Free Sisters' Fate by Jessica Spotswood Page B

December wind. “I could say the same for you.”
    Finn glances over his shoulder. There are no Brothers in the vicinity. He gives me another bland smile, but now his eyes are curious. “I’ve always liked books.”
    What is the point in this? What am I trying to prove? I know I’m being foolish, and yet—
    “But you’ve never been the Brotherly sort.” My voice is so low, he has to lean over the booth to hear it.
    He stares at the ground, shifting his feet. “I confess, of late, I’m not entirely certain what sort of man I am.” His tone is rich with disgust. What must he be feeling, having found himself a member of the Brotherhood, with no notion of why?
    “What do you mean?” I ask, then flush. In his mind, we barely know each other; I’ve been an occasional customer at his mother’s bookshop, nothing more. Nothing to invite confidences. But I can’t bear the notion that he’s confused and alone and—damn Maura for doing this to him.
    “Nothing.” Finn straightens, running both hands through his hair. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” His voice has gone starched and his shoulders stiff as he remembers the proprieties.
    I reach out, fingertips just brushing his wool cloak. “You’re no bother. If I can do anything to help—”
    “That’s very kind of you. Very—neighborly.” He barely glances at me as he pulls his hood up and steps away. “Thank you, Miss Cahill.”
    Neighborly?
I watch him blend back into the crowd, my eyes blurring with tears. Then I kneel, ducking out of sight behind the counter, pretending to riffle through the boxes at my feet.
    “Are you all right?” Rilla is at my side, wrapping an arm around me.
    This time I can’t summon up a lie. “No,” I croak, burying my tearstained face in her shoulder.
    “Of course. It was a stupid question. Do you want to go home?” she asks.
    “I told Mei I’d watch the puppet show with her.” And Brenna said something awful would happen. I’ve got to wait and see what it is.
    Rilla smiles. “Mei would understand.”
    “No, I want to stay. I’ll be all right.” I struggle to my feet. All around us, people burst into applause while I try to swallow the ache in my throat. “It sounds like the hurdy-gurdy man’s finished. Let’s go to the stage.”
    I don’t trust myself to be here when Maura shows up for her turn working the booth.
    We’re halfway to the stage when Brother O’Shea begins to speak. I recognize his loud, affected voice immediately. Other people must, too, because they stop shopping and begin to drift toward the stage by the dozens. Mothers call their children; fathers gather their families close. Along the main thoroughfare, vendors hover outside their booths, keeping wary eyes on customers who listen with merchandise in hand. Whatever dreadful thing Brenna foresaw, it’s happening.
    Where is Tess? I scan the crowd, searching for her small figure, but there are hundreds of people and too many black cloaks. I walk faster, practically dragging Rilla behind me. At the end of the aisle, Brother O’Shea stands on the makeshift stage, his horsey face stretched into a counterfeit smile.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, Brothers and Sisters, I’d like to interrupt our entertainment for just a few moments. As you know, last week there was a mutiny at Harwood Asylum for the Criminally Insane. Hundreds of witches escaped. They were helped by one of our own—Sean Brennan, who has fled the city rather than face justice for his treason.” He swaggers across the stage like a man twice his size, and I get the sense that his speech is as rehearsed as his smile. He lacks the appeal of Brother Covington, who—despite his abominable politics—was a warm, charismatic speaker. “These women are a threat to all of New England. I have deployed our National Guardsmen to hunt them down, and I’m pleased to report that over the last week, we have recaptured two dozen witches hiding in empty barns and abandoned homes in the