Start your review of Born Wicked The Cahill Witch Chronicles, 1 Write a review Shelves: paranormal , romance , ya , alternate-universe , witches , siblings , glbt Actual rating: 3. Rounded down for the pointless motherfucking love triangle. Mother didnt trust Father to fight for us. Truth be told, she didnt do a very good job of it herself. She left me with a diary full of cryptic warnings and a responsibility that should have been hers.

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I miss her. Especially about my sisters. Tess runs ahead of me, heading for the rose garden—our sanctuary, our one safe place. Her slippers slide on the cobblestones, the hood of her gray cloak falling to reveal blond curls. I glance back at the house. Tess is safe. For now. She waits ahead, kicking at the dead leaves beneath a maple. The Brotherhood would probably ban autumn if they could. Too sensuous.

Tess points to the clematis climbing up the trellis. Their petals are brown and crumbling, their tired heads bowing toward the ground. I realize what she intends a scant second before she acts.

Tess is an advanced caster for twelve—much more advanced than I was at her age. The deadheads spring up, whole and white and luscious. The oaks sprout new green leaves. Magnificent peonies and lilies sway toward the sun, glorying in their resurrection. Before Mrs.

Footsteps strike the cobblestones behind us. I whip around to face the intruder. Tess moves closer, and I resist the urge to put my arm around her. An odd, pretty child is safer than an odd, pretty woman.

My heart is pounding. If he had come two minutes earlier—if it had been Father, or the Brothers paying an unexpected call—how would we have explained this corner of the garden springing back to life? It was magic, plain and simple. Does he mean to leave us again so soon?

His time at home gets shorter every year. Tess looks longingly down the cobblestone path toward the rose garden. We were behind the hedges. She made the rules to keep us safe. When I was her age, I liked to run through the gardens, and I suppose I was careless with my magic, too. But I had Mother to look out for me. Now I have to play mother for Tess and Maura, and ignore the wild girl that still bangs in my heart, begging to be let out.

I lead the way back to the house, and we troop through the kitchen door, hanging our cloaks on the wooden pegs inside. She smiles and gestures toward a pile of carrots on the table. Tess washes up and sets right to work chopping. She loves bustling around the kitchen, dicing and mixing and measuring.

And when he finishes those, there are dozens more on the shelves ready to take their place. He is a businessman, yes—but a scholar first and foremost. I rap on the door and wait for permission to enter. Corbett and I thought you should have a say in our new venture, since it affects you girls. Corbett sits like a fat spider on the plush red sofa, spinning her helpful little schemes.

Her last suggestion was to send me off to a convent school run by the Sisters. But it was necessary. How could I keep my promise to look after my sisters if I was in New London? It would be just the thing. I jut my chin at him. Hours snatched here and there to correct our French pronunciation and Latin translations are the only time we get with him anymore.

I brush dust from the lamp at the corner of his desk.


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