Born Wicked: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One (18 page)

I FIND TESS IN HER BEDROOM, nestled in her canopy bed, reading a book twice as thick as my arm. When I slam the door behind me, she sits up, throwing the blankets off. Her curls are mussed into a frizzy halo around her head.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I snap. “Everything’s just grand. Would you like to learn a new spell?”
“From whom?”
“From me, silly.”
Tess stares at me, gray eyes searching as though she’s trying to puzzle out the joke. “You hate us using magic.”
I sit next to her, ducking beneath the gauzy green canopy. “I don’t hate it. I’ve been worried it would hurt us. But I’ve been thinking, and I wonder if we ought to practice more and learn some new spells. We’ll still need to be careful, but—”
I’m cut off by a mouthful of hair. Tess flings herself at me, squealing, puppylike in her excitement. “Will you teach me now? Where’s Maura?”
I take a deep breath. Tess’s room smells delicious, like cinnamon and nutmeg. I glance over at her bureau and, sure enough, there’s a plate with freshly baked pumpkin bread. Her own handiwork, no doubt. “Elena is going to teach her, I think.”
“Elena? Our governess Elena?” Tess gapes at me. “How—why—how?”
By the time I’m finished explaining about Elena and the Sisterhood, Tess’s eyes are round as saucers. “You know, she hinted at it the other day, during our French lesson—but I thought perhaps I was imagining it. I didn’t say anything about the magic, I swear.”
“I’m not angry—not with you, at any rate. I’m not certain we can trust her.”
“You don’t trust anybody,” Tess points out, the dimple in her cheek showing.
“What do you think? Do you like her?”
Tess taps a finger against her mouth, thoughtful. “I don’t
dis
like her,” she says finally. “But I’m not certain she has our best interests at heart, if she’s been sent here to find out if we’re witches and report back to someone.”
I throw up both hands, thrilled to have my suspicions seconded. “Try telling Maura that!”
Tess gives me a look, and for a moment it’s as though our roles have been reversed and she’s the older, wiser one. “Cate,” she sighs, as though I’m frightfully dim-witted. “We can’t tell Maura that. She’ll think we’re jealous.”
“Yes!” I groan, falling backward onto the bed. “She thinks I’m upset because they’ve become so close.”
Tess rolls her eyes. “Well, it is annoying. Maura’s so besotted with her—she hangs on Elena’s every word like she’s the most brilliant girl in the world.”
I laugh and muss Tess’s hair. “We all know that’s you.”
“I’m serious. Maura’s started adopting the way Elena talks, and all her little mannerisms. She’s desperate to impress her. But I suppose it makes sense. I’m Father’s favorite. You were Mother’s.” Tess says it matter-of-factly. “She wants someone all her own.”
I’ve never once thought of it like that. “How did you get to be so clever?”
Tess giggles, falling back next to me. “It’s not clever. It’s just paying attention to people.”
Whatever it is, I wish I had her talent for it.
“Time for lessons,” I declare, sitting up.
“Wait.” Tess sits up, too, her hair tickling my arm. “Where did you learn new spells? Mrs. O’Hare said you went to the bookshop—did you find something about magic there?”
The story of the prophecy can wait. “No. I learned them from Sachi Ishida.”
“Sachi Ishida is a witch?” Tess whisper-shouts.
I laugh and tell her how Sachi and Rory ambushed me over tea. Then I gather my energy. I think of Elena’s ultimatums, letting my anger feed the magic but keeping it at an even, steady boil.
“Agito,”
I say, and Tess’s ragged old teddy bear, Cyclops, soars into the air.
“Desino.”
It thumps back on top of her pillows like a kite without wind.
Tess stares at me wide eyed.
I’m surprised, too. I didn’t think I’d get it on the first try.
“You just learned that today?” she asks.
“I did.” I hold my breath, expecting her to say it’s impossible. To call me a liar.
“That’s marvelous!” She bounces on the bed. “May I try?”
“Absolutely. Just—”
“Be careful,” we say in unison, and I laugh. Am I that predictable?
Tess focuses on Cyclops’s placid, one-eyed face. He lost one of his black button eyes years ago, but she wouldn’t let Mrs. O’Hare replace it. She said it made him more interesting, and changed his name from Barnabus.
Tess takes a breath and lets it out slowly.
“Agito,”
she says, but nothing happens. She tries again, scrunching up her face. Her expression is just like Father’s when he’s translating a difficult passage.
“It’s more difficult than illusions,” I explain. “You have to sort of—harness your energy. I felt like I could nap for days on the way home.”
Tess pouts. “You made it look so simple.”
“It’s not. It took me an hour to move a teacup. Rory said it took her weeks.”
“Then I’ll have to keep practicing, won’t I?” From this angle, her jaw is shaped like mine. Pointy and stubborn.
“Let’s practice together. You can help me with my silent spells, and I’ll help you with animation. Give us a few weeks, and we’ll be the cleverest witches in New England!”
Tess grins at me. “You don’t ever do things halfway, do you?”
I suppose I do not.

The following afternoon, after our lessons proper, Tess and I closet ourselves in Father’s study to practice again. I suppose I’m feeling rather bold, breaking the no-magic-in-the-house rule Mother set, but now that Father’s gone and half the inhabitants of the house are witches, it doesn’t seem quite so dangerous.

Tess sits dwarfed in Father’s leather desk chair and I lie on the curved red-velvet sofa. We take turns trying to float different objects from Father’s desk: paperweights and pens, stamps and sealing wax. We both show marked improvement. I manage half a dozen silent spells under Tess’s tutelage, and she hovers Father’s copy of
The Metamorphoses
a good six inches off the floor.

Tess is pleased with our progress, but the rapidity of it worries me. We’ve both picked up animation much faster than Sachi and Rory said they did. Even casting silently doesn’t seem so difficult for me anymore. I always thought myself a poor witch, but now I wonder whether my lack of progress was due to lack of interest rather than lack of skill.

Perhaps it’s the difference in our ages, but there’s no jealousy, no sense of competition between us. It helps that although Tess is the far better scholar—better at piano and chess, too—we seem evenly matched in our magic. It’s actually
fun
. I only feel guilty that it took me this long—this threat of losing her to Elena—to make me appreciate Tess more. To start seeing her as a friend, not just a baby sister.

A rap on the door interrupts us. “Miss Cate, Mr. McLeod is here to see you.”
“I’ll be right there, Lily.”
Tess dances over to the settee, poking me with the fountain pen she’s just floated up to the ceiling. “Are you going to marry Paul? Lily and Mrs.

O’Hare were gossiping about it in the kitchen when they thought I wasn’t listening.”
I swat at her. “I don’t know. What did they say?”
Tess chews on the end of the pen. “They think you’ll have to. But they don’t know about the Sisters, of course. What they really are.” “Do you think—” I push my doubts aside for the moment. If it’s what Tess wants, what Maura wants, I’ll have to give in. “Do you
want
to go to New

“Elena told me about the libraries. They do sound tempting,” Tess admits. I give her a tight smile. Elena did, did she? But Tess shakes her head, braids flying. “Still, I think I’d rather stay home and study with Father, and bake with Mrs. O’Hare, and take walks in the garden. Elena tries to make New London sound fun, but it just seems—noisy. And crowded.”

“Well, you have years to decide yet,” I assure her, though I don’t know if it’s true. If we are the three sisters, will the Sisterhood let her stay home until she’s seventeen? “It’s only Maura and me Father’s worried about. Well—mostly me.”
“Just wait until it’s Maura’s turn,” Tess says. “You know how she changes her mind. Even if she goes to the Sisterhood early, she’s likely to get to New London and decide she wants to marry a sailor instead. With you, at least we all know that once you make up your mind, you won’t change it.”
“I want to stay in Chatham, especially if that’s where you’ll be,” I admit. “It’s just a matter of figuring out how. I could try to persuade Paul to stay here with me, but—”
Tess throws her arms around my waist. “Do you think he would? I don’t want you to go. It’d be so lonely without you, Cate.”
I hug her tight. “I don’t want to go, either.”
“But you might have to.” She pulls away, her little face woebegone. “If you’re his wife, you’ll have to go and live with him wherever he wants.”
Tess is right. I could be packed up and moved to the other side of the world if my husband wanted it. I’d have no more say than the footstool.
“Do you really think Paul would drag me off kicking and screaming? That’s what he’d have to do, to take me away from you.”
Tess smiles, her dimple flashing. “You promise?”
“I promise.” But my conscience gives a great loud pang. I don’t know if I can keep that promise. Even if I can wrangle Paul into staying in Chatham, if the Sisters discover that I can do mind-magic, I don’t think they’ll allow me to marry. Elena talked of women gaining their independence —but what about
my
independence?
My temper rises. It’s one thing for me to decide, voluntarily, to forgo marriage and join the Sisters and work toward their cause. I haven’t ruled it out. But I don’t care for being forced into anything. No matter how safe and beautiful it is, a cage is still a cage.
Paul’s waiting in the sitting room, but he hasn’t removed his gray overcoat. He stands up and hands me a bouquet of white roses. I bury my face in them, inhaling deeply. “They’re lovely, thank you.”
He smiles. His sunburn has faded, and his green eyes are bright against his tanned skin. “They’re not your favorites, I know, but Mother’s garden is anemic compared with yours.”
Clever boy. Flowers and compliments on my garden are the surest way to my heart, and he knows it. “Have you been waiting long? I was studying with Tess.”
“It’s all right. Maura stopped by and kept me company for a few minutes.” Paul leans against the piano. “Your sisters are getting to be proper young ladies, aren’t they? I can remember when Tess was crawling over the floors and we had to keep her from putting dirt in her mouth.”
“She did have a talent for chewing on everything in her path. I think she ate half a worm once.” I laugh, remembering how revolted Mrs. O’Hare was to find the other half still squirming in Tess’s hand.
Paul nods sagely. “Possibly it was for scientific purposes.”
“Possibly. She was very inquisitive, even as a baby.”
“There was that entire year when all she said was ‘Why?’ And you made up those ridiculous reasons for things.” Paul tilts his head to one side in that funny way Tess has, and pitches his voice high. He’s always been brilliant at impersonations. “‘Why do horses have four legs? Why isn’t snow blue? Why? Why?’”
I laugh, trailing a hand over the closed lid of the piano. “Well, how am I supposed to know why bumblebees can fly and Tess can’t? Aside from the wings, I mean.”
Paul brushes a stray hair away from my face. “You’re beautiful when you laugh.”
The smile slips from my face. How did we go from reminiscing to flirtation? “Do I usually look haggard?”
“You’re always beautiful to me,” he says tenderly, stroking my cheek. “But you worry too much. I’d take away some of your troubles if I could.”
I wish it were that easy. I pull away, smiling stiffly. “I manage.”
“I know you do. I’m not criticizing you, Cate. I’d like to help. Whatever it is. You can count on me,” he says, uncharacteristically earnest. Then he grins. “Shall we go for a walk?”
I glance out the window, uneasy. It rained this morning, but now there’s a fresh wind whipping at the trees, sending the gray clouds skimming across the sky. I’ve been cooped up inside all day; I do want to go out. But what if we run into Finn?
“Let me guess, it’s too cold,” Paul suggests. “You’re afraid to catch a chill.”
I smack his arm lightly. “I am not!”
“You’ve been spending too much time with Miss Ishida. You’ll become a delicate flower yet,” he teases.
If only he knew. Rory turned one of the buttons on Sachi’s bodice into a centipede, and she hardly blinked. Sachi Ishida’s a good deal hardier than anyone suspects.
“Nonsense,” I laugh. “Of course I’ll go.”
I bundle up in my cloak and call for Lily. Once we’re out in the gardens, my nerves stretch out like a thin ribbon. The wind whips my skirts around my ankles and tugs threateningly at my hood. I find myself listening for the sound of hammering at the gazebo. I don’t hear it; I wonder if perhaps Finn isn’t here at all. Perhaps he was needed at home today. My heart sinks at the thought. The truth is, I’ve come to crave the sight of him.
I turn my face up to the sky, reveling in the breeze that buffets my cheeks. At least I’m not cowering in the house.
“Let’s go in here and get out of the wind,” Paul suggests, tugging me into Mother’s rose garden. “Lily, could we have a moment?”
They don’t give me a chance to object. Lily scurries away, smiling fit to burst, and then it hits me: they’ve arranged this.
He’s arranged this.
For all my brave talk of asking him to stay in Chatham, I don’t feel ready.
“Cate,” he says, like he relishes the taste of my name on his tongue. He stands tall, his shoulders broad, his stance wide. “I know this is your favorite place. That’s why I wanted to say this here.”
I open my mouth, but he puts up a hand to forestall me, chuckling. “Just listen for a minute. I love you, Cate. I’ve always loved you. Ever since you took that dare and walked that pigpen fence.” He laughs a little. “The sky is just the color of your eyes today, do you know that?”
“Paul, I—”
Stop,
I want to say.
Don’t do this. Please.
He plows ahead, heedless. “I know this is unconventional. I haven’t had a chance to speak to your father yet. But I thought it might suit you, asking you first. I can’t imagine he’d object if you were happy. I think I
can
make you happy, Cate. And I would be truly honored—that is to say, you’d make me very happy if—will you be my wife?”
My eyes fall to the ground in confusion. Paul would be a good husband to me. He would be a partner, not a master. He makes me laugh. He’s handsome. And I do love him.
I should say yes. I should say yes and then I should ask whether he would consider living in Chatham, at least for the first few years of our marriage. Just until Tess marries. After that, she’d be safer. But I can’t ask Paul to give up his job and rearrange his life for an engagement that I might well be forced to break. It’s not fair to him.
Or to me. I think back to my conversation in the carriage with Maura. I don’t feel butterflies when Paul says my name, when he touches my hand. I don’t miss him on the days he doesn’t come to call. Whatever being in love is—I don’t think I feel that way toward him.
I can’t bring myself to say yes. Not yet. Perhaps in a few weeks, I’ll be able to find a way around Elena and the Sisters. Perhaps when I’ve forgotten the way Finn’s kisses made me feel—how tempted I was to tell
him
about the magic—I’ll be able to say yes in good conscience.
“Paul, I—” How can I put him off in a way that won’t hurt him?
But the moment I look up, he knows. He sets his jaw in that way he has and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’ve rushed things. I was afraid I was too late, but you need more time.”
I feel a great glad swell of relief. “Yes,” I say, finally meeting his eyes.
“You’re not saying no, though?” His eyes are worried, vulnerable.
“No,” I assure him. “I’m not saying no.”
“Good.” He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Am I allowed to try to convince you?”
How? Will he suggest setting up an architecture practice in Chatham? My head spins, pragmatism warring against Maura’s ridiculous notions of romance.
“Certainly.” I smile, tilting my head at him in that coquettish way Sachi has. “What did you have in mind?”
One of his arms snakes out and pulls me close, wrapping me right up against him. His mouth slants down, moving urgently against mine. My body responds; I feel warm and wanted. My arms lock around his neck; my mouth moves tentatively against his. When he takes my lower lip into his mouth, heat simmers through me. I press closer. Kissing is nice.
But even as the thought skims across my mind, I’m pushing against his chest. Remembering a kiss that felt more than nice—it felt
right
.
Paul steps away. He’s smiling. “Was that all right?” he asks. “You don’t feel the need to slap me for being too forward, do you?”
“No,” I say, my eyes falling to his boots. “I think I can forgive you.”
“Good. So. You’re not certain if you want to marry me,” he says. “But you like kissing me well enough?”
“Do we have to talk about this right now?” I beg, mortified. How is a lady meant to respond to a question like that? He is handsome, and he knows it. In another life—a life where I wasn’t a witch, perhaps, and had no need of Belastras’ bookshop and the secrets hidden there—it might have been my first kiss. It might have been enough.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, cocky as ever. “Is it moving to the city that worries you? I know you’d miss your flowers, but there are grand parks. We could go for walks every evening when I got home from work. I could take you down to the shipyards, too, to watch the ships coming in. I’d love to show you New London, Cate. It’s magnificent.”
His voice is quick and passionate. He adores it there, that’s clear. He won’t change his mind. And I won’t ask him to.
“My sisters,” I say, fumbling for excuses. “Things have changed since Mother died. I feel responsible for them. Moving so far away—it’s not just a few hours. If something happened and I wasn’t here—”
Paul looks puzzled. “But Maura told me she’s planning to join the Sisterhood. If she does, she’ll be right there in New London.”
She did, did she? “There’s Tess. She’s still so little—and Father’s never home anymore. How could I leave her here with just a governess and a housekeeper to look after her?”
“She could visit as often as you like.” Paul reaches out and takes my gloved hand in his. “Cate, I love that you’re so devoted to your sisters, but is there something else that’s giving you pause? Tell me the truth.”
I stare at the rose petals the wind has scattered along the cobblestones. “No,” I lie. “Nothing else.”
Paul searches my face for the truth. “Are you certain? It’s not—it’s not because of Belastra, is it?”
“What?” I gasp, tugging my hand away from his. “No!”
“I know you, Cate. You can deny it all you want, but the way you look at him—”
“How?” Have I been telegraphing my feelings all over town? Does
everyone
know?
“Like you’re fascinated.”
“I don’t know what you mean!”
“Cate. Show me the respect of not lying to my face, at least.”
I whirl around, turning my back to him. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this entirely mortified. I’m half tempted to try and vanish myself.
Paul lays a hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right. I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand.”
I peer up at him quizzically.
“I had a bit of a failed romance in the city,” he confesses.
“You fell in love with someone?” I’m not certain of my feelings for him, but I have to admit I don’t relish the idea of him courting anyone else.
He turns me to face him. “I thought so, at the time. Her name was Penelope. She was very proper and very pretty. I met her at a colleague’s dinner party. After dinner, she played the piano and sang for us. She had the voice of an angel.”
I picture this Penelope with hair like ripe wheat and giant, innocent blue eyes. The sort of girl who’s never had to worry about anything more pressing than hair ribbons or a torn hem. I hate her.
I shove a strand of hair back under my hood—perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary. “What happened?”
“I called on her a few times, squired her home from services once or twice, and was nearly ready to propose. Then she announced her intention to marry someone else. I was devastated. Drank myself into a stupor. Truly, though, it was the best thing that could have happened to me.”
“What? Why?” I want to poke her imaginary eyes out for hurting him.
“We were too different,” Paul says. “When she wasn’t singing, she was quiet as a mouse. Never a word to say for herself. Her blushes were captivating in theory, but once the newness wore off, she would have driven me insane with boredom.”
I bite my lip. “How do you know it’s not the same with me?”
“Because we’re alike, you and I. We want adventures, not quiet nights at home by the fire. I think I could make you happy if you’d let me.” Paul’s voice goes gravelly, and he takes both my hands in his. “Just promise me you won’t go off and marry someone else. Can you do that? For your old friend, at least?”
I squeeze his hands, grateful for his understanding. “Yes, of course. I promise.”
“Good.” Paul pulls me into his arms again, but this time he just holds me. I tuck my head under his chin. He smells like pine trees and horses and leather. It’s very comforting; I let myself sink into his embrace.
Then there’s a clatter of metal behind us. We spring apart.
Finn. He’s got a pail of weeds in one hand; he’s picking up his shovel with the other. When our eyes meet, he stumbles away, fast despite his twisted ankle.
My heart stops for a moment, then gallops on ahead.
I want to chase right after him. I don’t care how big a fool I’d look.
But I can’t. I’d be no better than that Penelope. Paul’s just proposed; I can’t go chasing after another man, one who may not even want me.
Paul wants me; he’s been clear as crystal about it. He loves me, and he’s my best friend. I push aside what I want.
Paul and I watch Finn’s retreating figure until he disappears behind the hedges. Then I turn to Paul, smiling up at him through the horror in my heart. “Will you walk me back inside, please?”