Born Wicked: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One (20 page)

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 cut 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 if
Finn
sees? I can’t erase his memory again. I won’t.
“Tess, we have to do something. There are
tulips
!”
“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.

“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.
“It
was
just 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 way
you
want! 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,” Elena 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. She
would
write 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.
“Ye—es.” Mrs. Corbett blinks slowly, like a lizard in the sun. “I noticed that you and Miss Ishida have become particular friends.”
“Sachi’s marvelous. I take her as a model of what a proper young lady ought to be.” I shoot a desperate glance toward the door, wishing Sachi would come and rescue me.
“Your father couldn’t ask you to keep better company. Miss Ishida is above reproach,” Mrs. Corbett agrees. But her eyes rove over me like tiny, suspicious brown spiders, as though she’s just praying to find something wrong.
Have I overdone it? Perhaps I ought to be less cloyingly agreeable.
Mrs. Corbett glances up at the family portraits above the fireplace. “Have you made any decisions about your intention? I saw you speaking with Paul McLeod at church. The McLeods are a good family. Respected.”
Paul. I’ve hardly thought of him all day. “I haven’t made any decisions yet,” I murmur.
“Cate!” Sachi swoops in. She’s wearing a diamond comb in her hair and a bright turquoise dress. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Corbett. You’re looking well. Excuse us, won’t you?”
She whirls me out into the hall and collapses into giggles. “The look on your face! Like someone was plucking out your eyelashes!”
I scowl, leaning against the banister of the staircase. “She’s an interfering old toad.”
Sachi casts a look over her shoulder. “Never liked her much myself. Wearing all that black like a big carrion bird. It’s carrying mourning a bit far, don’t you think? Her husband died four years ago. And always going on about Regina this, Regina that. Regina Corbett’s nothing but a—”
“Cabbagehead,” I pronounce gleefully.
“Indeed,” Sachi agrees. We pause to greet Mrs. Ralston and Mrs. Malcolm as Maura ushers them into the dining room. “So. Have you found any books for us yet?”
“I haven’t been able to get away, but I asked Mrs. Belastra to bring one with her.”
Sachi arches her eyebrows. “You invited her here? Today?”
“I did. Why?” I tamp down the rush of defensiveness.
“She’s a shopkeeper, Cate.”
“That’s snobbery.”
“No, it’s fact,” Sachi says, leaning down to smell the roses. “The other ladies will cut her. Everyone will whisper behind her back, and she’ll be miserable. Did you invite Angeline Kosmoski and her mother? Or Elinor Evans?”
The dressmaker’s daughter and the chocolatier’s. “No.”
“No, of course you wouldn’t, and Marianne Belastra is less respectable than any of them. You know the Brothers have it in for her. My father loathes the idea of all that information just sitting there in her shop, available to anyone.”
“People would still buy books without Belastras’. They’d order them from New London.”
“People with money, perhaps. And then they’d have to come through the post. Father has a source at the post office. Old man Carruthers reports on forbidden materials.”
“He goes through people’s mail?” My eyes widen, momentarily diverted. “Imagine all the gossip he must have!”
Sachi glances into the sitting room, where her mother is holding court, her green silk fan waving briskly. “My point is, you’re taking a risk. It’s one thing to drop by the bookshop. People will assume you’re running errands for your father. If you associate with Mrs. Belastra socially, people will talk.”
I don’t like it, but I’m practical enough to recognize the truth when I hear it. It’s just what Finn was warning me about. A love match might be romantic in Maura’s novels, but not here. Not involving a family with two strikes against them—their poverty and their willingness to go against the Brothers.
If I married Finn, it would put my sisters in danger.
But am I strong enough to give him up?
All day I’ve been turning the problem over in my head like a mathematics equation. I wish it were possible, but I don’t see how I could marry him, no matter how much I want it. Want
him
. A nervous blush sweeps over me. I’ve never thought of what goes on between man and wife before, but now—I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to share Finn’s bed.
Sachi elbows me. “That’s a secretive look. Do tell.”
I hesitate, caught. I do need advice. Both times my magic’s run amok lately, it’s been because of Finn. Because of kissing Finn, to be more precise. Is that a normal thing for magic to do? The only person who would know is another witch, and I certainly can’t ask Elena. But I can’t ask Sachi either—not here, not with half the town coming and going.
I pitch my voice low. “I can’t tell you here.”
Sachi leans in. She smells of powder and lemon verbena.
I shrink back against the wooden banister of the staircase, blushing hotter. “My magic has been—unwieldy. In certain—situations. Certain company.”
Sachi smooths her black hair. “What kind of company?”
“Men. Well. One man,” I amend.
“Intriguing. I’ll bring Rory, that’s her specialty,” Sachi giggles.
“Do you have to? I’d rather keep this private.” I look nervously at the cluster of ladies in the sitting room, sipping tea, nibbling on Tess’s lemon poppy-seed cakes. Rory stands out in her orange dress, prowling like a restless tiger from group to group.
“I daresay you would. But I’m hardly an expert. Do you want help or not? If it’s got to do with a man, Rory will know.”
“I do want help. But Rory—well, she is a bit—flighty. Can I trust her?”
Sachi purses her lips. “You trust me, don’t you?” I nod. “Then I give you my word on Rory. Can you meet us Friday night? Late?”
I’m no coward, but I don’t relish the thought of traipsing into town alone in the dark. “I thought—can’t we meet at Rory’s tomorrow?”
Sachi tosses a demure smile at Mrs. Collier and Rose as they come through the door. “Mrs. Elliott fired Elizabeth. The new girl’s a busybody. We’ll get rid of her, but it might be a few days until we have the house to ourselves again. If you want to wait—”
“No.” I can’t afford another mishap. And I can’t bear the thought of avoiding Finn. “Sooner is better.”
“We could meet somewhere on your property. If you’re not afraid to go out after dark, that is.” Sachi smirks.
I can’t trust the rose garden anymore, not with Elena creeping around like a ghoul. There’s one place that might work. It’s not a place I relish going, not even in broad daylight, but what choice do I have?
“On the other side of the pond, there’s a graveyard. I’ll meet you there Friday night. If you come across the fields, no one can see you from the house.”
Sachi’s lips twitch. “Witching hour in a cemetery. It’s the perfect place for our little coven’s first meeting.”