Instead of pushing the darkness away, I welcome it, letting it cover us in a blanket of icy, enveloping black. I think of Zara at peace. Free from pain. Altogether free.

Her heart thumps twice more, then stops.

Without the noisy sound of her breath, the room is perfectly still.

I lean down, closing Zara’s staring brown eyes.

I was the one to close Mother’s eyes, too. They were very blue. Like Maura’s.

I lift Zara’s limp head, unclasping the locket from around her neck. The golden chain pools in my shaking hands.

A killer’s hands, now.

Healing and death.

The prophecies are never false.

Chapter 19

I STUMBLE OUT INTO THE HALL. Patients are still flowing down the steps and out the doors, and Sister Edith and Maud are still directing them. Finn and Elena are waiting for me, leaning against the dirty plaster walls.

When Finn’s kind brown eyes meet mine, I begin to cry.

“Zara’s dead. I—I killed her.”

“Cate.” Finn reaches for me. “Her injuries were—severe. You couldn’t save her, but that doesn’t mean you killed her.”

“No, I did. She asked me to.” The aftermath hits me, and I slide down the wall. Elena shoves a tin pail at me, and I heave the contents of my stomach into it. Then I slump back against the cold wall, too ill to even be embarrassed. How can killing feel just like healing?

Finn and Elena hold a whispered argument that I barely hear. My mind is reeling because Zara is dead. Zara cannot study the oracles or tell us stories about our mother as a schoolgirl. She’s gone, forever, and I did that.

Elena kneels next to me, her pink skirts puddling on the floor. “Cate, how much of your magic did you use up?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never killed anyone before.” I close my eyes to shut her out.

Elena grabs my chin. “Try to do magic. Try anything. Turn my dress red.”

I try to summon up my magic, but it feels like a burnt-out match. It sparks, smokes, but doesn’t catch. I shake my head. “I can’t.”

She stands and turns to Finn. “All right, you win. She’s no use to anyone like this. Take her home.”

Then Sachi is here, leaning down to me. It’s strange to see her like this, without her gaudy dresses, in the ugly white blouse and rough brown skirt, her hair in one long black braid down her back. She must be cold. Why isn’t she wearing the cloak we brought for her? I hold my aching head between both palms.

Rory leans down on my other side. She looks worried. I thought she’d be delighted to have Sachi free. “Sachi and I aren’t coming back to the convent tonight. We’re going to drive the wagon Mélisande was supposed to take. But we’ll be back soon. Will you be all right?”

“Cate.” Sachi snaps her fingers in front of my face, but it seems as though she’s very far away, beyond a screen of black dots.

“She’s going to faint,” Brenna says, but it doesn’t take an oracle to know that.

I hardly remember leaving the asylum.

Finn carried me, I think.

Now I am in the carriage, curled on the leather seat beneath an itchy woolen blanket, staring out at the rain blurring the streets of New London.

I cannot stop shaking. I cannot let go the feel of Zara’s hot, dry skin, or the smell of blood on her breath, or the sight of her blind brown eyes staring at me.

The carriage stops before the convent. Finn ties the horses and comes around to help us down. Brenna shuns his arm, jumping to the carriage block and then splashing down onto the sidewalk like a child. She is free. At least I did that much.

Finn helps me down to the sidewalk and then wraps his arm around me. I’m shivering. I’ve been shivering since I touched Zara. I can’t seem to stop.

The convent door bangs open, a rectangle of golden light piercing the darkness. Maura rushes headlong down the steps toward me. She hasn’t bothered to put on her cloak; she’s wearing a bright blue dress.

“We did it!” she crows. “All eleven of them who showed up. One man was sick and missed the meeting, but the rest don’t even remember their own names.”

Finn turns to her, his brown eyes fierce. “And you’re proud of that?”

“Yes!” she cries, defiant. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“I understand that there’s no going back from what you did tonight. They only want a reason to resurrect the burnings. Are you ready for that?” Finn demands.

“Yes,” Maura snaps. “Cora is dead, and Inez is head of the Sisterhood now. We don’t intend to work with the Brothers anymore. You should go.”

“The hell I will.” His voice is harsh, and his grip on me is tight. “I love your sister, Maura, and that isn’t going to change, so you and Inez may as well get used to having me around. I’m certainly not leaving her like this.”

Maura peers at me. “What’s the matter with her? I assumed everything was a success, since Brenna’s here. Did something go wrong?”

“Zara’s dead. I killed her.” My voice comes out quiet. “The nurse shot her—she would have died anyway, eventually, but I—I made it go faster.”

Maura steps closer. “You what?”

I reach into my pocket, fingering Zara’s golden necklace, as I look to Finn. “I never wanted this. I thought healing was good magic. But Zara asked me to. It was doing her a kindness, wasn’t it, to keep her from suffering? It wasn’t wicked?”

“Of course not.” The rain darkens his coppery hair and runs in rivulets down his glasses, but he doesn’t raise his hood.

“I’ll take care of her now,” Maura says. “She should get inside, where it’s warm.”

Finn leans down and kisses me, right there on the street.

I kiss him back. I am a wicked girl, after all.

If the Brothers knew what I’d done, they’d burn me at the stake.

They might be right to do it.

“Good night,” I say to him.

“Good night,” Finn whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I love you, Cate Cahill. You are beautiful and brave and strong. Whatever happens next, we’ll deal with it together.”

I nod. Brenna is dancing up the marble steps to the front door, and I’m following her when there’s a sound—flesh smacking against wet pavement—and I turn. Finn’s on his hands and knees; he’s tripped over the curb. He picks himself up, pokes his glasses into place, and walks back toward his carriage, but his gait lacks its usual gangly grace. He pauses, examining the carriage, looking as though he’s puzzled by it.

“Are you all right?” I call down.

He looks up at me, then ducks his head. His ears are red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, miss—is this my carriage?”

His voice is awkward, formal. As though he’s speaking to a stranger.

His words echo in my head: I’m sorry, miss.

I thought I was numb before. This is worse. I’m not shaking anymore, but now I cannot move. I can’t go to him, can barely breathe. Only the fast, horrified drumbeat of my own heart proves that I am still alive.

I don’t understand. I glance around the empty street. It’s only Brenna and me and Maura here—