Sisters' Fate
Page 53

“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?”
She rolls her eyes. “I thought providing you sanctuary was payment enough.”
Finn ignores her. “Are your sisters all right?”
I nod. “They’re safe. Did your mother and Clara leave for Chatham?”
“Put them on the train this afternoon. I suspect the Brothers will be paying her a visit soon, though.” He runs a gloved hand through his coppery hair. “Brother Ishida and I were both questioned this evening. Berated, really. O’Shea claims we let the oracle slip right under our noses. Of course Ishida made out like he’s been suspicious of you all along. Said you’re too educated for your own good—and then threw it in my face that you’d probably bought your books on magic from our shop.”
I twist my mother’s pearl ring on my finger. “I’m sorry. I never meant to involve Marianne in any of this.”
“It’s Ishida who brought her into it. I should have clocked him,” he seethes. His freckled cheeks are flushed from anger and the icy December wind. “Fortunately, our interview was cut short. Some urgent business at the hospital.”
“Speaking of the hospital . . .” Alice takes a sip of tea. “Have you heard anything about the Brothers developing medicine to treat the epidemic? I was advised to take Father to see Brother Kenneally.”
“That can’t be a coincidence.” Merriweather drops his fork with a clink against the china plate. “I’ve asked my sources in the hospital to look into it.”
I turn to Finn. “Can you ask around, too? If they’re withholding medicine from the sick, that’s awful.”
“But if we could prove it, there’d be a nice public outcry,” Merriweather muses.
“I’ll look into it.” Finn turns to face me, ears flushing, and lowers his voice. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get here sooner. I went to Alistair’s lodgings as soon as I heard, hoping he’d know where you were, but then I had to see Mother off. And when I came out of the train depot, there was a guard waiting to escort me back to the hotel for questioning. I’ve been worried about you.”
My eyes collide with his. “I’m all right. Better now that I’ve seen you.”
“Well.” Merriweather clears his throat, rising with an elegant swirl of his greatcoat. “We ought to be going. Loads of work to do tonight. Thank you for the tea and hospitality, ladies. Prue, you know how to reach me.” He pats his sister on the head like a puppy and is out the door.
Finn brushes his hand over mine before following. It’s a sweet gesture, but it reminds me how far apart we still are. A few weeks ago, he would have kissed me.
Chapter 17
PATIENCE HAS NEVER BEEN ONE OF MY VIRTUES.
By midmorning, I’m driving Prue and Alice mad with my pacing. Alice is lounging on the love seat with a fashion magazine, wearing a rose-colored brocade embroidered with gold leaves. The fire burns merrily in the hearth; a plate of freshly baked cranberry scones and a steaming pot of tea sit on the table where Prue left them.
I can’t seem to settle. Unlike Alice, I’m not well suited to idleness, and unlike Prue, I’ve no useful domestic talents. I’m practically twitching with pent-up energy.
I should be at the hospital, nursing, but I can’t leave the house without an illusion, and it would be impossible to do any significant healing magic while maintaining a glamour. I’ve got to find something to occupy myself with.
“Would you go pace somewhere else?” Alice snaps.
I go in search of Prue, following my ears to the music room across the hall. It’s papered with pretty blue and yellow scrollwork, but it’s obvious that this room isn’t often used; the grand piano is covered in a fine layer of dust, and brown petals have fallen from a vase of pink roses. Prue sits on a stool next to the harpsichord, playing and singing softly. She stops when I come in.
“Go on,” I urge, leaning against the piano. “Don’t mind me.”