Chapter 19 #3
Aunt Rowan gestured to the table, and the ladies all took their places. Candles had been lit, and a window was open to let in the night air, fragrant with blooming jasmine.
Helena sat next to Cynthia. She couldn’t stop from reaching under the table to squeeze Cynthia’s knee.
The flush rising from Cynthia’s neck to her cheeks only enhanced her wild beauty.
Dinner progressed uncommonly well. They talked of the apothecary shop, the investigation, London’s new obsession with crinolines, and the candidate running for the presidency in America.
A tall, lanky man who had views the women could respect.
Rare for a politician. It wasn’t until after Clio brought out the melange that Aunt Rowan cleared her throat and the table grew quiet.
‘I believe it is time to discuss what is happening with Cynthia.’
Cynthia’s eyes widened, and she fiddled with the napkin in her lap.
‘I just wanted to say, I appreciate all of you.’ Her gaze flicked around the table.
‘Your friendship means so much, and you’ve all become so dear to me.
’ Helena’s heart quickened. ‘I know many women in the beau monde, from duchesses to baronets, but I have few chuckaboos, and none with whom I can be completely honest.’ She reached under the table and took Helena’s hand.
‘I always assumed that kind of female friendship was fanciful. And then I met Clio.’ A heartbreakingly hesitant smile curled her lip as she looked at Clio, who smiled back and nodded encouragingly.
‘You welcomed me into your family, and all of you have been so kind and gracious throughout this investigation. The last thing I wish to do is hurt any one of you.’ Her fingers slipped away from Helena’s as she released her hand and began gathering crumbs into a small pile on the table.
She kept her focus on the flakes of pastry.
‘Which is why it pains me so terribly to tell you that… I think I have been stealing Helena’s power. ’
Helena’s chest tightened. What was she on about? Was something like that even possible? She looked to Aunt Rowan, whose brow crinkled in concern.
‘Cynthia, why would you think such a thing?’ Ellie’s soft voice wrapped them all in gentle warmth.
‘Because it is the only explanation.’ She abandoned her crumbs and turned to Helena. ‘I don’t know how I’m doing it, and it is unintentional. If you can put some kind of hex or spell on me to get me to stop, I will willingly submit myself.’
When Helena’s mother allowed her powers to be used by the man she chose to love, he never manifested the magic within himself. Helena couldn’t remember a single case of someone stealing another witch’s power and making it their own. She shook her head. ‘Why do you think you’re stealing my magic?’
Cynthia shrugged, the neckline of her gown shifting with movement and momentarily distracting Helena. ‘It’s the only reasonable explanation.’
‘There is another possibility.’ Clio stroked Sir Robin’s sleek feathers.
‘One that makes far more sense,’ Ellie added, licking the last remnant of cream from her fork before carefully placing it on her plate.
‘One that would require you to accept a part of yourself you may have locked away for a very long time.’ As Aunt Rowan spoke, the potted palm in the corner vibrated, emitting a low hum similar to a cat purring.
Cynthia shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘You aren’t stealing my magic, Cyn. Your power comes from within you.
’ Helena spoke gently, unsure of how Cynthia would react.
Hamlet stood from the pillow in the corner of the dining room where he was curled up with Ophelia.
He padded across the parquet floor and put his paw on Cynthia’s lap, almost exactly where Helena had squeezed her knee.
Whining, he stared at Cynthia with his golden gaze.
Cynthia looked from Hamlet to Helena to the rest of the coven. ‘It can’t be true. I can’t possibly be a witch.’
He yipped, and she shook her head.
‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m just imagining things.’
A low growl rumbled in the fox’s chest.
‘I am not being silly!’ Cynthia’s voice rose indignantly.
Ellie cleared her throat. ‘Darling, are you having an argument with Hamlet?’
Cynthia turned sharply to face Ellie. ‘I was just… err… that is to say…’
Aunt Rowan’s gaze sharpened. ‘You can hear him?’
Cynthia’s cheeks paled, and Helena reached for her hand. Cynthia’s fingers were like ice.
‘Yes.’
‘Can you hear the thoughts of other animals?’
Cynthia blinked rapidly. She turned to Sir Robin, then Ophelia, staring at each animal intensely for a moment. Sir Robin cawed, and Ophelia chittered in what one could only assume was ferret outrage for being abandoned by Hamlet.
‘No. I can’t. How strange.’
Prickles erupted over Helena’s skin. A premonition of what was to come. Fear spiked in her belly as she pushed the idea from her head. It was impossible.
‘Why would she only be able to hear Hamlet’s thoughts?’ Clio asked their aunt.
Aunt Rowan met Helena’s gaze with her own steady one. She nodded her head.
Helena’s world spun out of control.
‘Because Hamlet is Cynthia’s familiar.’