Even now, magic sings through my skin, aroused by this mad mix of fear and guilt and love and shame swirling through me. Aroused by Finn’s body, inches from mine. He’s the only one who’s ever made me feel this way, half wild with wanting.

“If I am the prophesied sister, I owe it to the other girls. The other—witches.” Even though we’re alone in the night garden, the wind roaring around us, my voice drops on the word.

“What about what you owe me? Or yourself, for that matter?” His shoulders slump. “This isn’t like you, Cate. Being here in New London, with the Sisters—it isn’t what you want—or what the girl I fell in love with wanted, anyway. Perhaps I misunderstood.”

“No!” I blurt out, scalded by the doubt in his voice. “I’m still that girl.”

“Then what changed? I heard about Brenna’s prophecy. The Brothers are looking for you. They won’t stop until—” His voice falters, but we both know how the sentence ends. Until I’m dead. “Or is that it? Have you been having visions? You should have told me; you could have trusted me with—”

“I know,” I interrupt. “I haven’t had any visions yet.”

“What, then? Did they threaten your sisters?” His voice softens, but behind his spectacles, his eyes are impatient.

“No.” By then they wanted me, not Maura or Tess. I begged them to take Maura—it was what she wanted, after all, and it would have gotten her away from Elena—and to leave me at home to look after Tess. They refused. Said a witch of my caliber belonged to the Sisterhood.

Remembering it, I shiver.

“Mother gave up the bookshop for us. That was her life’s work. My father’s dream. I joined the Brothers, even though they stand for everything I hate. I did that for you, and then you left as if—as if it was nothing!” Finn’s voice rises, and he turns away from me, gripping the iron gate with his gloved fingers.

“I’m sorry.” It doesn’t feel like enough. I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out to him. “I hated leaving you like that. I thought there’d be a chance for me to explain. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You did. You are.” His words are blunt as he turns to face me. “Explain now. You owe me that much.”

I look past him at the staring black windows of the convent. “We shouldn’t stand here in the open,” I say, leading him away from the gate and farther into the garden. The boxwoods are covered in a lace of frost. We press into one shielded corner, where the air is crisp and green and quiet. It doesn’t feel as though we’re in the midst of a huge, thriving city. We could be anywhere.

I hate to tell him the truth—to take the burden of it from my shoulders and put it on his—but perhaps it’s better for him to know what’s at stake. How he puts himself in danger every time he comes near me. Then he can choose for himself whether it’s worth the risk of loving me.

The fear of him deciding it isn’t battles against my desire for him to be safe.

“It wasn’t my sisters they threatened,” I whisper.

“Your father?” he asks, and I shake my head.

The moment the realization hits him, his face crumples, his eyes closing behind his spectacles. He lets loose with a barrage of curses. “It was me.”

“And they said they’d inform on your mother. Or Clara.” Tears lodge in my throat, and my voice comes out a croak.

“Damn them,” Finn mutters. He slams his palm against the high stone wall that separates the garden from the neighbors’ lawn. “You should have told me. We could have figured it out together. Now we’re both stuck here with half the town hunting you and the Brothers throwing booksellers into fires—I nearly stole a horse and rode home. I’m still tempted.”

“That would only cast more suspicion on her,” I point out. I step forward, my hand almost brushing his arm, almost feeling the warmth of him.

“I know that,” he snaps, and I take a step back. “I can’t quit the Brotherhood. Trust me, I’ve given it some thought.”

“I’m sorry, Finn. I’m so sorry.” I don’t know what more to say.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve missed you. I didn’t understand why you left, and it nearly drove me mad. And things are getting worse at home. They—we—arrested two girls last month in Chatham. It’s like that all through New England. Harwood’s overflowing with innocents.”

His voice is bitter. Lord knows what he’s been forced to do. “Who was it?”

“Mina Coste, on grounds of immorality.” Finn’s forehead rumples, and it’s all I can do not to reach out and smooth it with my fingers. Mina’s the youngest daughter of the family who runs the boardinghouse in Chatham: a willowy, laughing girl with strawberry-blond hair. “Her father caught her sneaking out her bedroom window one night. She refused to say where she was going. He beat her, Cate, and Ishida practically congratulated him for it, and I just stood there. I had to just stand there!”

I clench my fists. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s always chafed against the Brothers’ restrictions, but this barely leashed fury is new. Guilt washes over me. “That must have been awful for you.”

“It was a damn sight worse for her. I couldn’t do anything!” His laugh is a snarled, unpleasant sound. “Then they caught Jennie Sauter with an old atlas. She’s just an ignorant girl from an illiterate farm family, trying to educate herself about the world, and—”

He cuts himself off. “I suspect it will only get worse. Part of me wants to go home to protect Mother and Clara, and part of me wants to stay here, where I can look after you.”

“Where we can look after each other,” I correct, tilting toward him.

He smiles, and it makes his eyes go crinkly at the corners. Seeing it makes the knot in my chest unravel a bit. Perhaps he can forgive me after all. “I could use a bit of looking after. I really have been miserable without you.”

“Me, too. I missed you terribly.” I’m aware of his eyes on my mouth, of the air gone electric between us. “But you could still tell them you’ve changed your mind. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“It’s treason to quit once you’ve gone through the initiation ceremony.” Finn removes his right glove and holds up his hand, displaying the silver ring of office on his finger. “Besides, I think—hope—I can do more good by staying.”

His earnestness is my undoing. I take a step forward, and Finn crushes me to him, his lips soft at my temple.

“Cate,” he murmurs, and his voice is hoarse with wanting.

“I know.” I stroke his stubbled jaw with one finger, then curl my hands around his waist. I rest my head against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of tea and ink, of Finn.

Happiness chokes me.

I didn’t know if I would ever be able to do this again.

His hands are tangled in my hair, roaming over my back, tracing the lines of my hips, as if he’s reassuring himself it’s really me and I’m really here, in his arms, safe and sound. His lips work their way from my temple to my cheekbone. I tilt my face up, eager for his kiss.