Elena saw it straightaway. She’s a canny girl, Elena. She says she’s here to protect us, but meanwhile she’s been trying to recruit Maura. Does she think Maura’s the prophesied one? Or does she just suspect that once she has Maura, Tess and I will fall in line? She has to know how much I love my sisters, how inextricably my promise to Mother has become woven into my life. I’d give up my own happiness if it would ensure their safety. If the Sisterhood is what they want, if it would ensure the Brotherhood couldn’t touch them—I don’t see how I could object.
“Elena’s wonderful,” Maura continues, scrambling back to her feet. Her hair is disheveled; the pink rose has fallen to the ground. “She’s clever and kind and she’s been nothing but generous. You ought to be nicer to her.”
“She may be all those things, but she hasn’t been exactly forthcoming. She was sent here to spy on us and see if we were witches. I think it’s reasonable that I was suspicious.”
“Well, now that you know why, you ought to apologize for being so rude.” Maura sits next to me and gives me a hug, looping her arm around my waist. “I know you’re not used to me being close with anyone else, but her friendship is important to me. I wasn’t angry when you were invited to tea with Sachi and Rory and I wasn’t. You can’t be peering over my shoulder trying to protect me all the time.”
I watch a lone purple butterfly flapping its way back through the garden. It lights on the yellow goldenrod, wings twitching. “I’ll always want to protect you. No matter what.”
Maura shakes her head. “Well, stop it. Think about your own future for once. The Sisterhood might be the perfect solution for all of us.”
The door to Elena’s bedroom is open. She’s a dark silhouette against the bright window, a picture framed by green curtains. “I was expecting you,” she says, turning. Her petal-pink lips are pursed, thoughtful. “I told you before, Cate, we needn’t be adversaries. But I’ll
tolerate only so much rudeness. I think you owe me an apology.”
I close the door and lean against it. “You should have talked to me before you started teaching Maura magic.”
“You’re not her mother,” Elena says bluntly. She sees the stricken look on my face and holds up a hand. “I don’t say that to hurt you, Cate. But she
doesn’t need your permission, and neither do I.”
It does hurt me, whether she means to or not. I stalk into the middle of the room, practically vibrating with anger. “I could dismiss you, you know.” “The Sisters would only send another girl in my place, and she might not be as patient as I’ve been.” Elena shakes her head, silver earbobs
swinging. “I don’t want to fight about this. But I have a job to do here, and I will do it, regardless of your cooperation. Do we understand each other?” A trickle of fear slides down my spine. “Perfectly.”
“Good. Now. Maura’s a bright, curious girl. It isn’t fair to hold her back.”
I loom over Elena, glad for once of my height. “Don’t you tell me about my sister. I know her better than you do.”
“Do you?” Elena cocks her head doubtfully. “Because I must admit, I don’t think keeping things from her is very kind. The prophecy affects her
future, too. She’ll be furious when she finds out—and rightly so. What if she’s the most powerful? She ought to know, so she can protect herself.” I frown. Loath as I am to admit it, what she’s saying makes sense. Maura and Tess do deserve to know. The secrets have been weighing on my
conscience for days. “I told her about the Sisterhood, just now.”
“Only in an attempt to warn her away from trusting me, I’m sure,” Elena says.
Am I that transparent? “Well, I’m not convinced wecantrust you. If we wanted to join the Sisterhood—what would that entail?” Elena settles into one of the high-backed green chairs beside the hearth and indicates that I should take the other. I perch uneasily, poised for
flight. “There are a few dozen other students, all witches, ranging in age from ten to twenty. You’d be instructed in the various kinds of magic, as well
as the history of the Daughters of Persephone. If you are the three sisters, it is the very safest place for you. You’d be well cared for, given anything
you need.”
I hesitate. “And if we don’t want to go?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Elena throws her hands up in the air. Her silver ring catches the sunlight. “You can’t tell me you want to stay in this poky little
place forever. Your neighbors are fools. Your father’s never home. What’s left for you here?”
I stare past her, out the window at the newly shorn fields. It’s not my neighbors or Father who makes this place feel like a home. It’s the graves on
the hillside. The rose garden. Tess, playing the piano after dinner. Maura, acting out scenes from her novels. Paul. Finn. There’s me. If I decided not to go, would Maura and Tess leave me behind?
“It might not seem very grand to you, but it’s still our home.”
“Maura hates it here, and Tess feels stifled. They’d have access to a marvelous education—magical and otherwise—with the Sisters. I think they
could be convinced quite easily. So this must be about you. Is it because of Mr. McLeod?” Elena clasps her hands together in her lap. “Maura says
he intends to go back to New London. You could still see him from time to time. If you aren’t the most powerful, after you finish your schooling, we
would consider allowing you to leave the order and marry. We have a network of former pupils who remain our eyes and ears all over New
England.”
Who spy for them, she means. I keep my face purposefully blank, focusing on the wallpaper over her shoulder. It’s a pale green with leafy pink
tulips. “What if I am the most powerful?”
“Then we’d need you to remain with the Sisters. You haven’t made Mr. McLeod any promises, have you?” Elena leans forward, gripping the
curved arm of her chair, then relaxes. “It doesn’t matter. Engagements can be broken before you declare your intent. The Brothers wouldn’t get
involved if you discovered a religious calling.”
I grit my teeth together. “I’m not engaged. Not yet.”
“Really? What’s prevented you? His interest seems clear enough,” Elena muses, and I wish I could snatch my words back and stuff them back
down my throat. “Perhaps it’s time you do a little thinking, Cate. You’re so preoccupied with your sisters—have you ever taken the time to search
your own heart?”
What does my heart want? I stare down at the dusky pink rug.
I picture myself kneeling in a garden of my own. It’s not a grand, winding labyrinth of hedges and flowers and statuary. There’s no gazebo, no
pond. There’s a red maple or two, and some rosebushes with red and white buds. I’m planting bulbs and roots that will grow into tulips and peonies.
My hands are deep in the cool, moist soil. Sitting on a bench nearby is a man, reading aloud from a book, the way Father used to in the evenings. The man is not Paul McLeod.