Sisters' Fate

My eyes catch Maura where she stands with Alice next to the pink velvet settee. The severity of the Sisters’ uniform suits my sister; it emphasizes her flame-bright curls and pale skin. As she raises her teacup, her sapphire eyes meet mine. There is nothing of apology in them. Nothing of guilt or contrition.

I want to break her. I want the china cup to explode in her hands, the shards to cut her, staining her creamy skin scarlet.

I want to hurt her the way she’s hurt Finn and me. The second I think his name, the dull ache in my chest rises to a roar. His sweetness when I’m snappish. His revelation that my favorite childhood novel was written by a woman. And a Catherine, no less. His promise that whatever came next, we would work through it together.

He won’t keep that promise. I am the only one who remembers it.

My magic rises, inextricably bound to my anger. It burns through me. I try to shove it back down, but it sizzles through my muscles, scorching my throat, singeing my fingertips. My eyes dart away from my sister’s, but it’s too late.

Across the room, Maura stifles a cry.

I hurry from the room, but not before I see Alice bend to pick up the pieces of Maura’s cup. Maura’s cradling her hand where the jagged china cut through her thin satin glove. “So clumsy,” she apologizes, her clear voice ringing out like a bell, and her abashed smile seems to allay everyone’s concern. No one seems to notice that the cup broke in her hands, before it hit the floor. But Maura knows. At least, she suspects. I can feel the weight of her eyes on my back, right between my shoulder blades, following me out into the hall.

I am horrified. At my instinct to do my sister harm. At losing my temper like a reckless child.

“Cate!” a voice says as someone catches my elbow and draws me into the anatomy classroom. It’s Elena. She shuts the door softly behind us.

“Yes?” My voice is sharp. Did she see what I did?

Well, she’s not my governess any longer. She’s only a year and a half older than me; she’s got no right to chastise me.

Her chocolate eyes dip to the wooden floor. “I heard what Maura did.”

Oh. I set my jaw. “I don’t wish to discuss that.”

Elena’s brown fingers, lined with silver rings, twist in her skirts. “I’m worried about her. Why would she do something so cruel?”

I laugh without any real mirth. “Isn’t it obvious? She was jealous because I had Finn, and she lost you. She can’t forgive me for it. Likely she thinks we’re even now.”

“What happened between Maura and me—” Elena pauses, struggling with the words. “That was my mistake. Not yours. I should have been honest about my feelings, no matter what it cost me.”

I slump into a desk. What would my life be like if things had gone that way? I cast my mind back to that dreadful scene in Elena’s bedroom at our house. Only two months ago, though it feels a lifetime now. I was so certain that Elena was using Maura.

“Letting Maura think you care for her won’t win you any favors if I’m ever in a position of power.”

Elena looks at me for a long moment.

Finally, she turns to Maura. Puts a hand on her ruffled cream sleeve. “Maura,” she says, “I think you’ve misunderstood my feelings.”

Maura’s blue eyes fill with tears. “Don’t say that,” she begs, taking Elena’s other hand. “Don’t listen to Cate. Please. I—I love you!”

“I’m flattered by your regard,” Elena says, pulling away, “but I don’t return it.”

Maura reaches out a hand, then lets it fall. The same hand that cradled Elena’s face so gently. “But you kissed me!”

Elena shakes her head. “You took me by surprise. It was a mistake.”

Maura looks past Elena to me. “You were right,” she snaps, running from the room. “Are you happy now?”

I wish I could reach back in time and tell myself to choose differently, because I am the farthest thing from happy I can imagine.

“Well, you weren’t honest with Maura,” I tell Elena. “And I’m the one being punished for it.”

“There has to be more to it than that.” She hops onto the desk in front of me, her boots on the chair, elbows propped on her black-clad knees.

“Does there?” I ask. “I thought it was just the way sisters are, always fighting, always jealous. I’ve been jealous of her, too. Of how clever she is. How pretty. How vivacious. People have always been drawn to her, they—well, you’d know that better than anyone, I suppose.”

“I would,” Elena agrees. “She may be impulsive, but she’s not unkind. Not really. This is Inez’s influence. We’ve got to—”

“No.” I trace a finger across the scarred wooden desktop. “If you want her saved from Inez’s clutches, you’ll have to do it yourself. Maura’s not innocent in this. She knew what she was doing. She warned me, in her own way, that we couldn’t work with the Brothers anymore. She even told Finn to leave, that he wasn’t welcome here with Cora gone.”

“But he wouldn’t leave you.” There’s something envious in Elena’s eyes.

I sigh. “And Tess is the oracle anyway, so it was all for nothing. Maura will never lead the Sisterhood.”

“You’re glad of that, aren’t you?”

I leap up at the sound of Maura’s voice. My muscles go tight; my jaw clenches. I go to the front of the room, facing the chalkboard, with my back turned to her.

“You kept it from me. How long did you know?” Maura asks.

It takes me a moment to realize she means Tess.

She stalks closer, her boots tap-tap-tapping across the floor like Inez’s. I can smell her sweet citrusy scent, from the lemon verbena she dabs at her wrists and throat.

I hear Elena jump down from the desk. “Maura, not now.”

“What friends the two of you have become, having these cozy little chats,” Maura says. “Who would have thought?”

Jealous again. I curl my fingers into fists. She’s so petty.

“Cate, I seem to have a cut on my hand. Since you’re the one who put it there, I think you ought to heal me.”

I turn. Take the five steps across the classroom and grab my sister’s bare hand. There’s a small red cut on her palm; the bleeding has already stopped. The second I touch her skin, I can feel the injury as well as see it. It’s a tiny needling thing.

Maura’s watching me, her pink lips pursed. She’s always said healing was the most useless form of magic. Naturally. Because it’s what I’m good at.

I squeeze her hand, unthinking, and blood trickles across her palm. “Ow,” she cries, trying to pull away, but my grip is tight. Instead of stitching the cut closed, I reach out with my magic and rip it open. The cut stretches. Gapes. Becomes a two-inch gash, splashing scarlet onto my own skin.

“Cate!” Elena grabs me, her fingers pinching the soft flesh above my elbow, pulling me away.

My sister stares at me, her blue eyes wide and shocked.

I hurt her. I used my magic—my healing magic—to hurt her. On purpose.

I turn, heading for the door.

“Stay away from me.” My breath is coming fast, my cheeks flushed. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t even want to look at you!”