Born Wicked
Page 49

“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 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 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.