Born Wicked
Page 40

“Was your mother a witch?” Rory stretches her arms over her head, her fingertips dangling toward the floor.
I pluck at my blue skirt with nervous fingers. “She was.”
“And your sisters?” Sachi asks.
“No,” I say quickly. The Brothers can’t hurt Mother now, but my sisters are another matter. “They’ve been very accepting, but it’s just me.”
“You’re lucky we found you, then.” Sachi gives me her sly smile. “Mine comes from Father’s side. He doesn’t like anyone to know, but his greatgrandmother was a witch.”
“I don’t know where mine comes from,” Rory says. “Certainly not my mother.”
“You aren’t anything like her,” Sachi says, patting Rory’s dark head. “You’re so much stronger.”
Rory knocks her hand away, and Sachi sighs. I get the impression this is a frequent argument between them.
“What can you do besides illusions, Cate?” Sachi asks.
“That’s all, as far as I know. Mother only taught me a few spells before she died.” I reach for a blueberry scone. No matter how nice Sachi is, I’ll never tell her about the mind-magic.
“Animating objects is harder. It takes more energy than illusions.” Sachi’s teacup hovers off the table a few inches, then floats back down to its blue saucer, clicking gently into place.
“It’s not as easy as she makes it look. Things—well, they don’t always move where I want them,” Rory adds.
Sachi gives Rory a sideways look. “If you didn’t drink, your focus would—”
“Agito,”Rory interrupts, and a thick leather-bound Bible flies right off the bookshelf, zooming across the room toward Sachi’s head.
“Desino,”Sachi fires back, and the book falls harmlessly to the floor. “Very good, Rory.”
“Stop lecturing me then and let Cate try it.”
“Me? Here?” I glance nervously toward the hall. Birds and feathers aside, I’ve never performed magic in front of someone besides Mother or Maura and Tess. I can’t help feeling shy, as though Rory’s asked me to undress.
“It’s safe. Elizabeth’s gone out to the market, and Rory’s mother won’t come down until supper,” Sachi says, her eyes flicking up to the ceiling.
But it’s a new kind of spell. Who knows what could go wrong?
“No one will care if you break something here,” Rory says from her prone position on the sofa. “Mother never notices if the dishes go missing.”
“All you have to do is pick an object and focus on where you want it to go. Pinpoint the locationexactly. If you get distracted, it may end up somewhere else,” Sachi instructs. “Agitois the best spell, although sometimes I useavoloto make things go faster. If you set something in motion, desinowill make it stop.”
I’m slow at languages, but even I recognize that much Latin. I set my teacup down. “Agito?”
It doesn’t move. I try again, more forcefully, imagining it three inches to the right.“Agito!”
Still nothing. Frustration chokes me.
I look up at Sachi, cheeks flushed. “I can’t do it.”
Sachi just laughs. “You can’t expect to master a spell in two minutes. Watch us for a bit.”
Rory sits up, and they call out spells, sending things flying around the room: books, pillows, Rory’s slippers, the sugar bowl. Rory pulls the pins from Sachi’s hair, and the next minute the sofa floats a few inches off the floor—with Rory still on it, squealing. They’re playful with magic in a way I’ve never been. They make it lookfun.
It makes me wish things were different. ThatIwas different.
Mother was very clear; magic was not a thing to play with. Inheriting it wasn’t a gift or a mark of pride. It was a burden, and a heavy one, and we had to learn to wield it well enough to make sure we were safe.
What would it have been like to learn magic without all her warnings, without the fear and anxiety that pervaded all of our practices? Would the Brothers’ lectures still make me feel sick with guilt?
“Keep trying,” Sachi says, and I do. Once the teacup rattles promisingly, and they both stop their own efforts to watch. I try again. This time, it scoots forward three whole inches.
Rory puts her fingers in her mouth and gives a piercing whistle. “Brilliant! It took me weeks to learn that.”
“Me, too. You’re amazing,” Sachi proclaims. “You must have a natural gift for this sort of magic.”
I look at her suspiciously, but she’s not mocking. She actually thinks I’m good. Lord, but I have misjudged these girls.
Half an hour later, I climb into our carriage. Sachi and Rory stand at the gate, waving and calling that they’ll be at our tea on Tuesday. The carriage jolts over the cobblestones, but I’m so exhausted, I could nap. I feel as though I’ve been clobbered over the head with a shovel; there’s a dull ache in my temples and my legs feel leaden. Is this why Mother didn’t tell us it was possible to animate objects? Was she waiting for us to be older and stronger?
She knew she was dying, though. If she was worried for us, she should have taught us everything we were capable of. Why didn’t she want us to be as powerful as possible?
Because she thought it was wrong,a small voice inside me suggests, and I go still with the certainty of it. She wanted us to be normal girls, safe and ordinary.
But we’re not. And seeing Sachi and Rory—seeing how free and fearless they are—it makes me wonder. Perhaps Maura’s right. I’ve been trying to follow Mother’s example because I had no other. I thought keeping us safe meant hiding our magic away, resenting it for the danger it put us in. Perhaps it doesn’thaveto be that way. Lord knows, now more than ever, we need every possible means of protecting ourselves.
John drops me off in front of the house and helps me down. I don’t go inside; instead I walk toward the garden. I owe my sisters an apology. I should have been helping them learn instead of preventing them. It’s important to keep up a veneer of respectability, yes. To dress well and fit in with our neighbors. Elena can help with that—and Sachi, too. But beneath that—as long as we’re careful—we could be learning new spells.
We’re not alone in it anymore. We have Sachi now, and Rory. Elena, backed by the entire Sisterhood. The thought brings me a surprising amount of comfort.
I work out my thoughts as I walk. The apology’s muddled—I hate admitting when I’ve been wrong—but the plan of action, moving forward, is good. Perhaps if I let Elena teach us animation and healing spells, she’ll tell the Sisters that we’ve been cooperating, and they’ll be satisfied with our progress. It’s not a permanent solution—but it may buy us a bit of time, enough for me to learn more about the last part of the prophecy. For me to figure out whether the Sisterhood can be trusted.
My face falls. Only—I haven’t much time to spare. The early October sun is warm, the sky a bright robin’s-egg blue full of puffy white clouds, but autumn is here and November is coming. If I don’t make up my mind soon, the Brothers will force my hand.
I’m so absorbed in my thoughts that I don’t notice the butterflies until they’re flying past my head.