Star Cursed: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book Two

by Spotswood, Jessica

  “I felt a calling?” It comes out a question, rather than a deep conviction.

  “To the Lord?” Paul raises his eyebrows. “I understand that your sisters want to continue their education, and given the new measure, this is the only way. But you’ve never been the scholarly sort.”

  Paul has always known how to read me; it makes it difficult to lie to him. What will have the ring of truth to it, but not involve the prophecy or my duty to the Sisterhood? I should have thought this part through more. Of course he wants explanatiod g w havns, just as Finn did. The difference is that Finn knows I’m a witch, and Paul does not.

  “I want to be a nurse,” I explain, twisting, pointing at the diagram on the wall. “I’ve been going to Harwood, you know, with Sister Sophia. We tend to the patients and provide spiritual guidance.”

  “You, a nurse?” Paul chokes with laughter. “You’d tell a man with a broken leg to stop his whining and walk it off. You hate the sickroom.”

  “I hated my mother’s sickroom,” I correct him, bristling and trying not to. He can’t be expected to know what an exceptionally good nurse I am, thanks to my gift for healing. “I spent a great deal of time there, though. I can do some good this way.”

  Paul leans forward, planting his elbows on the desk, crumpling some of the drawings. “Look, is this about Belastra? Because he joined the Brotherhood? It can’t be coincidence that you announced your intention the next day. I know you had feelings for him, but you can’t—”

  “He had nothing to do with it,” I lie. My eyes dart to the tilted wooden drawing table by the window and the high stool before it.

  “You had other choices,” Paul insists.

  “No.” I know him well enough to know where this argument is headed. I need to forestall it, before he embarrasses us both and makes me say things that will only hurt him. “I didn’t.”

  “You did.” He clenches his jaw and straightens the wrinkled drawings. “When you got up on that dais, I expected you to announce your betrothal to him. I prepared myself for it. I never imagined this. You could have had the grace to tell me I wasn’t even an option.”

  I deserve that.

  I bow my head, eyes on the rich red carpet instead of him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I didn’t tell anyone about my decision—not even Maura and Tess.”

  “Maura was devastated.” He levels me with a disapproving look. “When she didn’t show up at church the next week, I called on them. Tess said the only thing ill about her was her temper. But I daresay I know how she felt, being left behind.”

  And she made the most of that, didn’t she?

  Lord, I’m a hypocrite. How can I judge her with one breath and manipulate him with the next?

  “Could I—?” I clear my throat, giving a little shiver for good effect. “Could I possibly have a cup of tea? It’s freezing out there.”

  “Of course.” Paul forces a smile, unfolding his long legs from beneath the desk. “Where are my manners? Excuse me.”

  He’s hardly gone before I leap out of the chair to examine the diagrams hanging on the wall. It is Harwood; the exterior is recognizable even from the side, with covered walkways connecting the new wing to the old on the first and second floors. Moving over to the interior sketches, I trace the doorways with my fingertips, wondering whether these could provide exits unsecured by guards. If it’s only a matter of breaking locks, that should be simple enough; I’m counting on magic, not keys, to help us there.

  “Cate?” I jump at the sound of my name. I was so entranced by the floor plans that I didn’t even hear Paul come back in. “I asked our clerk to put the kettle on. I see you’ve found the Harwood plans. Impressive, aren’t they?” He grins.

  “Very.” I tap the infirmary with my forefinger. “I’ve been to this ward, on nursing missions. I’ve seen the conditions. They’re horrible. Everything’s so cramped and dirty. The whole place looks as though it could crumble around their ears at any moment.”

  “Well, the existing structure was built shortly after the Brothers took power. The addition will be much more modern and comfortable. There will be security features, of course—b ofl, tars on all the windows, doors that lock from the outside, that sort of thing. But there will be plenty of windows, and a nice courtyard for the patients to take constitutionals. See?” He points at the space between the old and new buildings. “And there will be a sitting room on each floor where the women can gather to play chess or knit in the evenings.”

  As if they would ever be trusted with knitting needles! As though the girls aren’t too drugged to manage a game of chess! I gawk at him, surprised by his willful naïveté. He must know the truth of how it is, and to ignore it—well, I thought better of him.

  I ought to flatter him. Ask questions. Try to gather as much information as I can, because who knows what may help us? But even as my eyes rove over rooms marked matron’s office (on the bottom floor, in the wing opposite the infirmary) and isolation—maximum security (on the top floor, in the wing opposite the uncooperatives), I find myself glowering.

  “I think it’s wrong, the way they’re treated,” I blurt out.

  Paul squints at me with a quizzical expression. “They’re witches, Cate. It could be worse.”

  Oh. For all his mother’s piety, Paul never spoke of joining the Brotherhood. He never minded the dozens of small ways I disobeyed them, and I suppose he never knew about the big ways. Still, I hoped if he ever discovered the truth, he would accept me for what I am.

  Now, his obliviousness makes me wonder. For the first time, despite all the lovely memories between us, I don’t feel entirely safe with him.

  “It’s Jones’s first big contract. How would I look if I refused to work on a project for the Brothers? And frankly, I wouldn’t refuse. This is good for business, and if I intend to make partner someday—Jones hasn’t any sons of his own to continue the firm, only a nephew he isn’t fond of, you know . . .”

  This isn’t the same boy I played tag in the blueberry fields and pirates in the pond with. But perhaps I’m not the Cate he remembers, either.

  I smile at him, trying to remember the coy way Maura looked up beneath her thick eyelashes. But my own lashes are spindly and blond, and I feel stupid. “You’re right, of course. Forgive me. I suppose working with the girls in the infirmary makes me feel a little sorry for them.”

  “You should be more careful what you say. If it were anyone other than me, that kind of talk could get you in trouble.” Paul puts his hand on my shoulder. He smells of pencil shavings and slate. “What would the Sisters think?”

  “They preach compassion for the less fortunate. But you’re right, we mustn’t lose perspective on why those girls are there.” Because the Brothers are merciless. I turn back to the floor plans. “Will the infirmary be moved into the new building?”

  “No, the kitchens and infirmary will all stay put in the old wing, see?” Paul traces a line along the first floor with one tanned forefinger.

  “What’s that little room there?” I ask as his finger moves over an unmarked space next to the kitchen.

  “Just a storage room,” he says, shrugging. “It’s where they keep medicines and the laudanum for the girls. The matron said they had trouble with some nurses sneaking the stuff for themselves, so now she keeps it locked up tight. And across here will be the covered walkway to the first floor of the addition, where the new laundry will be, and . . .”

  He goes on, but I’ve stopped listening. I’d assumed the laudanum would be kept in the kitchens, where any number of cooks would be working, and it would be impossible to slip in unnoticed.

  This changes everything.

  My mind whirrs and clanks, and I’m half surprised smoke doesn’t okeimpcome out my ears as I plot. I want to dash out into the snow right now; I’ve got to talk to Sister Sophia. But I spend another twenty minutes there, admiring the drawings for the splendid new house Jones is letting him take the lead on, sipping tea in the big leather chai
r, listening to Paul hold forth about the Harwood project. I try to hide my horror at the fact the Brothers are building an addition in the first place. How many more girls are they planning to lock up?

  Those girls’ lives are more important than the success of Jones’s business, and the fact that Paul can’t or won’t see it has changed things between us. He is the same man he was a month ago when he kissed me—same blond hair and broad shoulders and toothy grin—but I can’t help looking at him differently.

  I fell in love with Finn partly because he was suspicious of the Brothers, because he questioned their teachings even before he knew I was a witch. Perhaps it isn’t fair to compare them, when Finn grew up with a clever bluestocking for a mother and Paul’s was so deeply devout. But I do compare, and I know in my heart I could never have married a man who finds no fault in Harwood Asylum.

  I feel less guilty about the mind-magic than I expected.

  He is yammering on about construction deadlines when I narrow my eyes at him and compel him to forget we ever discussed Harwood or looked at the floor plans together. He hesitates, mid-sentence, and his tea spills a little when he sets it down on the blue saucer.

  “I ought to be going. Thank you for seeing me,” I say, rising.

  He leaps up to help me into my cloak. His eyes have lost some of their spark; his face doesn’t have the same bright, animated elasticity it did a minute ago. “Thank you for coming.”

  Does he remember my apology?

  “Good-bye.” Somehow I can’t meet his eyes.

  “Good-bye, Cate,” Paul says, and there’s something in his voice, something resigned and final and sad, that makes me suspect he will remember that much, at least.

  • • •

  When I get back to the convent, I hurry to Sister Sophia’s classroom. She’s just finished her anatomy class, which I skipped in order to call on Paul. Mei is the only student left, rolling up a few diagrams of the human musculature and internal organs.

  “There you are, Cate. Where were you this morning?” Sophia asks, pushing Bones the skeleton back into the wooden armoire.

  “I’ve been downtown to see my friend Paul, who’s working on the Harwood addition. There’s something I need to tell you.” I explain Inez’s plan to Sophia.

  “Why didn’t you come to me right away?” She abandons Bones, her red lips pursed.

  “I suppose I felt guilty. I should have seen what she was up to sooner,” I confess.

  “That’s not your fault.” Sophia plants her hands on her wide hips. “She knows how to exploit people’s weaknesses to get what she wants. It’s why so many of the teachers go along with her. Most of them are in her debt for one thing or another.”

  “Are you?” I ask. If she is, I ought to know it now.

  Sophia turns away. “Not anymore.”

  Mei and I exchange mystified looks. “Well, now that you know, I’m hoping you’ll help us.” I explain what we mean to do at Harwood, and as I talk, I examine the little wooden cabinet hanging on the wall. There are two dozen clear glass bottles and tins filled with dried herbs and natural remedies of Sophia’s. She must have something. “Do you know what powdered opium looks like? I need herbs that could pass for it.”

  “I presume you’d need quite a bit of them, if you mean to substitute them for the opium in the laudanum.” Sister Sophi S hera crosses to her windowsill, where four potted herbs soak up the weak December sunlight. She fingers one leafy stalk thoughtfully, gazing out at the backyard and the conservatory’s fogged windows. “Rose petal powder would work. The texture wouldn’t be right, and the scent would be a dead giveaway, of course. But we’ve got dying roses in spades, and you’d cast a glamour over it anyway.”

  I turn to Mei, noting the dark shadows under her brown eyes, the tired lines at her mouth. “Are you still planning to come to Harwood this afternoon?” I ask, and she nods, tucking the diagrams in the armoire beside Bones. “Good. I’ll need a lookout while I break into their storeroom.”

  Mei gives me a sad smile. “Happy to help. If it had gone differently, Li and Hua might be in there.”

  Sister Sophia stares at me. “You mean to do this today? The patients may be able to access their magic within a few days, but they’ll be in poor shape. Most of them are addicted to the opium; ridding their bodies of it completely will take weeks. They’ll be weak and sick in the meantime, and that doesn’t even take into account the psychological effects of—”

  “We haven’t got weeks,” I interrupt. “We have to break them out by Wednesday night, or it will be too late.”

  Striding over to the blackboard, Sophia snatches up a piece of chalk and writes in foot-high letters: BEGINNER HEALING CLASS CANCELED. “Come on, then. You, too, Mei. I’ve got an extra pair of gloves in the kitchen.”

  After lunch, I draw Elena aside to explain the mechanics of the new plan. As we whisper, her dark head bent close to my blond one, I see Maura stop in the dining room doorway, shock playing over her pretty features. After a moment, she turns away, but I can tell by the set of her shoulders that she’s dismayed to see us looking so cozy. It’s no more than I predicted, of course, but I still feel a pang of guilt. I brief Elena as quickly as I can, thank her for obtaining promises of help from two governesses, and hurry upstairs to change into my Sisterly black.

  A few minutes later, I’m sitting in the carriage with Sophia, Addie, and Mei as we wait for Pearl to join us.

  “Scoot over. I’m coming with you,” Tess declares, clambering in the open door. She shoves me over so that I’m practically sitting in Mei’s lap. Mei barely notices, her lips moving silently in a mantra as she worries her mala beads.

  “You are most certainly not!” I shout, half rising from my seat.

  “Calm down, Cate,” Sophia says, and I flop back onto the leather seat. “I gave her permission. We’ll tell the nurses she’s a new student with an interest in nursing. They’ll be charmed.”

  Tess flips her braids over her shoulder. “I am particularly adorable today.”

  I eye her suspiciously. The rest of us are dressed in our grim bombazine, but she’s bright and girlish in a simple tulip-pink dress with full skirts and creamy lace at the throat and cuffs, tied with a wide black sash at the waist. She looks a pretty little doll, not a powerful young witch. It’s as much a charade as our Sisterly black.

  “Don’t give me that look,” she says, pinching me. “I can be every bit as stubborn as you. I only want to meet Zara; I won’t make any trouble. And you said I could, before.”

  “Before I knew about today’s extra mission,” I hiss, patting the leather satchel next to me, filled with a dozen little stoppered bottles, themselves filled with ground-up rose petals and an herb stimulant Sister Sophia concocted to help counteract the girls’ withdrawal. “You’re infuriating.”

  “Then I should remind you of yourself,” Tess jokes.

  Mei sighs, her fingers still moving over the beads. “You two make me miss my sisters.” “Are you certain you feel up to this? We would all understand if you weren’t,” Sister Sophia says gently.

  “No, I might as well be useful. I’ll only fret otherwise.” Mei gives a woeful excuse for a smile, and I hug her tight. I am lucky to have a friend like her who would put aside her own heartache to take on such a dangerous task.

  But even as my heart breaks for her, I wonder what the continued infallibility of the oracles means for us.

  • • •

  “I’m nervous,” Tess confesses as we hurry toward Zara’s room. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

  “Everyone likes you. You’re terribly likable.” The matron and the nurses clucked over her from the instant she got out of the carriage, telling her what a grand selfless girl she is to be interested in such difficult work. And she was wonderful with the uncooperatives, even when we discovered a girl we knew among them. Mina Coste didn’t seem to recognize us, though she attended services with us all our lives. Her brown eyes were lifeless, her strawberry-blond curls in knots.
All this because she snuck out to meet a boy?

  How many times have I risked the same punishment to see Finn? And I will again tonight. I’ve just been luckier than Mina.

  I take a deep breath, quelling my own nerves as we push open Zara’s door. She slouches in her chair, frizzy head bowed, staring out at the snowy hillside or dozing. I don’t know what to expect. Her distant memory seems unclouded by the laudanum, but will she remember our meeting last week?

  “Zara?”

  She startles awake, her brown eyes wild. “Who is it? What do you want?”

  “It’s me, Cate,” I say softly. “Anna’s Cate? And look—I’ve brought Tess.”

  “Hello,” Tess says, smiling bashfully. “I’m so glad to meet you.”

  Zara stands, turning to me accusingly. “She’s just a child. Why would you let her come to a place like this? Anna wouldn’t approve.”

  “I didn’t let her do anything. She’s got a mind of her own,” I point out.

  But the criticism stings. Would Mother approve of how I’ve handled things of late?

  “I insisted on coming. I’ve read your book,” Tess says. “Marianne gave it to us.”

  “My book?” Zara sinks back down into her chair, her belligerence draining away. “She saved it?”

  “Yes. There are a few illegible parts because of the water damage. It rained before she could rescue it from the roof where you hid it.” Tess fiddles with the black bow at her waist. “But I was able to read most of it.”

  “I thought it was lost.” Zara’s dark eyes brim with tears as she begins to rock. “I thought I was stuck here forever for nothing.”

  “You aren’t. Not for nothing, and not forever.” I perch on the edge of the narrow bed, setting the satchel down on the floor. Tess comes with me. “We’re going to get you out of here. Soon, even. Wednesday night.”

  Zara shakes her head. There’s a splash of tea on the collar of her white blouse. “No. That’s impossible. Cora will never allow it. I’ll die here.”