Born Wicked: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One

by Jessica Spotswood

  Finn only looks at me, but it’s such a look. It tickles over my skin like a touch.

  “McLeod. You didn’t tell him no.”

  “I didn’t tell him yes, either,” I point out.

  He reaches out to trace the curve of my cheek. Can he feel my pulse pounding? His eyes never leave mine. He’s barely touching me, but my breath catches, and my tongue darts out to wet my lips.

  It’s all I can do not to grab him by the collar and pull his mouth to mine.

  He laughs, a little hoarse. “Do you want me to compromise you further?”

  “I do.” Is that too honest? “I don’t see the point of pretending that I don’t like”—I hesitate, my face burning—“being kissed. By you. I do like it.”

  He grins, but takes a small step backward. “That’s quite convenient, as I’d like to kiss you again. Not now. Not here, where anyone could see us. But soon. At great length.”

  I look around, half surprised to find us still in the gazebo, in the middle of my father’s land. I’ve forgotten myself entirely. “I suppose we are being rather scandalous.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “I’d say so—the lady of the house flirting with the gardener. I imagine your father would have some choice words for me.”

  My lips curve into a slow smile. “Don’t worry about that. I can handle Father.”

  “I’m sure you can. You’re ferocious.” Finn chuckles, but then his face falls into serious lines. “I can’t—my family—I’m responsible for Mother and Clara now. The bookshop is barely afloat. No one wants to come inside with the Brothers watching us day and night. I don’t think they’ll give up until they find an excuse to close us down. I’m not able to make you any promises, Cate.”

  I lift my chin. “I didn’t ask for any, did I?”

  “No. But you’ll need them, and soon. If not from me, from—someone else.” Finn’s eyes fall to his scuffed brown boots. “I can barely support the three of us, much less—hell, I’ll put it plainly. I can’t afford a wife. I would understand if you accepted McLeod. I’d hate it—but we can still pretend this conversation never happened. I wouldn’t think less of you.”

  “I would,” I snap. “I’d think a good deal less of me, marrying a man for his money when it’s someone else I want.”

  I want Finn. Staggeringly. More than I’ve ever wanted anything for myself in my life.

  But it’s impossible. What am I going todo? Now that I understand how I feel, how can I reconcile myself to anything else?

  “I can’t ask you to wait for me. I don’t know when—if—my circumstances will improve. Even if they did—life with me would be very different from what you’re used to. Mother and Clara make their own dresses. They don’t have maids; they cook our suppers and keep house themselves.” Finn’s face is serious, his brow furrowed. “You’d be a shopkeeper’s wife, not a gentleman’s daughter. Mother and Clara aren’t invited to take tea with Mrs. Ishida.”

  As if I care what Mrs. Ishida thinks! If that were the only thing standing between us—but it’s not. Allying myself with the Belastras would draw the Brothers’ keen eyes on our entire family. And if they realized what we could do—whatIcould do—

  The prophecy said that if I fell into the wrong hands, it would create a second Terror. How many innocent girls would be murdered? I don’t know if the Sisterhood itself would be safe from a second onslaught. Would any witches survive it? Would witches become extinct?

  I slump back against the railing. No matter how much I want Finn, it’s impossible.

  My silence doesn’t go unnoticed. “I’m sorry.” Finn’s handsome face twists in anguish. “I’d give you more if I could. I’d give you the moon.”

  “It’s all right,” I say softly, blinking back tears. Time to change the subject to something less perilous. “Speaking of tea—Maura and I are hosting our first tea tomorrow afternoon. Your mother and Clara ought to come, if they’re not otherwise engaged.”

  Finn hesitates, his brown eyes intent on mine. “Mother and Clara aren’t usually invited out.”

  I lean back against the gazebo. “Neither were we, until recently.”

  “That’s different. You must know that.” I’m silent, staring out over the pond and the cemetery on the other side. Finn sighs. “I’m not too proud to say it. Your father’s a businessman, yes, but a gentleman and a scholar first. Mother’s a bookseller and a bluestocking. The Brothers’ wives don’t consider her their equal because she’s a shopkeeper. The shopkeepers’ wives believe she thinks she’s too good for them.”

  “I’m the hostess now. Your mother and Clara are perfectly welcome here.”

  “I’ll extend the invitation, then. It’s very sweet of you to offer.” Finn reaches over and twines his fingers through mine. He brings my hand to his lips and breathes warm air onto my palm. “I meant everything I said. I want you, Cate. But I can’t give you what you need.”

  “What if I needyou?” I whisper. I feel us tilting toward each other like trees in a strong breeze. I’ve been craving the sight of him for days, but now it’s not enough. I’m not sure who moves first. The inches between us are erased until I’m in his arms and my mouth finds his.

  His lips are soft and fierce all at once. They taste like tea and rain. His hands go inside my cloak; one curls around my waist, the other around the nape of my neck, anchoring my mouth to his. My hands rove over his chest, feeling the muscles bunch beneath my fingertips. His lips trace a path along my jaw, stopping just below my ear. When he catches the lobe in his teeth, I gasp. My hand clenches on his collar, and he claims my lips in another searing kiss.

  When I finally draw back, gasping for breath, my lips feel swollen, my chin raw from the sandpaper stubble of his. We’re still wrapped up together, his arms around my waist beneath my cloak. “I ought to be more of a gentleman, but I’m afraid I lose my head around you,” he says, his cherry lips inches from mine.

  “I don’t mind,” I assure him, my arms still looped around his neck.

  “I got that impression, yes.” He grins. “But you should go in now, truly. If you stay here, I’ll have to kiss you senseless and someone will see us eventually. Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to let you go.”

  “I don’t want to go.” But he’s right. I press a quick kiss to his lips, surprising us both with my boldness. Then, laughing, I back out of the gazebo.

  I hurry back through the gardens, full up with joy. The wind is fall-brisk; the sky overhead is a soggy gray. Chilly raindrops scatter across my face. It doesn’t feel right. There should be robins building nests, not geese scurrying south. The spiky dahlias should be just poking their green noses through the soil. Normally I love the bittersweet brilliance of fall, but today—for the first time in ages, there’s no room in me for mourning.

  I want springtime and sunshine.

  “Poor lovelies.” I catch myself cooing foolishly at the flowers. Has love turned me into a dreamy, muddleheaded girl already?

  Panic blares through me, and I stop abruptly, clutching at the half wall. I love him, but I can’t have him. It’s irresponsible to pretend I can. It will only end in heartbreak for the both of us.

  My mood swings dangerously, and I can feel the magic rush up. I try to tamp it down, but it’s no use. I squeeze my eyes shut, helpless as it spills up, out of my throat, out of my fingertips.

  The garden explodes, defiant, into spring. The grass goes emerald around me. The hedges shrink. The flowers draw back into the soil, except for the long-dead tulips, which rise again.

  The warm sun beats down on my horrified face.

  “Reverto!”

  It doesn’t work. I can’t feel any power at all.

  It’s gone, used up. I’m empty.

  This hasn’t happened in years.

  I run down the path, desperate to know the extent of the damage. This isn’t like what Tess did, magicking one little corner of the garden. It’s everything. Over by the barn, the apple tree is heavy with pink blossoms. The stubble of cu
t wheat on the hillside waves tall and golden. I pray it hasn’t stretched all the way back to the gazebo and the fields beyond.

  I explode into the kitchen, slamming the heavy door open.

  Tess is here, peering into the oven. “Cate? What is it?”

  “I need you,” I pant.

  She doesn’t ask questions. We run into the garden, Tess blinking at the sudden sunshine.

  “It was just raining a minute—oh.” She looks around at the greenery, then closes her eyes. A moment later, they snap back open, surprised. “You did this? By yourself? It’s strong. I can’t push past it.”

  I’m too upset to take offense. “Fix it!” I wail.

  She pauses a moment, focusing.“Reverto!”

  It doesn’t work. Tess sucks in a breath, displeased. I panic.

  What if John sees? What ifFinnsees? I can’t erase his memory again. I won’t.

  “Tess, we have to do something. There aretulips!”

  “We’ll fix it. We’ll do it together,” she says. We link hands. I feel a flicker of power as we say the Latin together. The sky goes gray just as the kitchen door flies open.

  Maura runs out, Elena right behind her. “Tess, what did you do?” Maura demands.

  Tess throws her hands up. “It wasn’t me, it was Cate!”

  Maura shivers in the cold October wind, wrapping her arms around herself. “It was strong. I tried to fix it from the window and I couldn’t.”

  “Neither could I,” Tess observes.

  Elena stands back, eyes narrowed, her silk skirts billowing. “Nor could I.”

  Fear crawls over me. I know what she’s thinking. “It was only because I was upset. I didn’t mean to cast at all. I was just thinking of spring and—” I fumble for the words, tugging my hood back up over my hair. “It spilled out.”

  Elena nods. “What were you doing just before this?”

  “Nothing,” I lie. “Walking in the garden.”

  Her dark eyes rake over me. I wonder if I look disheveled. “You weren’t with Paul?”

  Do I look like I’ve been kissed? Can she tell, somehow? I shrink into my cloak, forcing myself not to touch my lips. “No.”

  “I don’t care about your romance, I care about the magic. Tell me the truth—were you with him just now?” Elena presses.

  “No! Why would it affect my magic if I was?”

  “Paul left ages ago,” Tess says, brushing raindrops from her cheeks. “I saw him out the kitchen window.”

  “How interesting. I don’t know what could have caused it, then.” Elena’s lips are pressed together, a thin pink slash across her face. Somehow she knows I’m not being entirely honest. But I’ll never confide in her about Finn. She may have insinuated herself into our household, but she’s not my friend.

  I’ve got to find time to see Marianne—alone, and soon. I need her advice. She’s the only one I trust to help me.

  I only hope she won’t hate me for entangling her son in this mess.

  CHAPTER 15

  “WHAT DO YOU THINK?” MAURA ASKS, twirling in front of me in the front hall. She’s wearing another new gown. This one is jade green with pink piping, and she’s borrowed those green velvet slippers of Elena’s that she’s been coveting since Elena first arrived.

  “Pretty. Where did you get the earbobs?” I ask, arranging an armful of red roses into Great-Grandmother’s cut-crystal vase.

  “Borrowed them from Elena. Aren’t they divine? She’s so generous,” Maura gushes, fiddling with a jade teardrop.

  “I know you admire Elena, but don’t you think you’re taking it a bit too far?” Maura’s hair is teased up into a pretty pompadour with a few little tendrils escaping in front of her ears—just the way Elena wears hers.

  Maura’s smile slides right off her face. “You can’t just say I look pretty and leave it at that, can you? You’ve got to find something to criticize. I think you’re jealous.”

  Oh, Lord. “Jealous of what?” I ask, stepping back to admire my handiwork.

  Maura puts both hands on her hips. “I’m prettier than you.”

  I look at myself in the warped glass over the hall table: gray eyes, pointed chin, strawberry-blond hair swept up into the braided crown I’ve come to like. I’m not a beauty; I’m rather ordinary. But Finn likes me. The memory brings a soft smile to my lips, a flush to my cheeks.

  “You’re much prettier,” I admit. “I’ve never denied that.”

  “I’m a better witch, too. What happened yesterday in the garden—that was just a fluke,” Maura continues.

  “Possibly.” I poke another rose into the vase. “I don’t know what caused it.”

  “If it’d been me who made the garden explode, you’d never let me forget it. You’d go on about it for weeks. But because it was you, it’s forgiven. It was just an accident.” Maura’s voice is all bitterness. What a time to have this conversation. Mrs. O’Hare and Lily are in the kitchen cutting the crusts off cucumber-and-watercress sandwiches and setting out Tess’s cakes. Our guests will be here in a quarter of an hour.

  “Itwasjust an accident,” I point out. “I know full well how dangerous it was. I would never have done that on purpose!”

  “Elena thinks it’s very odd that your magic was so strong,” Maura says, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “Well, Elena’s a meddling little—”

  “I won’t hear you say anything bad about her, Cate. She’s my friend. And she’s an excellent teacher. I’ve already learned how to do healing spells. It’s a nice change, having someone who actually encourages me. She likes me.”

  I roll my eyes. “I like you. You’re my sister, Maura, I love you.”

  “It’s not the same! You don’t treat me like a person. You’re always so dismissive. Even now, you’re barely paying attention to me.” I stop fussing with the flowers and look at her. “When you do pay attention, it’s only to scold. You never want me to practice magic, even though you know I love it. You don’t even want me to join the Sisterhood. You’d rather have me marry some awful old man I didn’t love than be happy!”

  I pull her down the hall, away from the kitchen and anyone who might overhear us. “That’s not true. Of course I want you to be happy.”

  “Prove it then.” Maura’s blue eyes are calculating. “I don’t need your permission, but I’d like your blessing. Give me your blessing to join the Sisters.”

  Did Elena put her up to this? I can’t give her my blessing. Not without knowing the full meaning of the prophecy. If the Sisterhood were our best option—if it were that simple—Mother would have told me so plainly. “Is that really what you want?”

  Maura nods furiously. “It is. I’m not a child, Cate, I know my own mind. I want to study magic in New London.”

  “But what about marriage? And children? Would you give all that up?”

  She looks down and fiddles with the gold bracelet on her wrist. “I don’t want to get married.”

  “It might be different, if it was a man you loved,” I point out, thinking of Finn. Not that that’s new—I’ve been thinking of him all day in scattered quiet moments: while Elena corrected my French, while I took out stitches in my embroidered pillowcases, while Mrs. O’Hare scolded me for my halfeaten breakfast. Somehow, in just a few weeks, he’s become the stuff of my daydreams.

  “That’s not what I want,” Maura says flatly, running a hand along the curved wooden balustrade at the foot of the stairs.

  “I didn’t think it was what I wanted, either. I’ve changed my mind.”

  Maura frowns. “So you are going to marry Paul, then. Did you even consider joining the Sisters? You’re determined to keep the three of us together, but only if it’s the wayyouwant! You’d have me give up my dreams, without you sacrificing a thing!”

  “I didn’t say I was—” I protest, but she’s already stomping upstairs, presumably to Elena’s room. I sit on the bottom stair and bury my head in my hands.

  There’s a swish of skirts behind me. “Excuse me,” Elen
a says, squeezing past. “Did you and Maura have a row? She’s in her room slamming things about.”

  I raise my head. Elena’s rearranging my roses.

  “Why can’t you just leave things alone?” I snarl, stalking toward the kitchen. “We don’t need you. We were fine before you came!”

  Mrs. Corbett is the first guest to arrive. Lily takes her cloak while I draw her into the sitting room. She settles her wide bulk on the cream-tufted sofa, and I fetch her a cup of tea and a few of Tess’s lemon poppy-seed cakes.

  “How is our dear Elena working out?” Mrs. Corbett asks. “I do hope you’re making her feel at home.”

  “Oh, she’s made herself indispensable. We couldn’t have managed any of this without her.” It’s true. Elena chose the gowns we’re wearing, decided on the menu, drilled us on proper etiquette, and instructed us at which houses to leave calling cards with our names and new at-home afternoon. I ought to be grateful. Instead, it only makes me resent her more.

  “I knew she would be the perfect fit. Not as sophisticated as her previous pupils, I told her, but you needed her more. I can tell a difference in you girls already. You looked so smart at services—and just look how well turned out you are today,” Mrs. Corbett says, glancing up as the Winfields arrive. She acts as though we went around in trousers before Elena! “It’s marvelous, the changes she’s wrought in you. Give her a few more weeks and you’ll be almost unrecognizable.”

  “Er—thank you.” The smile pasted on my face never wobbles. Where’s Maura? She’s the one who thinks Elena hung the moon in the sky; she ought to be the one stuck singing her praises. But no, she and Tess are pouring tea and lemonade for the other guests, leaving me trapped on the sofa with this old battle-ax.

  “I’m glad to hear things are going smoothly. I would so hate to have to trouble your father with any unfavorable reports,” Mrs. Corbett hums.

  Her threats set my teeth on edge. Shewouldwrite him and tattle; it’s just like her.

  “Tess has been writing Father. I daresay he’ll be pleased with our progress. You were right, Mrs. Corbett. It’s high time Maura and I were out. Past time, truly. I don’t know what I was fretting over. Everyone’s been so kind. Particularly Mrs. Ishida. Maura and I were delighted to be invited to tea.” It’s prideful, but I can’t help myself. I’ve heard Mrs. Corbett is never invited to the Brothers’ wives’ functions.