Oh no. I struggle to my feet, but it’s too late. I am such a fool.

Prue stands before me, utterly herself again. My illusion has disappeared.

“That’s her. Prudencia Merriweather,” a man declares, starting toward us.

But the guards get there first.

Four of them surround Prue. Two grab her roughly by the arms. I can tell by the look on her face that they hurt her, but she doesn’t cry out.

The well-to-do man strides up to her, his gilded cane tapping along the marble floor, Alistair’s leaflet crumpled in his fist. He shakes it in her face. “Is this your doing, too? Making a mockery of the Lord’s birth?”

Prue lowers her eyes to the floor.

Good Lord, what have I done?

Alice’s eyes are on me, but there are a hundred people left in the cathedral. Far too many to mind-magic.

Prue’s already been convicted; now they’ll use her to roust out Merriweather and hang them both. What a prize I’ve handed O’Shea.

“What have we here?” he asks, voice echoing. He turns to me, his smug smile restored. “Is this girl a friend of yours?”

“I—” I croak. Prue’s gray eyes are wide with fright, but she gives the tiniest shake of her head. She’s telling me to abandon her.

But this is all my doing. My promise to her—to Sachi, to look after her—

Despite my best intentions, I never seem able to keep my promises.

“Speak up, girl!” O’Shea barks.

A burly guard puts a hand on my shoulder, hauling me around. His fingers will leave bruises. My temper—so carefully leashed all morning—cracks. Splinters. And breaks wide open.

“Don’t touch me!”

My magic surges up and out in a burst so powerful, I’ve never felt the like. Brother O’Shea and his guards are flung backward. Their bodies fly through the air like rag dolls, or trees uprooted by a tornado. They fly and flail and don’t stop until they hit pews, landing with a series of sickening crunches.

At the same time, there’s a deafening crash—and then another—and another—and another. The people still left in the cathedral scream—men and women alike—on and on, shrill and hoarse and terrified. I look toward the sanctuary in time to see the image of the Lord ascending to heaven shatter, shards of stained glass flying everywhere.

People cower behind the mahogany pews, hands thrown up to protect their faces from the rain of glass.

I look to Alice. A bit of glass has nicked her cheek, but she is utterly still.

There is fear in her blue eyes, too.

Alice is scared. Of me.

Chapter 16

“GO!” I URGE, YANKING THE KEY FROM AROUND my neck and tossing it at Prue. “Prue knows where. I’ll meet you. Go!”

The second go seems to galvanize them. They run down the aisle, boots clattering. No one tries to stop them. One of the guards is slumped against a marble column; another lies sprawled atop several pews; a few appear to be unconscious—or worse.

“Guards!” O’Shea hollers. His bald head peeks above a pew several rows away.

I glance toward the doors. Prue and Alice are almost out.

Two guards run out of a door near the sanctuary. I fling up a hand, and everyone in sight cringes. “Stay back. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

Wisely, the guards halt.

“You can’t hide. We’ll find you,” O’Shea promises, rising to his feet. His blue eyes glitter from inside the shadow of his hood. “We’ll put you to death for this sacrilege.”

I run. The glass cuts through my black slippers. Three more guards dart out from behind pillars and try to stop me. It isn’t hard to stop them instead. My magic hovers just beneath my skin, pulsing through my body in time with my heartbeat.

In this moment, full of fear and anger and power, I feel more alive than I ever have.

More guards rush in from outside. “Sister, what’s happened? Are you all right?” they ask, rifles at the ready, eyes frantically searching the central aisle for danger. What must they think it was—an assassination attempt on O’Shea?

“There was an explosion,” I pant, dashing between them.

“Witchery!” O’Shea roars behind me. “Stop her!”

But I’m slipping out into the bedlam. Guards are trying to prevent a group of Brothers from reentering the church. I pause at the back of their flock, head down, and when I raise my face to the sun, I’ve transformed into a man with coffee-colored skin and fuzzy black hair. Brother Sutton, of Chatham.

Fortunately, most people seem to have headed directly home after the long service instead of mingling about on the steps. Guards are trying to herd the remaining members of the congregation across the street into Richmond Square. I pass a woman sitting on the steps, heedless of the commotion around her, applying a gray glove to a jagged gash on her son’s forehead to stop the bleeding.

I take in the amount of colored glass littering the steps, casting rainbows onto the cobblestones below, and realize that it could have been much worse.

I head down the street. The moment I turn a corner, my glamour changes. Rose, I think, and I become my old neighbor Rose Collier, dressed in a fine pink wool cloak. At the next corner, I’m Lily: the meek, cow-eyed maid who informed on us to Brother Ishida. I go on like this for blocks, zigzagging my way toward Fifth Street, running through half a dozen disguises, but I don’t slow my strides.

I can feel the magic sapping my strength, dragging at my feet. My head swims, vision tunneling, but I can’t rest. Not until I’m somewhere safe. I stumble forward into the alley behind O’Neill’s shop, begging my magic to see me through one last transition.

“Merry Christmas, Hugh!” a man says cheerfully, hauling boxes inside a shop two doors down.

I turn to him, face transformed into O’Neill’s weathered visage, white hair stark against my tanned face. “And a very merry Christmas to you!”

I wait until the neighbor’s gone inside before I knock twice at the storeroom door. When it opens, I practically fall into Prue’s arms.

“Cate! Oh, thank heavens!” Prue lowers me to the floor.

I press my face to my knees to keep from swooning. “How did you get out?” Alice asks.

“Not important. You have to go to the convent, Alice. Hurry. Get Maura and Tess out of there!” I gulp air, lifting my face. “O’Shea knows my name. He’ll come looking for me and when he finds out I’ve got two sisters—all he’ll have to do is look at the registry of students—”

“The prophecy,” Alice breathes. “Three sisters, all witches. They’ll know it’s one of you. You were powerful, Cate.”

She means it as a compliment, but all I can think is that I was powerfully stupid. I can’t take this back. I can’t go home—not to the convent or to Chatham—not unless I want to put everyone I care about in danger.

I broke Mother’s cardinal rule: Never do magic in public.

And now the Brothers will descend on the convent, interrogating girls, searching the rooms, looking for any hints of witchery. If Alice doesn’t get there first—

The consequences are too awful to imagine.

“You have to go warn them. Now. Please,” I beg, voice shrill.

Alice takes me by the shoulders and shakes me. “Don’t you dare go into hysterics. When your magic’s back, go to my father’s. I gave Prue directions. All the servants are gone, and he’s half out of his mind with fever; you’ll be safe there.” She presses the key into my hands. “I’ll bring Maura and Tess to you.”