Sisters' Fate (17 page)

“Don’t think of it,” Prue interrupts. I glance up at the ceiling, covered in the same deep blue floral paper as the walls, bridged by a cornice of sculpted cherubs. I can’t stop thinking of it: guards restraining my sisters, knocking them unconscious so they cannot use their magic. Beating them. Breaking their fingers the way they did Brenna’s when she refused to cooperate. Leaving scars and bruises and worse. I think of what was done to Parvati and others at Harwood and my stomach lurches.

Maura would fight back, and Lord knows she’s formidable. But Tess—Tess, whose magic is the strongest of all—

“Tess hasn’t been herself lately,” I fret. “I’m afraid she might do something foolish.”

Even if she has no sense of self-preservation, she knows what the prophecy says: If the oracle falls to the Brotherhood, we’re all lost. Surely that would rouse her to fight. Wouldn’t it?

Prue rummages through the hall table for a match, then lights the exquisite little blue crystal lamp. It’s growing dark outside; it must be nearly half past four. What’s taking them so long?

“They’ll be all right, Cate. Besides, you’re exhausted. How much more magic do you suppose you can do today?”

I glance into the silver mirror over the table, noting my pallor and the tired droop of my shoulders. She’s right. I barely managed to get us across town in our disguises before I collapsed onto Alice’s kitchen floor. Prue scrounged up some bread and cheese from the pantry, but I couldn’t bring myself to eat. It took an hour before I was able to go upstairs and attend Alice’s father.

“I don’t care. I don’t care about anyone but Maura and Tess,” I mutter.

“Liar,” Prue says. “If that were true, you would have let them arrest me. You would have let us all hang. No—you would have let us all rot in Harwood, or suffer whatever other fate the Brothers had in store for us.”

I sigh as Prue presses my cold cup of tea into my hands. A few months ago, Tess and Maura were the only people who truly mattered to me in the world. I would have been incapable of staying here and entrusting their safety to anyone else. Now—well, it’s driving me mad, but I do recognize the sense in Prue’s argument.

The front door crashes open. My heart lodges in my throat when I see the tall, gray-haired man standing in the doorway.

“Oh, good, you’re here.” Alice drops her disguise, closing the door behind her.

She’s come alone.

My heart plummets. “Where are my sisters?”

“Hidden away.” Alice shivers into her cloak. “It’s freezing in here! How’s Father?”

“Sleeping peacefully. I eased his fever. He’s past danger now.” I frown, gripping my teacup with white-knuckled hands. “Are they still at the convent? Are they safe?”

“Yes, and yes—at least for the time being.” Alice strides into the parlor—a large room with a thick rose-colored rug and curtains the pale pink of the inside of a seashell. She sits on a plush pink settee identical to the one at the convent, and I wonder if she prevailed upon her father to buy her
two.
I cannot imagine growing up in this cold mausoleum of a house. It’s lovely but impersonal—no books or papers or slippers scattered about, no family portraits on the walls. It seems a lonely place for a child.

“Isn’t the place swarming with Brothers by now?”

“Dozens of them.” Alice reaches up to pull the bell for a servant. Her hand falls as she remembers there’s no one to call. She makes a face and gets up to light the fire herself. “But it turns out there’s a suite of rooms hidden behind Cora’s. The door is in the back of her privy closet, and it’s glamoured so no one would ever suspect it was there. I’ve been living at the convent for years and I never knew. Dead clever, isn’t it? Stocked with everything you’d need for a few days—blankets, privy pots, candles, even some of Sister Sophia’s canned goods. I don’t know that they’ll be very comfortable, but they won’t starve. Gretchen got everyone in just as O’Shea himself marched in, demanding your arrest.”

I sink onto a pretty gold chair. “Thank the Lord you got there in time.”

“There wasn’t a minute to spare. Girls were rushing around, casting illusions over anything forbidden, while Inez stalled the Brothers at the door. She put on a good show of being shocked by your betrayal. Meanwhile, Gretchen was upstairs shoving all your strays into the secret rooms.” Alice sighs and throws up her hands. “Can one of you start this blasted fire?”

Prue kneels beside her and takes up the tinderbox. “Was anyone arrested?”

“No. Not yet, anyway. When I left, the Brothers were still there, questioning everyone and making dire threats. Of course everyone was claiming they hadn’t the foggiest notion where you might have gone, or when your sisters disappeared, or that you were in league with the Merriweathers.” Alice settles back onto the love seat, kicking off her fine velvet slippers and tucking her feet beneath her. “Cate, you don’t keep a diary, do you?”

I frown at her. “Of course not. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No?” Her voice leaves room for doubt. “The Brothers found one when they searched your room. In it, you claim responsibility for the attacks at Harwood Asylum and Richmond Square—as well as the assassination of the Head Council. You boast about how easy it was to pull the wool over the good Sisters’ eyes, how the convent provided the perfect ruse.”

“What an excellent villain I am.” I grit my teeth, clenching the carved wooden arm of the chair. “Inez must have planted it.”

“She’s quick, I’ll give her that.” Alice smiles. “Fortunately, she’s not immune to a bit of flattery. I made out like you and Prue escaped together, and begged her forgiveness for going against her at the hanging. I think she believed me.”

“Clever,” I say, because Alice is clearly expecting it. “You’re certain Maura and Tess are all right?”

“As long as they stay put and don’t do anything reckless,” Alice says. “O’Shea’s keeping a squadron of guards at the convent. He’s furious! You should have heard him thundering about the Sisterhood making him look a fool, nursing a viper in its bosom!”

“How did you manage to sneak out?” Prue rocks back on her heels as the fire blazes. “I assume they aren’t letting girls walk out willy-nilly.”

“I told them the truth: that my father’s sick and I was going to nurse him. When they heard who he was, they were happy enough to let me go. He donates quite generously to their coffers, so they wouldn’t want him turning up his toes.” Alice frowns. “One of them suggested I take him to see Brother Kenneally, but I don’t know what good that could do, exposing him to the riffraff down at the hospital!”

“That’s not the first time Kenneally’s name has come up. Merriweather’s trying to see what he can find out.” I sigh, tracing a finger over the wallpaper, which is all pink stripes and roses. This is the most garishly feminine room I’ve ever seen—even worse than Mrs. Kosmoski’s dress shop back in Chatham. “Your father should be right as rain in a few days. I didn’t heal him entirely; I didn’t have enough magic left. I’ll need a few days to figure out where to go next anyway.”

“You can’t spend the rest of your life in hiding.” Alice’s blue eyes are piercing. “You’re a very powerful witch, Cate. If I ever doubted that—and we both know I
did
—I saw proof of it today. The Sisterhood can’t afford to lose you.”

“I’m not leaving New London. I’d never leave Maura and Tess.” Or Finn.

“This affects more than you and your sisters,” Alice snaps. “You’ve cast doubt on the entire Sisterhood. It gives O’Shea the perfect excuse to toss us all out into the streets. Then what will we do? I for one have no intention of marrying some empty-headed dandy selected by my father. And if we disperse, it’ll be impossible to organize properly and overthrow the Brothers.”

“At least you have somewhere to go. Options. Most of the others don’t,” Prue points out.

She and Alice are both staring at me as though pearls of wisdom will fall from my lips at any moment.

“We’ve got to do something,” I agree slowly. “Soon.”

I’ve just got to figure out what. Before we lose our chance.

• • •

We’re in the midst of a makeshift dinner of fried eggs and salted ham when there’s an odd series of knocks on the kitchen door: one short, one long, one short, one long. Alice startles, but Prue jumps out of her chair and races for the door with a laugh. She flings it open to reveal her brother, stamping his feet to keep warm, breath clouding the air.

“Pru-dennn-ci-aaaaa!” he sings, echoing his knock.

She throws her arms around his waist, hugging him tight. “Hurry up, come in, before anyone sees you.”

“Just in time for dinner, I see,” he notes. “Good evening, Cate. Glad to see you here and not dancing at the end of a rope. The whole town’s buzzing about what happened.”

I wince at his jest and glance back at Alice. “This is Alice Auclair. This is her father’s home.”

“Oh, I know.
Everyone
knows George Auclair.” Merriweather gazes around the immense kitchen, which boasts a shining new range and extravagantly tiled walls. “One of the Brothers’ most generous supporters. Made a bundle off his contracts with them.”

“There’s no need to be vulgar,” Alice says crisply, but she flushes, obviously nettled. “Besides, you’re hardly one to talk!”

I squint at them in confusion. Merriweather bows low, theatrically. “The Merriweathers were rich as Midas before yours truly sank it all into the newspaper. All thanks to Walter Merriweather, head of the Brotherhood, 1816 to 1818. Our august ancestor was the last man to order witches hanged—up until O’Shea, of course.”

“Marvelous legacy,” I say dryly.

“Isn’t it?” he returns.

“Have you eaten? Shall I make you a fried egg?” Prue picks up the skillet.

“My, how domestic. Mama would be proud.” Alistair steals Prue’s seat at the rectangular wooden table, his back to the crackling fire. “No, thank you. I can’t tarry; I’ve got to redo the front page of the paper. I’d take a cup of tea, though.”

Prue reaches for the china teapot and pours. “Are you writing about Cate?”

Her brother steals a bite of her ham. “Yes. The
Gazette
will draw a distinction between those responsible for the attack on the Head Council and those responsible for saving the Harwood girls. I daresay I’ll be accused of favoritism, seeing as how you’ve saved Prue’s neck three times now, Cate. But I
am
grateful.” He reaches up and tugs on her braid, eliciting a yelp. “What were you doing in church anyway, you heathen?”

“I heard a rumor that you were up to something,” Prue explains. “Nice work with the leaflets.”

“I’m grateful for your support,” I say, ignoring Merriweather’s preening. “I hope it will mean something to those who’d normally be fearful of magic.”

“The working class, you mean.” Alice rolls her eyes.

“That attitude is precisely what’s got the Brothers in trouble. The working and merchant classes are your best bet for change,” Merriweather argues. “They’re suffering. They’d turn on the Brothers quick enough if they thought their day-to-day life would be better under a new government. I’m suggesting that new government ought to be composed of a triumvirate—like the old days of Rome—consisting of a Brother, a witch, and a commoner. That way, everyone’s concerns will be represented.”

“Magic’s still illegal, you know. Don’t you think repealing those laws would make a better first step?” Alice tosses her golden hair. She’s bathed and dressed in a fresh gown of royal-blue wool. “They’ll laugh you out of town.”

“Why not go whole hog if we’re advocating for reform?” Merriweather waves Prue’s fork as he talks. “The witches are too powerful to ignore. You were only trying to protect a friend—one who would have been put to death, after suffering through three years of false imprisonment.”

“Are you suggesting that women have the vote, too?” Prue asks. “If you really want to effect change—”

Her brother eyes her warily. “I wouldn’t go that far. Where’s your friend Miss Stephenson? I expected she’d be here, sharing in your misfortune, ready to berate me for my patriarchal ways.”

I smother a smile. “Rilla’s gone to her family in Vermont for Christmas.”

Merriweather clears his throat. “You ought to fetch her a copy of tomorrow’s
Gazette
so she can see her name in print. Pen name, at least. The chit has a way with words, believe it or not.”

“Alistair! Was that a compliment? For a lady journalist?” Prue’s gray eyes go wide behind her spectacles.

“If you repeat it, I’ll disown you,” he mutters. He steals another bite from Prue’s plate, and she swats at him. “Cate, I don’t suppose you could get me an exclusive interview with the oracle, could you?”

I take a sip of my tea. “I could not, as she’s currently in hiding.”

“One of your sisters, then?” Merriweather raises his eyebrows at me. “That is—if you’re still maintaining that it’s not you?”

“I would swear to it.” My voice is tart. “And I’ll thank you to leave my sisters out of your paper. They’re in enough trouble as it is.”

Merriweather shakes his head, a lock of black hair falling over his pale forehead, just as there’s another knock at the kitchen door. “That’ll be Belastra.”

Alice glares at me, and I shrug, though my pulse races.

“I’m going to show him our printing press,” Merriweather explains. “Told him to meet me here.”

I open the door, glad to find Finn on my doorstep. “I badgered the address out of Merriweather this afternoon,” he explains, his brown eyes searching me as if to make certain I’m still here and still whole. “I had to see for myself that you were all right.”

“Now that you’ve seen, you can go away again,” Alice says waspishly.

“This is Alice Auclair,” I explain. “And you’ve already met Prue.”

“Evening, Prue. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Auclair,” Finn says, bowing. He doesn’t reach for me, but stands closer than is proper. Only an inch separates his shoulder from mine.

“The pleasure is all yours.” Alice swivels in her seat. “I don’t want a member of the Brotherhood in my house, Cate.”

“Really?” Merriweather drawls. “I hear your father plays a regular card game with some of them—despite the measure against gambling.”

“Five minutes, Alice, please?” I give her a beseeching look. “In exchange for healing your father?”