“Is this some sort of trap? Are you going to shove me into a closet?” I demand.

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be absurd.”

Her imperiousness grates, but I’m curious, so I follow her down to the formal sitting room. The gaslights on either side of the hearth are lit, there’s a fire burning in the grate, and a blanket is piled on one end of the uncomfortable olive settee. “Wait, are you sleeping down here?”

She flushes. “Maura and I are in a fight.”

Alice shuts the door, then crosses the room and stretches up on tiptoe to pull the cord that shuts the copper grate. When she’s finished with her precautions, she paces to the window.

“Why all the secrecy?” I’m still in my itchy black bombazine, and exhausted enough that the blanket on the settee looks inviting.

“This is important,” she snaps. The burgundy drapes are pulled shut, but she pushes one aside and peers out to the street. “After the funeral, Sister Inez spoke privately with Brother O’Shea. I was listening through the grate. That’s how I fell off that stool. I was trying to hear better.”

“I remember.” Alice is an inveterate snoop. We all know that.

Alice presses her knuckles to her lips. She seems genuinely distraught. “Cate, what I heard—the reason I fell—I thought I must have misunderstood. I prayed I’d misunderstood. I couldn’t imagine . . .”

Suspicion swoops through me. “Alice, what did you hear?”

She turns to face me. “Inez told Brother O’Shea where to find those girls.”

Of course she did.

“Did you already know?” Alice asks, and I shake my head. “But you aren’t surprised.” I shake my head again, blond hair falling over my shoulders. “I think she was bargaining to keep the Sisterhood open, to prove her loyalty. But even then, it doesn’t—it doesn’t excuse it. She had to know what would happen.”

Did Inez know they would all be executed? She must have realized it was a strong possibility. But I think she honestly hopes that if the Brothers are dreadful enough, the people will rise up against them, and the witches will seem a promising alternative. What are a few dozen girls’ deaths in comparison to that kind of power?

I almost feel sorry for Alice. She’s always been Inez’s pet. Before my sisters and I arrived, she was the only pupil at the convent who could do mind-magic. It must be galling to see her hero fall.

“Inez means exactly what she said,” I explain, leaning against the marble mantel. “She only cares about the Sisterhood. Specifically, she wants to overthrow the Brothers and put herself in charge. She does not care who gets killed in the process. How is this different from what you did to the Head Council? That’s eleven men dead—as good as. You didn’t see anything wrong in that.”

“But these are girls.” Alice sinks onto the brown chair by the fire. Her satin skirt pools against the dun-colored carpet. “The Head Council made our lives a hell. These girls—they’ve been careless, perhaps, or just unlucky. They don’t deserve—”

“You never cared what happened to the Harwood girls before.”

“I didn’t want them dead!” she shrieks, then claps a hand over her mouth. “If they’re all killed tomorrow, it will be my fault, won’t it? For not telling you sooner?”

It’s still all about her.

But even Alice shouldn’t have to think she’s responsible for this. “I don’t know that we could have gotten word to them in time. It’s not your fault, Alice. It’s the Brothers’, for voting to allow the hangings. It’s Inez’s, for telling O’Shea where the safe house was.”

But who told Inez? Did she compel one of my girls, or do we have a traitor in our midst? It wasn’t me. It wasn’t Tess. And—strange as it is to admit after our rocky start—I trust Elena implicitly.

Unless Elena confided in Maura—and Maura told Inez.

“Why are you being kind? I know you don’t like me.”

I shrug. “The truth is, we could use your knack for illusions tomorrow. You say you’re sorry? Prove it. Help us stop this.”

Alice’s hands are clasped together in her lap. “All right.”

“Good. Rilla and I will fill you in on the plan before services. You can walk over with us, and we’ll sit together in church. I don’t want you out of her sight until the whole thing is over, understand? And you’ll work with her without arguing?”

Alice nods. “Good night, Cate.”

I turn in the doorway, curious despite myself. “Did you tell Maura what you heard? Is that why she threw you out?”

Alice rises and blows out the lamps. The only light comes from the orange ashes in the grate. “She didn’t believe me. Accused me of making it up because I was jealous of Inez paying her so much attention.”

I walk upstairs in the dark, feeling my way. My sister is so far gone, I don’t see any hope of reaching her. Even if I wanted to.

Chapter 7

HOW DOES ONE DRESS FOR A HANGING?

I’m wearing my Sisterly black bombazine with black boots and slipping the last hairpins into my chignon when Brenna creeps into my room on silent cat feet. She never seems to walk like a normal person; she’s always dancing or twirling or skulking. I jump when I catch her reflection in the mirror above the dressing table.

“Hello, Cate,” she says.

“Hello, Brenna.” I put my silver brush down. “Is everything all right?”

“You’re going to save Rory after church. There’ll be fire and lots of people screaming.” Brenna creeps closer, until she’s standing right behind me. Her breath smells sweet and her fingers are stained red from the raspberry jam she must have spread on her toast. “The guns go pop-pop-pop.”

Oh, I hope it will be less dire than she makes it sound. Please Lord, let this work.

“All around the gallows stage, explosions chase the people. And after them in double haste, pop! go the weasels!” Brenna sings. I twist to face her, and she smiles. “The Brothers are weasels. Guns go pop. We mustn’t let them pop Rory.”

“Er—no.” I swallow. “I’ll go to church and then to Richmond Square, and I’ll bring Rory back home. Don’t worry.”

Unless, of course, she knows there’s something I ought to worry about.

My heart thumps in my chest. Not Rory; please not Rory. She’s already had such a rough time of it, with her drunk of a mother and lout of a father.

“I’m dressed for church, too.” Brenna pivots. She’s been in her cousin’s closet again. Today she’s wearing a gold dress with red peonies splashed all over the skirt and red fringe at the hem. Truth be told, it looks more like curtains. “I want to help.”

“Oh, Brenna, no.” I can’t be worrying about a mad oracle on top of everything else. “Someone might see you. It isn’t safe for you to go out.”

Brenna brings a strand of chestnut hair to her mouth and chews on it, staring at me with her eerie blue eyes. “I thought you would say that.”

How is it that we’ve got two oracles, and neither of them are one bit of use in this? I bite my tongue before I say something tart. It isn’t as if they can call up visions on command, after all. “Is there something else you wanted, then?”