Chapter 20
It made no sense. Hamlet chose Helena when he was just a kit.
He emerged from the woods one afternoon when Helena had been trying to learn the skills of gardening from Aunt Rowan.
She was days away from her fourteenth birthday and lamenting her lack of familiar.
Both Clio and Ellie had found their animal companions when they were in their seventh year and first manifested their elemental powers.
Helena was coming into her second milestone of magic and still she had no spirit guide to aid her.
What kind of witch couldn’t find her faithful companion?
Secretly, she worried it was because of what she had done.
The goddess was punishing Helena by refusing to grant her a familiar.
But, in the middle of pruning the roses, an orange ball of fluff scampered from beneath the hedge, right over to Helena.
He looked at her with his golden eyes, yipped, and Helena knew. She had found her spirit companion.
So how the bloody hell is he Cynthia’s familiar as well?
They had moved from the dining room to the lounge.
Cynthia sat on the love seat, a glass of sherry in her elegant hand.
Helena could have sat next to her, but she didn’t.
It was stupid and petty. When Cynthia first spoke of stealing Helena’s magic, she dismissed the idea as ridiculous.
But this was much worse. She had stolen Hamlet.
‘I don’t understand. Hamlet is my familiar. He chose me. How can he also be Cynthia’s?’ Helena tried to keep the poison from her tone. She knew she’d failed when Cynthia’s bottom lip trembled. Shame warred with fear. What if she was losing her familiar to a more worthy witch?
Aunt Rowan joined Helena on the matching love seat across from Cynthia.
She took Helena’s hands with her own and squeezed.
Her strong fingers carried calluses from harvesting herbs and the various plants Clio used in her potions.
Rosemary and grass warmed by the summer sun enveloped her as Aunt Rowan leaned closer.
‘There have been cases. Rare occurrences when a familiar chooses two witches. Those witches are bound to each other. Separate souls woven together as one. It’s possible Hamlet chose both you and Cynthia because your spirits are intertwined and he can’t devote himself to one without also committing to the other. ’
Alarm tightened fingers around her throat. This was worse than Hamlet abandoning her.
Ellie clapped her hands and bounced on the wingback chair where she perched. ‘Intertwined spirits! Ohhhhh. That’s even better than a spirit match!’
Clio sent her sister a withering stare. ‘Nothing is better than a spirit match. Speaking as someone who knows.’ She and Thomas discovered their connection when they were investigating Lord Beachley’s murder.
Helena still had to stop herself from gagging every time the love birds were together and Clio’s sparks flew.
They were lucky their residence hadn’t burned to cinders.
But she had no such interest in a fated partner. She had sworn never to become so vulnerable. Neither did she deserve the kind of love that stretched between Thomas and Clio with bonds of fire and furious devotion.
‘But if that’s true, why can’t I hear Hamlet? My gift is to read minds, yet I can’t read either of their thoughts. And she can hear Hamlet.’
‘I didn’t try to hear his thoughts.’ Cynthia spoke quietly, refusing to look up from her glass of sherry.
‘I’m not vexed with you,’ Helena nearly shouted, power pooling in her belly and swirling up to press against her ribcage. She could feel the water gathering in her hands.
‘You could have fooled me!’ Cynthia replied with equal fervour, finally meeting Helena’s gaze with a simmering glare. Thunder rolled outside the window as lightning streaked through the black sky.
Aunt Rowan raised a brow and glanced outside. ‘Cynthia, hold out your palm.’
Cynthia broke her staring contest with Helena to glance at Aunt Rowan before complying.
‘Now, focus on that energy pulsing inside of you. Pull it up and try to hold it in your hand. Take all of your emotions, your fear, your anger, your hope, and push it into that ball of power.’
‘I’m not done with this conversation,’ Helena muttered.
Her words seemed to spur Cynthia onward. She frowned at her palm, and they all watched in fascination as a swirl began to form. Clouds roiled and spun in the cup of her open hand. Miniature bolts of lightning cracked and quaked in the centre of the storm.
Her mahogany hair caught in the wind, pulled free from the twists and braids, and swirled around her face and shoulders in wild coils. Her skin glowed, honeyed by the light pouring from her. Excitement danced in her hazel eyes as she looked at Helena and smiled with undiluted joy.
Helena forgot everything. Her anger. Her fear. Her promise to never fall in love. All that existed was Cynthia, riding on her own wave of magic. All that mattered was being present, with her, in this moment.
‘Well, one thing is certain. Cynthia is most definitely a witch.’
Clio’s words were followed by Sir Robin’s caw.
‘I received an answer to the letter I sent to the Linlithgow coven.’ Aunt Rowan tapped a finger on her crystal glass of sherry. ‘Ellie, you joked once that Helena had hexed herself, and that’s why her powers were blocked. You were closer to the truth than you thought.’
Ellie turned to her aunt and frowned. ‘Is that why Helena can’t hear Cynthia’s thoughts?’
Aunt Rowan watched Helena carefully. ‘No. I think there is another reason for that. If they are spirit matches, hearing Cynthia’s thoughts would be an unfair advantage. The goddess believes in balance. That includes balance between fated pairs.’
Helena refused to look at Cynthia. Which was fine. Cynthia didn’t want to look at Helena either.
‘But when I sent my letter to my dear friend, Magnolia Marchbank, she told me of a case where a witch had indeed hexed herself. It was during the height of the witch massacres in 1629. The poor woman was terrified she might be burned at the stake, and in an act of desperation, she used blood magic to block her own powers.’
‘But wouldn’t I remember having powers? Or hexing myself, for that matter?’
Aunt Rowan’s smile reminded Cynthia of a cat she once owned. The clever creature looked just like that whenever she caught a mouse. ‘You said yourself, you remember little of your childhood.’
Cynthia leaned back against the settee. ‘That’s true.’
‘I’m hoping we can jog your memory.’
‘But how am I supposed to remember something that’s a blank in my head?’
‘I have a few ideas. If you’re willing to try.’ Aunt Rowan kept her gaze steady on Cynthia. But she glanced at Helena, needing to gauge her reaction.
Helena shrugged, her gaze steadfastly on the floor. ‘It’s completely up to Cynthia.’
Wonderful. Now she decides to keep her opinions to herself.
She had asked Helena not to make choices for her, but in this one instance, it would have been nice for some guidance.
Cynthia swallowed. If there were secrets in her past, she wanted to know. Taking a leap, she nodded her head.
‘Lovely.’ Aunt Rowan began with a spell for clarity. Her words were ancient and beautiful. Cynthia didn’t know what they meant, but she felt the vibrations of Aunt Rowan’s voice buzzing in her veins.
Ellie cast a protective circle around them, and Clio used her witch fire to light a candle infused with rosemary and lemon balm.
‘Sit in the centre, close your eyes, and try to clear your mind.’
Cynthia did as Aunt Rowan asked, though it felt strange to sit cross-legged on the floor in her voluminous skirts. She hadn’t done something so improper since she was a child.
Aunt Rowan began to chant again. The syllables curled around Cynthia like woodsmoke as the other women joined their voices. A memory teased at the edges of Cynthia’s mind but stayed annoyingly out of reach. A whisper none of them could quite hear.
Clio tried next, using her powers to delve into Cynthia’s past. Though she was usually limited to only seeing the past of the dead, not the living, given her ability to see Thomas’ memories, she thought it might work on his sister.
The only result was a slight headache for Cynthia and a singed pillow that suffered under Clio’s frustration.
Sighing, Aunt Rowan shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose Ellie can help with her gifts being limited to the future.
Damnation. I hoped that might work. But I suppose some mysteries must be solved in their own time.
Instead of focusing on the past, let us turn to the present.
I don’t know why your magic was bound, but something has loosened the spell’s hold. ’
‘Hubert’s death.’ Cynthia didn’t realise the truth until she spoke it.
‘That’s when things started happening. I think being released from that vow altered something within me.
I’ve always been trapped by someone else’s rules.
When Hubert died, that changed. A widow is beholden to no one but herself.
’ Excitement grew like a wild vine, reaching for sunlight and water and wind within her.
Because her words were truth. She was under no obligation to anyone, except herself.
Power expanded and flexed against a tether. She wanted to set it free.
‘Until Hubert’s death, you were a wife, before that a daughter. Now, you can choose who you wish to be.’ Ellie’s words echoed her thoughts.
Cynthia nodded. ‘Exactly.’
‘And perhaps what you want to be is who you have always been: a witch.’ Clio gently bolstered Cynthia’s hopes.
But that was harder to accept. Instinctively, she pushed the idea away. ‘What if this is just some fluke?’
‘Who you are isn’t a fluke. It’s destiny. Call it what you will. A miracle, or fate, or magic. But it is real and yours to accept.’ Ellie’s sweet voice soothed Cynthia’s jangled nerves. ‘It’s okay to be scared. We’re all here with you.’