood my feelings. That I didn’t return her affections. That kissing her was a mistake,” Elena recites. She rubs a weary hand over her face. “I am well aware of what I said. I lied.”

  I wince. “Why?”

  “Because I was foolish and ambitious, and I thought I could forget my feelings for her.” Elena sighs. “My purpose in that house was to procure you for the Sisterhood, not to dally with your sister. And you said quite plainly that you would not cooperate with me, ever, unless I told her I’d only been using her. Lying seemed—prudent at the time.”

  It’s true, then. Maura’s heartbreak was my fault. “I never dreamed you actually cared for her.”

  “Why?” Elena’s dark eyes snap at me. “She’s beautiful, you know. And bright and fierce, and that smile of hers—who could help but fall in love with her?”

  “You threatened her and Tess, repeatedly!”

  “They were the only leverage we had over you until we discovered your romance with the gardener.” Elena waves a hand dismissively, and anger flares through me. “I tried to make amends, you know. Or perhaps you don’t. Your sister is many things, but quick to forgive a slight? She’s better at holding grudges than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “True.” I feel an odd, unexpected sympathy for Elena. “Perhaps, in time—”

  “I don’t think so.” Elena shrugs, but her voice cracks just a little. “Perhaps she could get beyond me lying to her, making her think I didn’t care, even humiliating her in front of you and Tess. But choosing you over her? I don’t think she’ll ever forgive that.”

  I look at her—really look. Elena’s got the most marvelous game face of anyone I’ve ever met. But her long, elegant fingers are twisting together as she fiddles with the pink lace at her wrist. Her black curls are disheveled from the wind moaning outside the windows, and she hasn’t bothered to put on earbobs or line her fingers with rings. By her own high standards, she looks half a mess.

  “At any rate,” she says, looking back at me just as curiously, “I doubt you’re here to discuss my relationship with your sister.”

  “No.” I jiggle my leg nervously and then cross my ankles. I loathe this. “I need your help.”

  Elena smiles. “Why the change of heart?”

  I force myself not to take the words back. This is no time to be petty. I need someone who understands the workings of the Sisterhood better than I do, and Gretchen is too preoccupied. “Cora says I can trust you.”

  I expla="1etty. I in Inez’s plan to attend the Head Council meeting and destroy their minds. Elena listens, her full lips pursed, then says, “I don’t see how we can put a stop to it, either. And the repercussions are sure to be dreadful.”

  “It’s hard to know what the Brothers might do in response, but I’m hoping we can mitigate a little of the damage,” I suggest, tapping my fingers against the yellow arm of the settee. “The first place the Brothers will strike back is at Harwood. But if we can break all the girls out of Harwood the same night as the Head Council meeting, and bring some of the ones who are witches back to the convent, we’ll save them and increase our numbers. There’s just one problem. I know how to get in, but not how to get them all out.”

  Elena tosses her hair, some of her insouciance returning. “The biggest problem is that the girls are drugged, isn’t it? They can’t help themselves once you free them or access their own magic.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Paul McLeod is working at Harwood, isn’t he, on the new construction?” she asks, and I nod. “Maura’s been flirting with him to provoke you—and me, I expect, which has worked rather nicely. But she’s also been plying him with questions. I daresay you could use the same tactic.”

  I make a face. “You want me to flirt with Paul to gather information?”

  “I wouldn’t be so crass—not when we both know your heart lies elsewhere.” Elena smirks, and I glare at her. “But if you were to call at his office—I daresay they aren’t working out on the site in this weather. And they would have floor plans for Harwood there. Who knows what you could find that might be helpful?”

  “Won’t Paul suspect me, once he hears about a mutiny at the asylum?” Elena stares at me, as though the answer to that is obvious, and I shift uncomfortably on the settee. “No. He’s my oldest friend, I couldn’t—”

  “You could,” Elena interrupts, smoothing her pink skirts. “If it’s to save hundreds of girls’ lives, you could. You will.”

  She’s right.

  “When is your next nursing trip to Harwood?” she asks.

  I gulp. “Tomorrow afternoon. We usually go on Saturdays, but I wanted to attend Sachi’s trial, and Sophia said she’d go with me.”

  “Then you ought to pay a call on Mr. McLeod tomorrow morning. And we’ll need to figure out which of the girls in Harwood are actually witches. There must be records somewhere. The ones with mind-magic ought to be our priority, I think, in terms of who to bring back to the convent; they’ll be the most use to us as things get more dangerous.” Elena frowns, tapping one smooth nail against her lips.

  “Finn says there are all kinds of records in the National Archives. He’s going to see what he can find,” I say cautiously, waiting for Elena to make some jest about him being a gardener again.

  “I can’t come with you tomorrow—I’ve got hardly any healing magic to speak of; it would raise suspicion—but I’ll come on the mission itself,” she says. I can practically see the wheels of her mind turning. “In the meantime, I’ll start talking to some of the other governesses and teachers. Most of

  them are in Inez’s pockets, but there are some I think will want to help us. I don’t think we ought to give them too many details—well, we haven’t got too many details yet, but the more people who know, the more likely it is to get out and get fouled up. I don’t think Inez will bother trying to stop you—it will serve her well enough to have more witches—but she’s hard to predict.”

  “Thank you.” I peer at her curiously. “When Maura finds out that you helped me, she’s going to be furious.”

  “I know.” It’s strange, after all he, you—ier subterfuge, to hear Elena be so straightforward. “If there was anyone else who could help you, I’d let them. I would have refused Cora, dying or no. But there isn’t anyone else, and she pointed out—rightly, I think—that if Inez gets power, she’ll use Maura and then discard her.”

  “Maura trusts her. She says Inez believes in her.” My voice is bitter.

  “I’m afraid for her,” Elena confesses, her brown eyes meeting mine.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m afraid of her.”

  arm am">To th

  CHAPTER

  16

  “CATE?” PAUL STRIDES OUT OF HIS OFFICE, looking utterly flabbergasted to find me waiting in the small, elegant front room at Jones & Sons.

  “Hello.” I offer up a shy smile. “Do you have time for a chat?”

  His green eyes light up, and I hate mysel
f a little.

  This is for the Sisterhood, I remind myself. For the innocent girls imprisoned in Harwood.

  “I always have time for you,” he says, ushering me down the carpeted hall and into a small room dominated by a shining mahogany desk piled high with architectural designs curling up at the edges. He hangs my cloak on a cast-iron coatrack in the corner, then folds himself behind the desk in a tall brown leather chair. I sit in the other, luxuriating in the buttery feel of the armrests beneath my palms. The smell reminds me of the barn at home, of playing hide-and-seek with Paul when we were children. It puts me at ease.

  “Is something wrong?” he asks. He looks terribly professional in his gray jacket and vest, with a green cravat wrapped around his throat. I daresay he knows it matches his eyes. Paul has never been immune to his own charms.

  “No. Well—yes. I owe you an apology,” I say quietly.

  “Yes.” He leans back in his chair and gazes at me, waiting. He has the body of a sportsman—tall, with broad shoulders and a square jaw—but the fine, detailed sketches on his desktop remind me that there’s more to him than that. He’s a man with ambition, who’s secured a good place for himself in a booming profession in a booming city; a man who appreciates the fine things in life, as his new phaeton and handsome clothes suggest.

  Paul will make someone a fine husband. Someone who can love him as he deserves.

  “I don’t regret my decision,” I say. I want to be clear about that. “But it all happened very suddenly, and I’m sorry that I didn’t have an opportunity to tell you—to give you an answer first. Your friendship—it means a great deal to me, and you deserved better.”

  My eyes falter, and then I see it—on the wall beside the door hang several framed diagrams of a large building. Are they copies of the plans for Harwood? It would make sense to display his first real project of importance.

  Paul rubs a hand over his clean-shaven jaw thoughtfully; it’s a habit left over from the beard that’s no longer there. “What are you doing here, Cate? In New London, I mean? You hated the thought of living in the city when I proposed it, and you’ve never been the religious sort.”