Chapter 16 #2
Cynthia carefully placed her cup and saucer on the table.
‘I think your gifts are astounding. I would feel safer knowing you are by my side, and knowing when I ask George Lippert my questions, that you would be able to hear his thoughts. But I also know what it is to be used. I won’t do that to you.
You are under no obligation to come with me.
I can take my burliest footmen along for protection and use my skills as a fearsome lady of the beau monde to determine truths from lies. I shall be fine.’
She bloody well won’t be fine without me there to keep her safe.
A new fear blossomed in Helena. Not that she might lose herself in Cynthia, but that she might lose Cynthia altogether. The courageous woman had no idea how vulnerable she was amongst murderers and madmen.
‘You can’t go to Cheapside alone and accuse Lippert of murdering your husband as easily as you might claim some debutante copied your gown. Your brother would have a fit, and Uncle Lachlan will string me up by my toes for not telling him of your plans.’
‘You won’t go with me, but I can’t go alone?
For an intelligent woman, you certainly spew your share of nonsense.
I am a widow with no one to control my choices but me.
I’d wager you do all manner of things alone without a single soul speaking ill of you.
Why should I be any different?’ Cynthia stood and paced in a tight line from the overstuffed Rococo chair to the chaise where Helena sat and back again.
‘I am tired of my every action being dictated by others. You have no wish to be used, and I have no wish to be controlled. Surely that is not so difficult to understand.’
Helena rose, stepping in front of Cynthia’s path and forcing her to stop walking or crash into her. ‘No one is controlling you.’
‘Really?’ Cynthia’s face flushed. ‘Not a month since Hubert died, and already my brother, your uncle, and now you are dictating where I can go and what I can do.’ She put her hand up, staying Helena’s counterargument.
‘I know you mean well. But I am not some child whose every choice must be made for her.’ The sky outside darkened as a wind picked up, thrashing the hydrangea blooms most violently.
‘Society believes women of the peerage should behave as gentle, bright blossoms. We should bring colour and fragrance into a room but have no opinions, no personal drive, no purpose beyond decorative value. I have worked hard to exemplify this ideal, stupid as it is, because I was raised to follow the rules and never question my place.’ A crack of lightning in what was moments ago a warm summer day lit the now darkening skies with white-hot electricity.
Helena glanced out the window and raised a brow.
She’d seen weather like this. When Aunt Rowan was particularly vexed, there was no telling how her connection to the earth would manifest. This felt the same.
She’s an earthwitch, just like Aunt Rowan.
She returned her gaze to Cynthia, and a prickling sensation began at the top of her head, covering her skin like a web.
‘Cynthia, you must remain calm.’ Helena had no practice with new witches coming into their power, except for her own experiences as a child.
But Aunt Rowan had been there to guide her through every step.
Whatever rogue manifestations occurred, Aunt Rowan kept the disasters to a minimum. Cynthia had no one. Except Helena.
Aunt Rowan had warned Helena to tread carefully.
Whatever spell had been used to contain Cynthia’s magic seemed to be slipping.
A witch’s power manifested at seven, then grew more potent every seven years.
Cynthia was approaching her twenty-eighth year.
Helena worried her magic was like a rushing river that had been dammed for too long.
One wrong move and that dam could break, unleashing a powerful and destructive force.
‘I must stay calm?’ Cynthia put her hands on her hips, her hazel eyes glowing ominously.
Damnation.
Cynthia had just told Helena she was sick of being told what to do, and Helena, like a complete simpleton, had gone a step further by saying the one thing no woman wanted to hear when they were courting fury.
Cynthia’s eyes fairly glowed with rage. ‘Do. Not. Tell. Me. To. Remain. Calm!’ Thunder shook the windowpanes.
Switching tacks, Helena nodded her head. ‘You’re right. Of course. You can feel however you want to feel.’
‘Can I? How magnanimous of you. To allow me to feel my feelings.’
Hecate help me, I’m making things worse.
‘I only meant that we should proceed with caution.’
‘We?’
Hamlet hopped nimbly from the couch and wound his way to Cynthia, bumping his head against her leg.
Cynthia looked down distractedly at the fox.
‘I’m fine.’ Her elegant fingers disappeared in the copper fur between his ears.
It was a gesture Helena had made a million times with her familiar, but watching Cynthia seeking comfort from Hamlet as Helena always had, shifted something at her centre.
We are creatures shaped from the same stardust.
She blinked, not sure if the thought came from her own mind or the cosmos.
‘Are you saying you’ll come with me?’
Helena could still back away. But every tiny piece of her wanted to join Cynthia on this adventure.
On every adventure.
‘Yes, we. I was being stupid before. I want to help you, Cynthia. I want to find the bastard who murdered your husband so you can start your life anew. And I don’t want you to do this alone.’
I’m also quite certain when your power breaks free, you’re going to need all the help I can give.
The idea of supporting Cynthia as she learned to access her magic, watching her step into her abilities, stirred Helena’s calm soul.
It was a raw and visceral thing for a witch to connect to her element.
When Cynthia was ready to accept the fullness of who she truly was, she would need support and guidance.
Imagining anyone else stepping into such an intimate role filled Helena with violent jealousy.
‘Will you let me help you?’ Helena held her breath, feeling like her world rested on the precipice of Cynthia’s answer. Because she wasn’t just asking about this investigation.
Cynthia exhaled, a smile breaking over her as the sun tentatively peeked through the storm clouds. ‘Of course I will let you help me. I never wanted to do this alone.’
‘Then we shall do it together.’ The last word resonated through Helena like the crash of waves over rocks. A fractured piece of her heart clicked into place.
Hamlet yipped, his golden eyes uncannily perceptive.
Helena shrugged away the feeling, instead focusing on the task at hand. She didn’t have time to worry about falling in love with a witch when they were confronting a potential killer.