Born Wicked
Page 57

I might be able to forgive their methods if they weren’t aimed squarely at my family.
If they weren’t willing to hurt Maura to force me into a future I don’t want.
The future I want is standing in front of me, his forehead furrowed, his eyes full of worry. “What is it then? Tell me,” he says.
“I can’t.” I push back onto my feet.
“If something’s making you unhappy, tell me. Please.”
I look at him—really look, beyond the freckles and the messy hair and the magnificent kissing. Finn is a clever, capable man, raised by a clever, capable mother. He likes me as I am—not just the laughing girl who caught minnows in her hands and climbed trees, but the stubborn, snappish girl I can be at my worst. I think he would still like me—love me—even if he knew about my magic.
But what if he knew I’d done magic to him? I stare at the cobblestone path beneath my boots. It’s unforgivable.
I don’t deserve him.
I brush dirt from the knees of my pale-blue dress. “I should go in. I’m not good company today.”
He watches me go, plainly puzzled, and I can’t say I blame him. I’m halfway down the path when he calls after me. “Lilies, I suppose. And a good apple pie, and theMetamorphoses.”
I can’t stop my answering smile. “Red roses, strawberries, andTales of the Pirate LeFevre!”
Mrs. O’Hare scowls at me as I enter the kitchen. “Miss Cate! Wash those hands before you touch anything. And take off your boots before you track dirt across my floors. You’ve been playing in the mud again, I see.”
“I’ve been gardening,” I correct, unbuckling my boots and stepping out of them. “The roses needed me.”
“I thought we hired young Finn Belastra to take care of the roses.”
“He’s been busy.” I bend over the sink to hide my blush, lathering my hands with soap. “With the gazebo.”
She harrumphs and rubs a spot on my cheek. “You look like a street urchin. You might have fine airs now, but you’re still the little girl who liked to splash about in mud puddles, aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am.” I give her a quick, fond squeeze. She smells like buttered toast—it’s been her standard midmorning snack for as long as I’ve known her.
“Oof,” she huffs, but she smiles. “And what was that for?”
“For being you. For always being here for us,” I say, and she flushes with pleasure.
She must be getting on in years; she’s always had gray hair and wrinkles. Sometimes, when it rains, her bad left knee protests, and she draws her chair up to the kitchen fire and calls it a sewing day. She doesn’t show any other signs of slowing down, though, and it’s a good thing, because I don’t know what we’d do without her. Tess will need her more than ever now, if I’m gone.
Maura pops her head into the kitchen. She’s wearing a simple, cream-colored day dress with a red sash, and her hair is in one long red braid down her back. She looks very young.
“Excellent,” she pronounces, but her grin has a touch of nervousness to it. “I wanted to talk with you, Cate. It’s important. Can you come upstairs?”
I follow her to her room, dread creeping over me like a shadow. Maura pushes the door shut behind us and ushers me over to the window seat.
“I know you won’t like it, so I’ll just have out with it. I’m going to write Father this afternoon. I’ve made a decision. I’m going to join the Sisters.”
She can’t. Not without knowing about the prophecy and what it portends. I bite my lip, torn between what my sister needs to know and what my mother asked me to do. “Maura, you don’t have to declare yourself for an entire year!”
Maura turns, gesturing for me to retie the bow at her waist. “Why wait?”
“Why are you in such a rush? Are you that eager to leave your family?”
“I’ll have a new family. Dozens of sisters.” Maura beams.
My heart bangs, wounded, inside my chest. I give a hard yank on the knot. “You already have sisters.”
“I know. I didn’t mean—” Maura admires herself in the mirror, then turns to face me. “I know we’ve been arguing more than usual, but I’ll miss you, Cate.”
“But you’d still leave us without a second thought, just like that?” I snap my fingers.
“No.” Maura sits next to me, pushing the yellow curtains aside. She looks out over the potholed drive and the red maples. “I’ve had second thoughts, and third and fourth ones, too. Mother didn’t teach us half of what she ought, and we haven’t practiced enough. I’ll be behind for my age. But magic is part of our heritage. I want to learn more about it.”
“You can’t go!” I insist. “Father won’t allow it.”
Maura rolls her eyes. She can get around him and we both know it. “Father might be surprised at my sudden religious fervor, but he won’t fight me. He’ll appreciate how scholarly and charitable they are.”
“I’ll tell him,” I threaten, standing. “I’ll tell him what they really are.”
“You wouldn’t risk it. Father’s rebellious about his books, I grant you that. But if he found out his daughters are all witches, he’d have the vapors. His health might not withstand the shock.”
I imagine myself knocking on the door of Father’s study. Sitting in one of his leather chairs. Leaning forward, opening my mouth, and telling him that Mother was a witch. That Tess and Maura and I are witches, too. Then—what? What would he say? Mother loved him, but she obviously didn’t believe he could handle it.
“You can’t stop me. You might as well accept my decision. I’ll write you. I won’t be able to say much in case the post is intercepted. But you can visit if you like. I hope you will. Perhaps once you see how happy I am there . . .” Maura trails off, standing and taking both my hands in hers. “Iwill miss you.”
She’s right. I can’t stop her; she won’t hear anything I have to say. I can only go around her, and that means making a deal with Elena. “I’ll miss you, too. Desperately,” I say truthfully.
Maura wraps me in a tight hug. “Thank you. I didn’t think— I’m so glad you’ve decided to support me. You’re thebestsister, Cate. Really you are.”
“You’re welcome,” I murmur, feeling like a traitor.
It’s a full hour later when I storm into Belastras’ bookshop. Marianne is perched on her stool behind the counter, her reading glasses low on her little snub nose. She pushes them up with her index finger. The gesture is heartbreakingly reminiscent of Finn.
“Have you got any customers?” I ask.
She shakes her head, putting her book aside. “No, but—”
“I found this,” I interrupt, pulling the crumpled letter from my pocket. “Mother left it for me. The rest of the prophecy—it says that only two of the sisters will live to see the twentieth century—because one of them’s going to kill another. Mother wants me to find a way to stop it. She thinks there’s a war coming, and because of mygift,I’ll be at the center of it. I don’t see how I can avoid it. The Sisters are already threatening Maura to get to me. They’re ruthless. Did you know that?” I stomp up to the counter and throw the letter down. “Because I must say I think it’s an oversight on her part for not telling me before she went and died and left me in charge of everything!”