“That isn’t what Brenna would want,” Tess says quietly. She casts a quick glamour over the girls, turning their Harwood uniforms to Sisterly black.

“She’s right,” I agree. “This morning—she kept talking about saving you, Rory.”

“She knew?” Rory sobs harder, relaxing her grip on the rifle, allowing Sachi to take it from her and toss it aside.

“We have to go.” Tess grabs my hand and gestures down at the guards. “I’m going to erase their memories.”

She pulls the magic from me, and this time it feels like squeezing water from a stone. My muscles feel sore, my fingers stiff. My magic flickers and fades until I’m wrung out.

Sachi puts one arm around Rory and leads her through the gap between wagon and wall. I give Brenna one last glance. I hate leaving her like this, but what choice do we have? We can hardly parade her body through the streets. I stagger after my friends, dizzy.

“Are you all right?” the dark-haired girl asks. Behind her spectacles, she has enormous gray eyes. She’s clutching her shoulder with one hand, blood on her fingers.

“I should be asking you. You were shot,” I point out.

She shrugs. “I think it only nicked me. Stings a bit, but the laudanum helps.”

“Here.” I pull off my cloak and put it around her shoulders. “Don’t want anyone seeing that.”

“I suppose not.” She holds out her other hand for me to shake. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Cate. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Prudencia Merriweather.”

Chapter 8

IT’S NOT ENOUGH. IT’S NEVER ENOUGH.

We’ve saved ten girls. Mei was already waiting with three when we got back to the convent. Mélisande crept through the garden gate with four more shortly after we arrived. That’s ten, counting Sachi and Rory and Prue Merriweather.

For that, Brenna is dead and Elena is missing.

It’s been hours. The sun is going down now, silhouetting the gabled roofs across the street in gold. Sachi, Rory, and Prue are crammed together on the olive settee in the parlor. I healed Prue’s shoulder as soon as my magic came back. One of Mélisande’s girls had a wicked-looking slice from a bayonet on her forearm, and another had been trampled in the crowd and twisted her ankle. They’ll all be fine, but now I stare out the window, leaning my forehead against the cold glass, stomach tumbling. Where is Elena?

Rilla and Alice got home an hour after we did and that was nerve-racking enough. A group of Brothers had invited them into Richmond Cathedral for prayer and they hadn’t felt it prudent to refuse. They both looked foxed when they stumbled in the front door, eyes bleary with exhaustion. Alice nearly swooned in the front hall. Rilla reported they’d seen three corpses on the walk home.

I sent them both to bed. Tried to send Tess, because I could tell from her pinched face and the way she rubbed her temples that she had another headache. She refused to go—Inez has her so afraid of looking weak—but she’s sleeping curled up in the silk chair by the fire. Her blond eyelashes flutter rapidly as though she’s dreaming. Of what, I wonder? What did she see in that vision?

Brenna said Tess asked her to keep a secret from me. A secret Brenna was afraid would break her. Has it got something to do with the old prophecy—the one about Maura and Tess and me?

Footsteps move down the hall and my heart leaps. Perhaps Elena came in through the garden gate instead? I throw open the door, startling Tess awake.

It’s Maura. She sashays into the room in a garish emerald gown I thought pretty a few weeks ago. Now it seems too bright. We should all be in black, mourning for Cora and Brenna.

The dress makes Maura’s eyes go grass green and for a moment, as she looks at me and Tess, still flushed from sleep, she seems—relieved. Tension melts out of her stiff shoulders and the downward tilt of her mouth relaxes. Could she be glad we’re home safely?

It doesn’t last.

“Ten girls,” she says, tossing her red curls. “You saved ten out of sixty. Was it worth it?”

“Yes.” I glance at the girls on the settee. They’ve all changed out of their ugly Harwood uniforms. Sachi borrowed a girlish peach brocade of Tess’s, Rory’s in her own red velvet, and Prue borrowed a dove-gray gown of mine.

“I just paid a visit to the corner grocer at Church and Third. Wanted to hear if there were any consequences for your daring rescue.” Maura’s fists curl at her sides. “Three of the prisoners were shot and killed anyway. Two bystanders were killed, too. One was a cobbler—father of four, they said—and one was the French ambassador’s wife.”

I bristle. “I’m not responsible for what the guards did. I thought they’d have the sense not to fire into a crowd.”

“A little girl was trampled in the crush. Both her legs were broken. I suppose that wasn’t your fault, either?”

My temper snaps. “I didn’t step on her. What are you getting at, Maura? How would you have managed this? I know you’re dying to tell me, so go on.”

“I would have let them all hang.” Her voice is utterly matter-of-fact.

“Good Lord,” Rory mutters.

“It’s a good thing for us you’re not in charge.” Sachi’s voice is so withering, I’m surprised Maura doesn’t brown at the edges.

I knew Maura backed Inez in this, but to hear her say it so coolly! Anger heats my cheeks. “How can you say such a thing? Sachi and Rory are my friends.”

“And that’s made you stupid,” Maura says. “How much magic did you do out on the street today? You, who were always so cautious, harping on Tess and me about never risking our safety! That time Tess fixed my dress in church, you nearly had a fit. You remember, Tess? But now that you want to play the hero, you’ve gotten reckless. You were casting illusions left and right to disguise girls and create that fire. And what’s worse, you were dressed as Sisters the whole time! How many people could have seen you?”

Tess sits up straight, crossing her ankles. “It would have taken too much magic to glamour ourselves, and split our focus. Looking like Sisters was the best way to escape suspicion. No one stopped us or tried to question us. And we were careful.”

“Were you? What if someone was looking out a window and saw you? All it takes is one witness. The Brothers could come knocking at our door any minute.” Maura plants her hands on her hips, hooking her fingers through the pink sash at her waist. “You risked us all to save ten girls. And most of them aren’t even witches! What use are they?”

“Pardon me?” Prue gasps, obviously unaccustomed to having her personal worth so lightly dismissed.

Maura whirls on Prue, all lovely wide-eyed smile. “I’m forgetting my manners. Who’s this? Are you a witch?” she asks, and Prue shakes her head. Maura sighs. “Of course not. Then why did you bring her here, Cate? Are you confused about the purpose of the Sisterhood? We aren’t an orphanage. We’re not in the business of feeding and clothing strange girls off the street just out of the goodness of our hearts.”

“Oh, no one would suspect you of that.” I glance out the window. Still no Elena.

“I shan’t prevail upon your charity very long. I’ve got family in the city,” Prue says stiffly, and I pray she won’t mention Alistair. Is she his cousin? A sister? Surely not his wife; I didn’t see a ring on his finger. Whatever the connection, I don’t want Maura getting her hooks into Prue.