Elena looks surprised. “Of course. We’ll be down in just a moment,” she tells Maura, who troops downstairs with Tess. “You know, I brought a stack of ladies’ magazines from New London with step-by-step instructions. You can borrow them if you like.”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” I sit at my wooden dressing table before the looking glass. Elena stands behind me, brushing my hair, teasing it up at the crown. I meet her dark eyes in the mirror. Her black curls are swept up, just a few perfect ringlets left to frame her face. My hair won’t curl without irons and hours of effort.
“Is there something you wanted to discuss?” she asks carefully.
I might as well say it straight out. “I know you’re a witch.”
She doesn’t even hesitate; her hands stay busy in my hair. “When did you figure it out?”
“That doesn’t matter. You haven’t been honest with us. You being here—it’s no coincidence. You’ve been sent to spy on us.”
“Notspy. I’ve been sent to protect you. It had already been confirmed that at least one of you was a witch, but the Sisters were eager to—”
I twist around to face her. “Confirmed? By whom?” I’ve always known the Brothers have spies in Chatham. Do the Sisters? Are there other witches in town besides Maura and Tess and me?
Elena sits on the settee, arranging her inky blue skirts elegantly around her feet. “I’m not at liberty to say. I can assure you it’s not someone who means you ill. I was sent to discern which of you could do magic—and to my astonishment, I discovered all three of you can. That’s very rare. Exceedingly so.”
My first instinct is to deny it, but Elena raises a hand, forestalling my argument.
“Maura told me. Don’t be angry with her, please. I know you’ve worked very hard to keep it secret, and you’ve done a good job of it.”
Not good enough, apparently. My temper simmers. “So now you’ve gone and told the whole Sisterhood?”
“Not yet. I’m also meant to find out what kinds of magic you can do. Mind-magic, for example.” Elena cocks her head at me. “Maura says she’s never tried it. Have you?”
“No. Good Lord. It’s bad enough being a witch, isn’t it? That’s the last thing I’d want.” I turn back to the mirror, bolstered by the half-truth.
“You don’t like being a witch?” Elena’s smooth brown forehead wrinkles, as though I’ve divulged something deplorable. “Why?”
“Why would I?” I make a face and slip on Mother’s sapphire earbobs.
“Maura said you’ve taken the Brothers’ sermons to heart. That you think magic is wicked.”
Maura talks too much. “She thinks magic is a toy. Do you know how many times Father or the servants have almost seen something she couldn’t explain? It’s a wonder we haven’t been discovered.”
“It’s to your credit, I’m sure.” Elena twists the silver ring on her finger, the symbol of her marriage to the Lord. “The Sisterhood could help you, Cate. I know how much your sisters mean to you. We could help you keep them safe. Youmustlet us help you. The three of you may be in more danger than you can imagine.”
“Because of the prophecy?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to bite my tongue.
“How do you know about that?” A slight arching of her brows—that’s the only sign of her surprise. She’d make a marvelous card player.
“Mother told me. She was worried because—well. There are three of us.” I fiddle with the white lace cloth that drapes the dressing table.
“You ought to know, Cate, that the Brothers are aware of the prophecy. They found a record of it in the home of a witch they arrested.” Elena frowns. “Haven’t you noticed they’ve been cracking down on girls the last few years? Trios of sisters, in particular. How long will it be before they turn their attention to you?”
The Dolamores. And those girls in Vermont. I wonder how many other trios of sisters are left in Chatham. In New England. It’s not uncommon to find families of six or seven children, particularly on the farms outside town—but how many have three girls?
“Cate!” Maura hollers from downstairs. “Hurry, or we’ll be late!”
“Just a moment!” I call.
“I’m sorry,” Elena says, “that I haven’t been more forthright with you. You must understand—the true nature of the Sisterhood and the prophecy are vital secrets. We do not share them lightly.”
I bite my lip. “Does Maura know?”
There it is again—that tiny lift of her brows. She stands. “You haven’t told her?”
“Not yet. I’d like to tell her and Tess myself.”
“Of course.” Elena leans down and adjusts one of the pins in my hair. I fight the urge to flinch away from her. “Please, think about it. The convent in New London is beautiful, and it’s very secure. Even if you’re not the three sisters, we would welcome you there. If youare—there isn’t any other place in the world where you’d be as safe.”
I stand, eager to put distance between us. My trust isn’t as easily won as Maura’s. “Why do you think it’s us?”
She smiles. “Let’s just say I have a very strong hunch one of you can do mind-magic. Your mother could, couldn’t she? Even within the Sisterhood, that’s a rare and fearful thing. You may not be capable of it—or you may—but those who are learn quickly. I’d like to try to teach you. All three of you.”
“No.” I back toward the door. “I don’t want you teaching my sisters that!”
Elena’s a few inches shorter than me, but the look she gives me makes me feel like a stubborn child. “Cate. Mind-magic has unfortunate side effects if it’s used too often, that’s true. But wielded responsibly, it’s not inherently worse than any other kind of magic. That’s just the Brothers’ paranoia. It can help protect a witch from those who would do her harm. Your sisters have a right to know what they’re capable of. It could save them someday.”
“Catherine Anna Cahill!”Maura screeches. “We’re going to be late!”
Elena laughs. “Think about what I’ve said, Cate. I know you’re used to doing things on your own, but you don’t have to anymore. We’re here to help.”
Brother Sutton is leading Sunday school today. He’s tall, with skin the color of walnuts, and close-cropped fuzzy hair. He’s got a rich, melodious voice, and he smiles and gestures as he talks, like an actor in the now-defunct theater. If he weren’t preaching about the evils of mind-magic, I’d almost like listening to him. It makes me uneasy that it’s come up two weeks in a row. This time, Hana Ito asked him why a girl would ever do something so wicked.
“Perhaps this sort of magic doesn’t seem so wrong at first. Say you were roughhousing with your brother and knocked over your grandmother’s china vase. It wasn’t very ladylike, but these things happen.” Brother Sutton smiles, indulging our girlish faults. His brown eyes are warm. “Say your grandmother has passed on and the vase is a treasured reminder of her. You’re afraid your mother will be heartbroken. Afraid of being punished. So you lie and say it was your brother who knocked it over. Instead of lying—which is wicked in itself, girls, you should never lie to your parents—a witch might choose to do mind-magic. Erase her mother’s memory of that vase altogether. It would save her from punishment and save her mother from grief. Perhaps she even convinces herself it’s the noble thing to do.”