Star Cursed: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book Two

by Spotswood, Jessica

  “I understand.” I reach out to pat her shoulder, and she jumps, frightening both of us. I fight the urge to recoil. She’s only a sad, broken girl. I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “Have you seen anything about my future?”

  “Ah, that’s why you’ve come.” Brenna buries her head in her bony fingers. One blue eye peeks out at me fks self.rom a gap. “I have.”

  “Will you tell me? I’d like to know.”

  Brenna shakes her head, her snarled hair lashing against me. “No, I don’t think you would.”

  I swallow hard. “Please.”

  “Ask the little one downstairs. She knows,” Brenna says. “She wants to change it.”

  Fear turns my legs to jelly. Does Brenna know that Tess is the oracle? Can she sense her, somehow?

  “Who do you mean?” I demand.

  “The other one. The little oracle.” Brenna frowns, combing her tangled hair with her fingers. “I don’t want them to have her. I don’t see—why is she here? We mustn’t let them have her. If they knew about her, they’d keep her here and make her tell all her secrets. I’m lonely, but not so lonely I’d wish that for the little one.”

  “You mustn’t tell them, Brenna. They mustn’t find out about her.”

  “No. Not from me. I’ll lock it up and throw away the key.” Brenna giggles, mimes turning a key in front of her mouth and throwing it over her shoulder.

  It is hardly reassuring to have one’s secrets kept by a madwoman.

  “I don’t want them to keep you here, either. What if—what if I took you away?” I whisper, coming closer. “What if I took you somewhere safe? You and me and the little oracle. Rory’s there, too.”

  Brenna puts her face right up against mine. “Rory? Uncle Jack’s Rory?”

  “Yes. We’d look after you. You’d be safe.”

  She wrinkles her brow, as if she can’t quite understand that, and turns away, running her hand over the cloth walls. “They’ll still kill me, in the end. But—yes. I think I would like to see Rory again.”

  “I’ll come back for you soon. Just a few more days. You mustn’t tell anyone that, either.”

  “I should like to meet the little one,” Brenna muses. “She’s not broken, like me. Not yet.”

  A shiver of fear works its way down my spine. “No. I’ll protect her.”

  Brenna shakes her head. “You can’t protect them both, Cate. That’s your fate.”

  What does she mean? That someday, I’ll have to choose between Maura and Tess? I want to ask, but I’m afraid the answers might break me.

  I back away until the doorknob jabs into my hip. “I have to go. I’ll come back for you, Brenna. I promise.”

  The look in Brenna’s blue eyes hurts my heart—as though she is very used to people promising her things and not following through. She nods behind her curtain of snarled hair. “Good-bye, Cate.”

  Lord, I hope I can keep my word. Brenna is sick and sad, and she deserves better than this. They all do.

  Out in the hallway, I droop against the wall like a wilted sunflower. The nurse snores, and water from the leaky roof plinks into the two tin pails.

  I don’t want to admit the truth, even to myself. I don’t want to be the kind of girl who would consider such a possibility, who could weigh one life against another so callously. I will not let leading the Sisterhood turn me into Inez, or even Cora. I will stay true to myself.

  But the facts present themselves on an endless loop in my head.

  Brenna knows about Tess.

  Brenna is mad. She can’t be expected to keep secrets indefinitely.

  Tess isn’t just my little sister anymore. She’s the oracle who could win this war for us.

  Which means—

  If I can’t break Brenna out of here, I’m going to have to kill her.

  I arrive at the infirmary doors at half past three, just as we agreed. I peek inside. Sister Sophia is speaking with the two nurses; her job is to keep them occupied. Addieccuh="1em" sits beside the same coughing girl as last week. The skeletal old woman is gone, her bed empty, and I wonder whether she died. The mother I healed is missing, too—moved upstairs, I hope, and not into the mass grave Zara described. I vow to myself that none of these women will end up there.

  Mei catches my eye and hurries out. “Ready?”

  I nod, and we walk down the empty hallway. To our left is the kitchen. It smells sweet and sour, rotten meat mixed with fresh-baked bread, and I hold my breath until we are well past the door. I hear the clang of metal as someone washes pots and pans. A high, pretty voice rises in one of the old songs and then abruptly cuts off.

  Heels clip toward the door, and Mei and I turn, making for the infirmary. We pause as a scullery maid storms out of the kitchen, towing a bedraggled brunette in her wake. The girl’s face is flushed from the steam, her hair limp, and she still wears a wet white apron tied around her waist.

  “How many times have I got to tell you, Livvy? No singing!” the scullery maid lectures. “Now I’ve got to step away from my tea just to escort you back to your room!”

  “I’m sorry. It just popped out, on accident,” Livvy says. When her brown eyes meet mine, I expect hers to drop—but instead she stares back curiously. “Good day, Sisters.”

  “Come along, girl, I haven’t got all day,” the maid grumbles.

  We wait until they’ve pushed through the doors at the opposite end of the hall, Livvy still gawking over her shoulder at us while the maid drags her along by the wrist. Mei and I hurry past the kitchen to the locked storage room beyond.

  “Cough if anyone comes. I’ll try and be quick about it,” I promise. The lock clicks open at my command, and I slip inside.

  Blast. It’s so dark I can barely see my hand in front of me. I pull out the extra candle and two matches I liberated from the sleeping nurse upstairs. My hand shakes so much that the first match burns down to my fingers, and I’ve got to blow it out before I can light the candle.

  On the second try, the candle catches. I’m in a small room with stone walls and a dirt floor. Moisture drips along the cracks between floor and wall. In the corner, something dark scurries down into a privy hole. This must have once been a cell.

  I scan the wooden shelves. On the bottom are some surgical implements: a large saw, a few knives, and some wickedly sharp scalpels. I imagine they’re locked up in here to prevent the patients from turning them on the nurses—or the nurses from fencing them. Small brown bottles marked CHLOROFORM rest on a higher shelf. Bottles of whiskey and sherry line the lower shelves, along with small bottles marked OPIUM POWDER, big sacks of sugar, and tins of cinnamon: all the ingredients for the laudanum mixture.

  One by one, I open the bottles and dump the opium powder down into the privy hole, thankful for its existence even as I shiver at the sound of claws scrabbling far below. I set the satchel onto a low shelf and carefully unwrap the white linen. Inside are the bottles filled with Sister Sophia’s concoction.

  “Cate,” Mei says from outside the door. “Everything all right?”

  “Just another minute!” I mutter.

  I pour Sophia’s mixture into each of the bottles. When I’m finished, I restopper all of them and put them back. I try to mask the rose scent and re-create the bitter smell of the opium with a glamour. With luck the matron or cook or whoever mixes the laudanum for the girls’ tea won’t taste it herself.

  In three swift movements, I shove Sophia’s empty bottles back into their linen nest, pull the satchel onto my shoulder, and blow out the candle.

  Mei is pacing outsidepac I the door. I almost collide with her. Her nose is red from the cold, and her hands are shoved into her fur muff.

  “Oh, thank heavens,” she says, just as the door at the opposite end of the hall begins to open.

  I drag her across the hallway in one giant leap, pushing through the billowing white sheet that hangs over the construction entrance. We huddle together in the cold of the courtyard, our boots sinking into a snowdrift. Above us, wooden
beams sketch out the roof of the covered walkway that will lead to the new laundries. Head cocked, I listen to the maid’s boots clomp down the hall and the kitchen door swing shut.

  “That was close,” Mei whispers, her breath warm on my ear.

  I peek around the sheet to find the hallway empty again. “Tell Sister Sophia we’re ready to leave. I’ll fetch Tess.”

  A few moments later, I push into Zara’s room, keeping one foot wedged behind me in the doorway. Tess is still sitting on the bed, her knees touching Zara’s, their curly heads bent close together.

  “Time to go,” I announce.

  “Already?” Tess’s eyes are rimmed in red as though she’s been crying.

  It seems an age instead of only two hours since we arrived. Personally, I cannot leave the place soon enough. “Did you have a good talk?” What has Zara said to upset her?

  “Oh, yes.” Tess holds up two folded pieces of paper, which she quickly transforms into a pair of hairpins. “Zara drew us maps to all three safe houses and gave me the passwords.”

  “That’s brilliant.” I give Zara a quick smile. “Come on, Tess. We mustn’t keep the others waiting. You’ll have all the time in the world soon.”

  Tess throws her arms around Zara’s neck, squeezing her tight. “I am very glad I got to meet you.”

  “Good-bye, Tess. Thank you. For everything,” Zara says, patting her back. There are tears in her brown eyes, too. “I’ll see you soon, Cate.”

  I shiver into my cloak. Between Mother’s secrets, Brenna’s creepy chatter, and sneaking into the storage room, it’s already been a very long, fraught day. And the most dangerous part is yet to come.

  • • •

  “Cate? Are you awake?” Rilla whispers across our moonlit bedroom later that night.

  There’s no point in lying to her; I’ve been tossing and turning for the last hour, waiting impatiently for my meeting with Finn. “Yes. I’m sorry if I’m keeping you up.”

  I can see Rilla prop herself up on her elbows. “It’s all right. Are you sneaking out again?” She hesitates. “I noticed you missing the other night, but I didn’t say anything to anyone this time. I didn’t want to get you in any trouble. But I do worry. It’s not safe for you to be wandering around alone at night.”

  “I haven’t been alone.” It’s past time I told her the truth. I lean over and light the candle on the dressing table. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ve been meeting someone. My beau—the one Alice mentioned in class the other day? His name’s Finn.”

  Rilla sits against her brass headboard, pert nose wrinkling as she yawns, looking for all the world like a sleepy kitten. “But—I thought Alice said he was a Brother? And that he jilted you?”

  I sit cross-legged, wrapping my soft blue quilt around my shoulders. “We were engaged before the Sisterhood forced me to come here. I suppose I jilted him, really, though I never wanted to. He’s amazing, Rilla. He knows I’m a witch; he knows everything, and joined the Brotherhood to protect me.” I give her an impulsive grin. “I wish you could meet him.”

  “Me, too.” Rilla grins back, scratching her nose with one gloved hand. Aliceed her an i has been tormenting her about how “common” freckles are, so she’s been trying to lighten them with lemon juice, and she’s taken to wearing gloves and hand cream to bed every night. “So you’ve been meeting for secret midnight rendezvous? How scandalous!”

  “Well, there’s more than just kissing involved,” I point out, blushing. “Tonight we’re going to sneak into the Archives and look at the records of the girls at Harwood.”

  I explain the Harwood plan to her, and Rilla listens. For all her chatter and bounce, she can be very attentive. “That sounds brilliant, Cate,” she says when I’m finished. “Only—you said yourself that Sister Sophia does her nursing missions in the afternoons, not the evenings. What if the matron gets suspicious, or the guard won’t let you inside in the first place?”

  I frown. “Elena and I will compel them.”

  “It seems like an unnecessary risk.” Rilla shivers, pulling her yellow quilt up to her chin. “Why don’t you glamour yourselves as Brothers? Then the first hint that something is wrong will be when you pull the alarm. It would be a cinch to pull off. Far easier than mind-magic.”

  “Not for me,” I sigh. Outside, the wind whistles through the bare trees. “I can’t seem to get the hang of it.”

  Rilla squints at me through the shadows. “I could manage glamours for both of us. And they would only need to last until we’ve got the nurses locked up, right?”

  “Right. But if something goes wrong, it will be awfully dangerous,” I point out. I don’t want her thinking this is one of her novels. “We could use a witch of your caliber, though. Are you sure?”

  “Cate. As far as I’m concerned, we’re not just roommates. You’re my sister.” She gives me her sunny smile, but her hazel eyes are serious. “Now, tell me more about the marvelous Finn. How did you meet him?”

  I laugh. “Well, I’ve known him forever, but I didn’t really notice him until a few months ago, when we quite literally ran into each other in my garden. You see, Father hired him as our gardener . . .”

  • • •

  “You want to do what?” Finn yelps an hour later. His glasses are fogged from the steam of his breath, but I can imagine the disapproval in his eyes.

  I shove through the wrought-iron gate that leads from the convent garden into the street behind it. “I suspect you heard me properly the first time.”

  “If I did, you’re mad.” He swipes a hand through his messy hair. “Why can’t you just ask the girls if they’re capable of mind-magic?”

  “Because it’s bound to be bedlam during the jailbreak. And who knows what they’re aware of, what state they’re in, after being drugged for such a long time? They may not trust us. Please don’t argue with me on this.” I lay my hand, covered in a black satin glove, on his arm.

  He scuffs one heavy black boot through the snow. “Why can’t I go and get the files for you?”

  I frown at him. We’re wasting precious time arguing. “You said there are hundreds of files. I’m not confident we can find the ones we want with both of us looking, much less just you.”

  “I read very fast,” Finn says huffily.

  “I’m certain you do.” I roll my eyes at the snowy cobblestones. The last thing I want is to offend his scholarly pride. “But what if you’re caught sneaking around Szymborska’s office in the middle of the night with forbidden files? I doubt the guards would look very highly on that. I could compel them to forget. I can protect us.”

  Finn bends down and draws the pistol from his boot. “So can I.”

  “Not like that, ot aidyou can’t!” I bury my face in my hands, exasperated. “I’m not going to let you shoot someone just to prove how brave you are. I am going to the Archives tonight, whether you come with me or not. But I would very much appreciate your help.”

  “Fine.” Finn sighs, setting off through the snow. “You’re the most infuriating girl.”

  I grin, reaching for his hand. “You know, that’s not even the first time today I’ve been called that.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” He squeezes my hand and then drops it. “We should be careful. Never know who might be up and about.”

  I squint at the gas streetlamp above us, and its flame wavers and goes out, plunging the street into shadows. Ahead of us, the next one extinguishes, and then the next. I grab Finn’s hand. “Better?”

  “Much,” he says, voice low and admiring. He brushes his lips over mine. “Now, run through the plan for Wednesday night once more?”

  I start, but the moment I get to glamouring ourselves and the carriage, Finn stops me. “I’ll borrow Denisof’s carriage. It will be easy enough while he’s at the council meeting, and it will have the Brothers’ seal, so that’s one less illusion you have to worry about.”

  The city is quiet around us. No wagons rumble past at this late hour; the sidewalks are empty. W
ithout the gas lamps, I can make out the stars in the night sky. “I can’t let you steal a carriage for us. What if one of us crashes it, or—?”

  “Borrow,” Finn interrupts. “And I’ll drive it myself, because I’m coming with you. The rest of you will have to play at being Brothers, but I’m the real thing.” He gestures at his black cloak, his voice bitter.

  I laugh to lighten his mood. “I’d try to dissuade you, but I suspect it’d be impossible. I’d never let you do something so mad on your own.”

  “Exactly,” he says emphatically. “We’re a team now. Where you go, I go.”

  “I suppose I can live with that.” I grin, slipping a hand into my pocket and drawing out a small packet of herbs. “I have another task for you. You said Sean Brennan is a good man, and it turns out your judgment was right; he’s been Sister Cora’s spy on the Head Council for years now. Is there any chance you could engineer a meeting with him Wednesday morning? Fetch a cup of tea for him, perhaps? The herbs in here will make him sick, but only temporarily. Long enough that he’ll have to miss the Head Council meeting.”

  “Brilliant.” Finn takes the packet from me and tucks it in his own cloak pocket.

  I run my thumb over his palm. “You’re quite dashing in the role of spy, Mr. Belastra.”

  It feels terribly daring to hold his hand out in the open like this. We pass a cheese shop and a furrier’s and two cafés, but everything in the market district is shuttered for the night; all the windows are dark. The city usually feels so alien to me, so big and noisy and foreboding, but tonight it feels intimate and abandoned and deceptively safe. Like it belongs just to us.

  • • •

  The National Archives are beautiful.

  “It’s like a temple,” I breathe, holding my candle aloft. “A temple for books.”

  I’ve never seen anything like it. High above us, the vaulted wooden ceiling disappears into the shadows. A dozen trestle tables, piled high with books ready for cataloging, fill the center of the room. Bookshelves jammed with thousands more books line every wall. And a spiral staircase leads up to the balcony, which is filled with yet more rows of bookshelves. Crystal chandeliers catch the moonlight spilling in through the high arched windows.