Born Wicked: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book One by Jessica Spotswood Page B

pride? Surely Elena’s love of fashion falls into one of those categories. Today she’s wearing a gorgeous peach silk that Maura keeps reaching out to stroke. It practically glows against her dark skin.
“I’m finished, Miss Cahill,” Mrs. Kosmoski says. Her breath smells like peppermints.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” Gabrielle Dolamore, one of Mrs. Kosmoski’s seamstresses, pokes her dark head into the room. Oh good, another person to see me in my underclothes. “Miss Collier is here for her alterations.”
I pull on my chemise cover and petticoats and my plain brown dress. It used to be a rich chocolate, but now it’s faded from repeated washings and looks more mud colored. Maura does up the buttons in back, her fingers nimble and familiar against my skin. “Stop being such a grump,” she admonishes. “This is meant to be fun.”
“I’ve got a headache.” It’s been present for two days straight, since I read Mother’s diary. I reach up and massage my right temple. I’ve got to share this secret with someone, and soon, before it drives me mad. Mother confided in Marianne Belastra. Dare I do the same? Those who love knowledge for its own sake— that describes the bookseller more than anyone else.
“Just think of Paul’s face when he sees you in these dresses. He’ll be mad with lust,” Maura teases, eyes dancing.
“Hush!” But now I can’t avoid thinking of it. Paul must be used to city girls and city fashions. It strikes me, all of a sudden, that I do want him to think I’m pretty. I want him struck dumb with it.
I lean down and button my boots, wretched all over again. Perhaps I should marry him and move away—the farther the better. If this prophecy is true, I’m putting my sisters at risk every moment of every day.
“Hello,” Rose Collier says, passing us on her way to the inner sanctum.
Tess practically skips to the counter to examine the bright spools of ribbon.
“Oh,” Maura breathes, running her hand over a bolt of luxurious sapphire silk.
I slouch on a settee in the corner. It’s impossible to care about new dresses with so much to fret about. But that’s my conundrum, isn’t it? I’ve still got to find a husband, still got to look pretty and proper, no matter what terrible thoughts lurk inside my head. I cringe as Rose’s giggles swoop through the air and attack my eardrums.
“This violet would be divine on you, Cate,” Elena says, handing me a color sample. “It would make your eyes look lavender.”
I examine the swatch and shudder. “But it’s so—bright!”
“Exactly,” Elena agrees. “You’re a pretty girl. Why hide away in those dark dresses? What do you think, pink for the sash? All your dresses should have sashes to show off your waist.”
She’s determined to involve me in this. “ Not pink.” Pink is for empty-headed girls like Sachi Ishida. Like—I wince as her laugh pierces my skull again—Rose Collier.
“Blue then. Peacock blue,” Elena presses, undeterred.
The bells above the shop door chime, and we all look up. It’s Brothers Ishida and Winfield, flanked by two enormous guards. My heart drops like a stone.
At the counter, my sisters inch toward one another. Behind them, Gabrielle Dolamore drops a skein of pink ribbon. It unspools slowly across the floor, coming to rest right at the Brothers’ feet.
“Good morning.” Elena curtsies, her face smooth and unconcerned. I suppose that’s the security of being a Sister; she knows they’ll never come for her . “Mrs. Kosmoski is in the back with a customer. Shall I fetch her for you?”
“No.” Brother Ishida’s pause seems to stretch out for eternity, a leaden weight in my lungs. “Gabrielle Dolamore, you are under arrest for crimes of witchery.”
Thank the Lord. It’s my first, uncharitable thought, even as Gabrielle lets out a strangled scream. The Brothers’ guards approach her from either side, and she shrinks back against the rack of ribbons. It’s no use. They turn her roughly and grab