Sisters' Fate (12 page)

A tear trickles down my cheek. Finn brushes it away with the pad of his thumb. “This must be very difficult for you.”

“Not as difficult as it’s been for you.” I struggle against it, but another tear escapes. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

“Shhh.” Finn draws me into his arms. I bury my face against the soft cotton of his shoulder. Perhaps he’s only doing this because he feels obliged, because he feels guilty for not remembering me, but for a moment, I let myself pretend otherwise. I am pressed against him, our bodies touching from knees to shoulders, and there is nowhere else in the world I would rather be. He tucks a strand of blond hair behind my ear. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll figure this out together,” he whispers, and his breath on my neck sends a not-unpleasant shiver through me.

I turn my head. “I’ve missed you.” My lips almost touch his throat.

He lets out a little hum of pleasure, his hands moving on my back, burning warm through the gray silk. And I cannot help it. I press a kiss to the warm, smooth skin just above his collar. He tastes of salt and soap and Finn. His hands clutch at the fabric of my dress and I tilt my head and I’m not sure who moves first, but then we are kissing, we are kissing, and—

I am lost. I forget to go slow, forget this is—to him—our first kiss, forget about caution or reputation. My hand fumbles beneath his vest and I press a palm against the small of his back to anchor him against me. His lips move soft and hot and slow against mine. When I arch my neck, his mouth moves to my throat, making love to me until I curl my fingers though the crisp hair at his nape and pull his face back to mine. I nip at his bottom lip with my teeth and his tongue slips into my mouth and his hands are soft on my waist and—

It feels like it did before. It feels like the secret room, the gazebo, the conservatory. I can close my eyes and pretend that we are back in Chatham in the autumn rose garden, surrounded by hedges and the sweet scent of my mother’s roses.

I can pretend that he still loves me.

Finn stills. He rests his forehead against mine, his breath coming fast. “Cate, we should talk about—” he begins, and then his eyes settle on something behind me.

“What is it?” I ask. His hands relax on my waist, but he doesn’t entirely let me go.

The wooden floor is carpeted in rose petals. They’re everywhere: drifting onto the shelves, blanketing the boxes of pens and the accounting ledgers. I run a hand through my hair, find one caught in my braid, and hold it in my palm. It’s a deep scarlet, just like the ones in Mother’s rose garden, and velvety soft. The scent is intoxicating.

I did this. Just like with the feathers.

But this time, Finn knows what I am.

“I lose my head around you. Always have,” I confess.

“I suspect the feeling is mutual.” Finn traces the line of my neck, and I shiver again. He winds his fingers through my blue sash and pulls me back against him. His mouth lowers to mine.

We are thoroughly lost in each other when the back door swings open and a man clad in Brotherly black bursts into the room. We spring apart, but the man’s cold-marble eyes slide over us. Over my wrinkled dress and swollen lips. Over Finn’s untucked vest and messy hair.

“So this is where you’ve been sneaking off to, Belastra?” Brother Ishida’s lips twist into a sneer. “And you, Miss Cahill. What of your vow to the Sisterhood? Are you not meant to spend your life in chaste service to the Lord?”

Finn’s jaw works. “Did you follow me?”

“I did, and what of it? You’ve been acting downright odd. I thought you were in league with those who’ve been working to bring Sean Brennan back into the fold.” Ishida eyes me, stepping closer, and I press back against the cabinet. “I’ve been waiting out there in the carriage for an hour and I’m half frozen. And here you’ve just been dallying with this strumpet!”

“I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head,” Finn growls.

“It’s plain as the nose on my face what you two have been up to. I was young once myself, you know.” Ishida gives a lecherous smile. “But a member of the Sisterhood—this can’t be shoved under the rug, Belastra. She’s got to be made an example of.”

“The hell she has.” Finn steps in front of me.

I reach for my magic and find it hovering, ready. “It’s all right,” I say, pushing past him to open the back door. I focus on Ishida’s lined face and narrow my focus, scalpel sharp.
Go back to your hotel. You weren’t able to follow Brother Belastra tonight. You’ve no idea where he went. In fact, you’ve been quite silly to suspect him of anything. He’s a loyal member of the Brotherhood.

Brother Ishida nods and strides through the door. A carriage bearing the golden seal of the Brotherhood is waiting at the corner. I shut the door behind him with a sigh.

“What did you just do?” Finn’s voice is low. I reach out to take his hand, but he backs away from me and repeats himself. “What did you do, Cate?”

I bite my lip. “I compelled him to forget.”

Finn swears beneath his breath, and the look on his face—

“Finn.” I step toward him, beseeching. “It’s not like what happened to you. I only erased the last hour—him sitting out there in the carriage and then seeing us together. That’s it. Nothing more.”

But doubts swarm into my mind like bumblebees. This is the second time I’ve performed mind-magic on Ishida, and Tess compelled him once, too. How many times can a person’s mind bear that kind of meddling before it breaks?

“He’s a cruel man. He’d have been glad to see his daughters hanged,” I insist, fighting my guilt. “He would have arrested me!”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.” Finn is looking at me like I’m a stranger again. “This isn’t the first time you’ve used mind-magic, is it?”

“N-no,” I stutter. My father. Finn himself. The night watch and nurses at Harwood. Ishida, twice now. “But only to protect myself. I will
never
use it against you. I swear.”

“What if we have a fight? How can I trust you?” Finn’s eyes collide with mine, full of anger and doubt. “You know who erased my memory, don’t you? You’ve got to. You know everything else that happened to me that day, right up until the moment on the convent steps.”

I nod.

“What else are you keeping from me?” Finn grabs his cloak from the cabinet and throws it over his shoulders. Tears spring into my eyes, but he doesn’t comfort me this time. “I don’t know how the old Finn would have handled this, but the new one doesn’t care much for secrets, Cate.”

With that, he storms out into the cold.

I sink to the floor, burying my face in my knees, and that’s how Rilla finds me a little while later: crying, surrounded by rose petals.

CHAPTER

12

I’M PUSHING PARSNIPS AROUND MY
plate and thinking of Finn when someone rings the bell at the front door. Girls look up from their suppers with consternation. It’s rare that we receive guests at the convent, and it’s especially dangerous now, when we’re harboring twenty-two fugitives. Inez stalks off to see who it is while Sister Gretchen ushers the Harwood girls upstairs via the back staircase. I turn, exchanging uneasy glances with Tess. Grace is trembling as she gets up from their table, and Lucy trails after her, leaving her roast chicken uneaten.

Inez is back in a minute, her pinched face unsmiling. “Miss Zhang, it’s your father.”

Mei rises, swiping her bangs out of her eyes. She looks across the table at Rilla and me. “Something’s wrong. Baba’s so busy, he wouldn’t call here unless—” She bites her lip, and I wonder if it’s her brother who’s been arrested this time. Caught buying Merriweather’s paper, perhaps.

“Don’t borrow trouble. Go and see what it is,” Rilla advises, reaching for her fork. “Perhaps it’s good news. A letter from your sisters?”

Mei nods, straightening her shoulders as she hurries away. With her dark hair bound in one long plait down her back and her bright tangerine dress, she reminds me of the black-eyed Susans in my garden at home. Longing sweeps over me. I miss my garden. Miss having my hands in the dirt. There hasn’t been any time to fiddle with the orchids in the conservatory lately, not between classwork and nursing and Resistance meetings.

I slump in my seat, remembering how Finn stormed out of the shop last night. Sachi and Rilla were right; I should have told him the truth sooner. He’s got every right to be angry with me for keeping secrets. But at the same time, he’s never made me feel ashamed to be a witch before. From the moment he found out what I was, he was awed and proud. Before, he knew I could do mind-magic and he never once worried I would use it against him. He trusted me.

How can I earn back his trust?

Is it even possible for him to trust a witch, after what Maura did?

I hear her low, bubbling laugh and glance across the dining room. Her red pompadour is next to Genie’s mousy-brown head, and they’re whispering. As I watch, she throws back her head and laughs as though she hasn’t a care in the world, and fury cuts through me. How dare she be so merry when I am so miserable. Magic twitches through me and my fingertips go white against my water goblet. I’d like to throw its contents in her face.

“Cate!” Mei runs back into the dining room, stopping at the end of our table. “It’s Yang. He’s got the fever. It’s bad. Baba thought—he doesn’t want me exposed to it, but he thought I might want to come and—” She breaks off, her dark eyes shining with unshed tears. “He thinks Yang could die, Cate.”

I rise and push in my chair. “I’ll come with you.”

“And do what, Miss Cahill?” Inez slithers toward us, black skirts rustling.

I plant my hands on my hips. “And heal him, if I can.”

“You can’t go around town using magic to heal people on their deathbeds,” Inez snaps. “It would look a mite suspicious, don’t you think?”

Mei’s chin isn’t as pointy as mine, but she can still look quite pugnacious when she wants. “I don’t care how it looks! He’s my brother.”

Inez purses her thin lips. “Miss Zhang, how long have you known you were a witch?”

“Since I was twelve.” Mei reaches into her pocket and begins counting the ivory mala beads she always carries.

“And in five years, you’ve never chosen to enlighten your family,” Inez points out. “You didn’t trust them with it. Why is that?”

Mei gives a sigh that blows her bangs askew. “I was worried Baba would disapprove. He’s very traditional in some ways. But I don’t care if he disowns me. Not if we can heal Yang.” She starts toward the door. “I don’t have time to argue. He’s waiting.”

Inez grabs her by the elbow, hauling her to a stop, and Mei trips over the blue rug. “How far do you suppose his disapproval would go? Do you trust your family with your safety? Not only yours—that of all your friends?”

Mei yanks away. “Yes. Baba would never do anything to hurt me.”

“Be sensible,” Inez pleads, her hands dropping to her sides. “If you heal one person, where does it stop? What if your mother takes ill next? Your aunt? Their friends? Word will spread of your brother’s miraculous recovery, Mei, and it’s dangerous for anyone to suspect what you’re capable of. I know you think me a monster, but I’m trying to protect you, truly. Tensions are so high just now—”

“And whose fault is that?” I interrupt.

“I’m not going to let my brother die.” Mei straightens the rug. “Cate, you can come with me or stay, it’s up to you, but I’m going.”

“Of course I’m coming with you.” I dart past Inez, but she catches at my arm.

“Heal him if you must, but then erase their memories,” she hisses, her breath hot against my ear.

I tug away without a response. Rilla pushes in her chair and chases after us.

“And where do you suppose you’re going, Miss Stephenson?” Inez barks. “You’ve no affinity for healing at all!”

Rilla gives her an impudent grin, smoothing her chocolate velvet gown. “All this talk of brothers reminded me that I forgot one of mine. I got Christmas gifts for everyone except Jamie, and he’ll never forgive me. I’m such a cabbagehead!”

Inez eyes Rilla’s half-full plate. “And you’re going to remedy that now? In the middle of your supper?”

Rilla points at the clock on the mantel. “The shops will be closing soon, and my train to Vermont is first thing tomorrow. I’ve got to go right now, simply got to, or you can’t imagine the row we’ll have tomorrow night.”

Inez steps aside. Mei runs ahead to get her things, while Rilla and I pause at the far end of the hall. “You got Jamie that book on botany,” I remind her.

“I know.” Rilla holds out her palm. “Give me your necklace. I’m going to see if Merriweather’s at the shop. He ought to come see firsthand what witches and the fever are like.”

• • •

A hired hack is waiting in front of the convent. Mei tells her father that I’m a nurse and she wants me to take a look at Yang. He examines me over half-moon spectacles, and I wonder what he sees. A tall, thin girl with blond hair straggling out of her simple chignon, wisps of it framing her pointy stubborn face, and sad blue eyes? I don’t think I look terribly impressive. But he shrugs and says it couldn’t hurt, and we ride the rest of the way in silence.

The carriage stops at the edge of the market district. Mr. Zhang climbs out and hands Mei and me down. The buildings here push up against narrow, cracked brick sidewalks. This block contains a general goods store on the corner, a milliner, a shoemaker, and—in the middle—a shuttered shop with a simple red sign reading
ZHANG’S HABERDASHERY
. Upstairs, candles burn in both front windows.

Mei opens the door to the flat and pounds up the stairs. She pauses to hang up her cloak and remove her boots, adding them to the row of shoes lined up beneath the hall table. I follow suit. “Mama?” she calls, weaving through a cozy parlor. It’s cluttered with a mishmash of furniture: two tufted sofas and a battered settee all in bright clashing colors, several ottomans, a wooden chair with pineapples carved into the arms, and a host of small tea tables crowded with empty teacups. A pile of dresses lies next to a sewing basket beneath a lamp with no shade. A doll and several carved wooden animals are scattered across the hooked rugs.

“Mei?” A plump little woman bustles out of another room. She’s wearing a bright orange paisley shawl over a brown dress. “Who’s this?”

“Mama, this is my friend Cate.” I smile as Mei takes her mother’s hands. “How is he?”

Mrs. Zhang’s eyes fill with tears. “Not good. You shouldn’t have come. The fever is very contagious. I’ve sent the little ones to your auntie Yanmei’s until—”

“Until he’s better,” Mr. Zhang interrupts, coming up behind us in his stocking feet. “Can I offer you a cup of tea, Miss Cahill? Jia, Miss Cahill is a nurse.”

Mrs. Zhang pulls away from Mei, dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “Is that so? Do you think you could help Yang?”

“I—I hope so.” I clasp my hands nervously behind my back. What if I
can’t
heal Yang, and he dies anyway, and they’re furious with me for making promises I can’t keep?

“Mama, Baba—there’s something I need to tell you first.” Mei draws her hand, wrapped in mala beads, out of her pocket. “Something I should have told you ages ago. I’m . . . a witch.”

Her parents glance back and forth at each other, and I can’t read them. I hope I won’t need to compel them to forget this.

“Say something, please,” Mei begs.

“We know,” her mother says finally. She reaches up and tucks a wayward strand of black hair, streaked with gray, into her bun. “We’ve known for years, Mei.”

Mei sags onto the violet sofa. “I—
How?
”

Mr. Zhang puts his hand on Mei’s shoulder. “Quite a lot of strange things happened around here before you went off to that school.”

“I’m sorry it took a situation like this for you to finally tell us.” Mrs. Zhang’s soft voice is full of reproach. “Surely you knew we wouldn’t throw you out on the street?”

“We were so worried when you went away to that school. Proud of your scholarship, of course, but we didn’t know what might happen if you did magic by accident in front of all those devout ladies.” Mr. Zhang peers up at me. “You accept Mei as she is?”

Mei laughs. “Cate’s a witch, too. They’re all witches.”

Her father’s face scrunches into confusion. “Your auntie Yanmei went to the convent school when she was a girl. Before she was married.”

“Who do you think told me they were all witches? She caught me turning Yang’s hair pink while he was sleeping and suggested I learn how to control my magic before I got myself in trouble!” Mei explains.

“Yanmei is a witch?” Mr. Zhang takes off his spectacles and rubs them on the front of his gray vest.

A fit of coughing drifts out of the next room, and Mrs. Zhang darts a worried glance in that direction. “There isn’t any truth to what the Brothers are saying, is there? That the witches set the plague on the people?” She twists her handkerchief in her hands.

“No! We would never do anything like that.” Mei stands. “But healing is a type of magic, and Cate and I are both good at it. Cate’s the best in the whole convent. If anyone can fix Yang, she can.”

I bite my lip. “I might not be able to heal him entirely, though. The fever—it’s rather resistant to magic.”

“Anything you can do,” Mr. Zhang says, wincing at the sound of more coughing. “We’d be very grateful.”

Mrs. Zhang leads us into the small bedroom. She gestures at her son, who’s lying in a small wooden bed with all the covers thrown off. The window is cracked open to let in fresh air, and my teeth are soon chattering, but Yang is flushed, his forehead beaded with sweat, his white nightshirt soaked with it.

His mother holds a glass of water to his lips and he drinks greedily, then coughs again. His breath is labored, rasping. Mrs. Zhang pushes damp black hair off his forehead. “I’ve been giving him ice baths, but he’s still burning up.”

“Let me try.” I move to his bedside with a confidence I don’t feel. “Hello, Yang. Remember me? I’m Mei’s friend Cate.” Yang looks up at me with dull, fevered eyes. His lips are dry and cracked. “It’s all right. Don’t try to talk. Let me just take your pulse.” I pick up his damp hand and put my fingers on his wrist. His pulse is too fast. The second I touch him, I can feel the fever. It burns red in his lungs, coating his airways with infection. I push against it and it seems as though it pushes right back.

But I’m stubborn. I perch on the edge of Yang’s bed and settle in for a fight. He hasn’t had an easy time of it, having to go out to work instead of finishing school, putting his own ambitions aside in order to help his family make ends meet. And Mei’s already lost two sisters to the prison ship. I won’t let her lose her brother, too.

Magic pours out of me and into Yang. His airways clear first, and then his lungs, and the rasp of his breath eases. But his skin is still too hot. I push harder and my own muscles begin to go limp. “It’s
almost
—Mei, can you help me?” I pant, as a bell rings downstairs.

Mei slides her hand into mine, and more magic rushes in, reinvigorating me. I heave and the fever shudders back, retreating. I yank on the last threads of magic running through me, twining through my body from head to toe, and it feels like pulling a frayed ribbon tight. Any moment now, I’ll snap. My fingers scramble for purchase on Yang’s wrist, and blackness begins to dance in the corners of my eyes as I
shove
the magic out of my body and into his. Yang’s heart slows, strong and steady, as I fall sideways toward the wall.

“Oh! Cate!” Mei catches me just before my temple smashes into the headboard. She tugs me away from her brother and sits me in the high-backed wooden chair beside the bed. I tuck my head down over my knees until things stop spinning.

“What’s wrong with her?” a voice demands.

I know that voice. Dimly, I hear Mei introduce her parents to Finn and Merriweather and Rilla, and then Finn impatiently asks his question again.

“There’s a cost to healing magic,” Mei explains.

“The fever’s broken,” Mrs. Zhang says from her son’s bedside, and I can hear her smile.

“So she healed him, but it made her sick?” Finn sounds angry.

“That’s how it works. She’ll be right as rain in a few minutes. Here, Cate, Baba made you some green tea.” Mei puts her hand on my shoulder, hauling me upright.

Nausea swims over me. I jump up, searching frantically for the washbasin, a hand clapped over my mouth. Rilla shoves it at me and I turn away and am ill right there in front of everyone. Good Lord. It’s so mortifying, I’d cry if I had the strength.

“Give the poor girl a minute of privacy! This is a sickroom, not a circus!” Mrs. Zhang says, shooing them all away. Mei hands me a handkerchief, and I wipe my mouth.

“I’m not leaving until I see that she’s all right,” Finn insists.

I turn, forcing a smile that comes out like a grimace. “I’ll be fine.”