“Your face, Cate! I was shocked, too. Afraid for my virtue, naturally,” Rory jokes, tossing her dark hair.

A giggle escapes me. Rory’s relationship with Nils was hardly chaste. “Sachi explained that she didn’t have designs on me, and then I was rather offended that she didn’t! Why not? I’m an attractive girl.” Rory rolls her eyes at herself. “She was afraid I’d try to compromise her in some mad scheme to prove I was desirable, so she finally told me we were sisters.”

“And how did that go?”

Rory crosses her arms over her ample bosom. “I was angry she hadn’t told me the truth sooner. I suppose she was afraid I’d run through the streets denouncing our dear papa or go on a sherry binge. I didn’t, not at the time, but—” Rory’s smile slides off her face. “As it turns out, I suppose she was right not to trust me with it.”

I put my hand on her red sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

Rory bites her lip, her brown eyes worried. “You won’t think less of her, will you?”

“For kissing a girl, or for trusting you?” I frown at her. “The answer is no, either way.”

“Elizabeth’s half in love with her,” Rory says. “It was fun to tease Sachi about it.”

“Poor Elizabeth.” I glance over my shoulder as Maura strides back into the room and takes her seat next to Alice. Would things be different between Maura and me if I’d accepted her infatuation with Elena with better grace? If I’d seen it as something to tease her about? The situations are different, of course; Elena was only toying with her. But I want Maura to have what I have with Finn, to be as happy as he makes me.

I steal a glance at the clock on the mantel. It’s hours yet before I’ll see him, and it feels like an age. He must have heard about the Brothers snatching those poor girls. Something ought to be done, but what? Surely he wouldn’t agree with Maura that assassinating Brenna is the best solution.

“Do you think it would be impossible to break someone out of Harwood?” Rory asks suddenly.

Behind us, the piano music stops, but Hope and Rebekah keep singing.

“I think it would be very difficult.”

Hope and then Rebekah trail into silence. I turn to see if Lucy’s overheard us, but she’s marching toward the door. A moment later, Hope and Rebekah follow her. I turn back to Rory, but she’s standing, dropping the magazine on her empty seat. Her face is strange—emptied of all its usual vivacity.

“Rory?” I say, but she only saunters away, joining the strange procession.

I’m baffled until I see Vi rise from the love seat. Beside her, Maura is staring into the fire, her blue eyes blank. Scarcely a second later, Alice follows Vi out the door.

Get up. The thought imposes itself on me now, out of nowhere. My limbs flex, and I am about to stand when I feel the telltale prickle of Maura’s compulsion.

No, I think. I place my boots flat on the floor and fold my hands neatly in my lap, fingers interlaced. I settle myself firmly on the blue cushion, feel the heat against my back from the fire. I close my eyes and breathe, resisting the urge to stand and walk toward the door.

The moment passes. I open my eyes to find my sister looming over me, grinning like a loon. “I got everyone except you. Six!” she crows.

My spine goes tight. I don’t care to have anyone poking about in my mind, not even my sister. My memories are mine; they’re not for anyone to experiment with.

“Oh, don’t be angry.” Maura frowns. The room is empty now save the two of us. “Sister Inez asked me to.”

“You went into their minds without their permission. They’re supposed to be your friends.” I stand, clasping my hands behind my back. “You don’t see anything wrong in that?”

“I compelled them to walk into another room. It was nothing. No harm done,” Maura insists. “Don’t be such a killjoy, Cate.”

I hear the telltale tap, tap, tap of Sister Inez’s heels as she walks down the hall from her office. “Good work, Maura,” she says.

Maura beams. “Six—that’s rare, isn’t it? That’s powerful.”

“It is,” Sister Inez allows. But she turns her hawklike eyes on me. “Did you feel anything, Miss Cahill?”

“I did,” I admit. “I wanted to get up and walk to the door—and I didn’t, all at the same time. It was very strange.”

“You felt the compulsion, but you were able to resist it.” Sister Inez studies me like a bug beneath a microscope. “That’s what happened the last time Maura tried to perform mind-magic on you, isn’t it?”

I nod. I don’t dare look at my sister, but I can practically feel her crumple.

“Well. Six subjects is still a tremendous achievement. So far, no other pupil here has been able to accomplish anything like it. I wish there were more of us capable of it; it could be of use to us when war breaks out.” Sister Inez grants Maura a rare smile, but her gaze flits back to me. “If Miss Cahill would take her own examination, I would be better able to judge which of you is more powerful.”

“Compulsion isn’t the only kind of magic that matters,” I snap.

Fury flashes over Maura’s face. My sister has been angry with me more times than I care to count. She’s been scornful and dismissive and jealous. But she’s never looked at me quite like this.

Like she hates me.

I’m not trying to demean Maura’s accomplishment, truly. It’s only that this focus on mind-magic frightens me. Why is Sister Inez so intent on it? What does she mean to do?

A shiver passes over me.

Just someone walking over my grave, Mrs. O’Hare would say.

Chapter 8

FINN IS WAITING FOR ME AT THE GARDEN gate at midnight, his cloak and hair dusted with snowflakes.

“Fancy meeting you here.” He gives me a crooked grin and takes my hand, entwining his leather-gloved fingers with mine. His voice is cheery, his stride jaunty, despite the dreary weather. “You’ve forgotten your gloves again.”

I’m not bold enough to tell him I didn’t forget. I wanted to touch him with nothing between us.

“Let’s go into the conservatory,” I suggest, shivering, squinting against the wind’s powdery gusts. My boots sink into six inches of snow as we wade across the garden. By the time we reach the octagonal glass building, the hems of my cloak, dress, and chemise are all coated with snow. I use a spell to unlock the door. I’d like to doff my cloak, but I’m already scandalously attired without corset or petticoats. Rilla only just fell asleep, and I was afraid to rouse her and her endless curiosity.

Inside, the steam pipes hiss beneath the floorboards. Warm air fogs the glass walls. Rows of feathery ferns and Sister Evelyn’s prizewinning orchids fill the center of the room. In the back, lemon and orange trees are dotted with tiny bright fruits. It smells of damp earth and green, growing things, like an oasis of spring and hope in the midst of this dreary New England winter.

Finn pulls me into his arms, brushing a kiss over my cold lips. He tosses his gloves onto one of the tables and bends to examine a red phalaenopsis. I toy with the stem of a spindly white cattleya.

“This is beautiful. What’s it called?” he asks. Gardening is one of the few subjects where my knowledge outweighs his.