Chapter 25
Three large men guarded the front entrance, standing like sentinels in the flickering streetlamps.
One had a pistol sticking out of his britches; the other two were taking turns throwing knives at gutter rats.
The fools weren’t even trying to hide, confident no one would dare challenge them.
She was in the Devil’s playground now and would need to be smarter than Sinclair if she wanted to save her witchy damsel in distress.
Unsure of how to approach, she closed her eyes and focused on her centre and the well of power bubbling there like magma in the earth’s core. The wind breathed over her, carrying with it the scent of bergamot. Helena was close. Her heart thumped painfully, straining for the rhythm of its mate.
The nightingale’s haunting melody echoed through cobblestone streets, and with it the distinct whimper of a caged animal.
Hamlet! I’m here. Where are you?
Holding her breath, Cynthia willed the fox to hear her. To guide her in the right direction.
It’s about time. There’s an alley behind the baths. They brought us through a blue door.
It was all Cynthia needed.
She found the door, and the bolt slid easily with a slight nudge of her magic.
Slipping along darkened corridors, she followed Hamlet’s thoughts to the first in a series of rooms and crouched next to the closed door.
Muffled conversation carried through the stone walls.
Four distinct voices, one of them so baritone, she felt the vibrations of his terse words in her bones.
They are guarding me. Imbeciles, but strong. There are too many for you to overpower.
Cynthia held back her indignant retort and forced calm into her thoughts.
If I can unlock your cage, can you distract them? Give me time to get to Helena?
Now it was Hamlet’s turn to be indignant.
I’m a fox. Slobbering dogs and humans have been chasing me since I was a kit, and they haven’t caught me yet. That isn’t going to change today.
Rolling her eyes at his arrogance, Cynthia exhaled a careful breath.
She envisioned the cage. An image formed in her mind of metal bars, a rusted lock, old hinges.
She imagined the mechanism inside the lock twisting and clicking into alignment.
With a flick of her brows, the lock flew free.
Creaking hinges sounded moments before chaos erupted.
The Turkish baths had been arranged to lead patrons through a progression of changing rooms, showers, and variously heated saunas, growing increasingly hotter as one moved from one space to the next.
The rooms created a large outer square and were connected by doors from one room to the next.
Exterior doors allowed patrons to escape the progression and take an arched walkway to the central room, where a glittering pool was lit by moonlight from a glass ceiling.
The room Hamlet escaped must have been the changing room. Cynthia could hear crashing wood, shouted curses, and breaking glass as the men followed the fox in a merry chase from one room to the next and back again using the interior doors.
She ducked into a vestibule as a giant broke free from the hunt, pushing out of one of the rooms using the exterior door that opened into the corridor. Without thought, she followed him, staying close to the wall where the lamplights couldn’t penetrate the darkness.
When he stepped through an archway to cross over the large central pool room, she waited and watched.
The final sauna was separated from the rest of the rooms. Tiled on the outside to maintain utmost heat, a furnace blasted hot air through vents into the cedar-planked interior.
Cynthia had read about the engineering feat months ago when Roger Evans first started construction.
It sat like a jewel in the corner of the pool room and was rumoured to be able to reach temperatures of more than 60 degrees Celsius of pure, arid heat.
It was the perfect place to imprison a waterwitch.
Rage, fear, and love were potent ingredients for the spell weaving in Cynthia’s soul.
The giant re-emerged with a sweating Sinclair by his side, and the men followed the sounds of muted chaos, disappearing into a room to Cynthia’s right.
She held her breath, counted to three, and dashed across the open floor.
I’m coming, Helena.
Helena must have passed out. It seemed Sinclair had only been gone a few moments before the door opened once more. This time, the wave of cool air brought with it honeysuckle and vanilla.
Perhaps she was already dead, for scents of heaven surrounded her.
But instead of joy, despair filled her. The goddess hadn’t even allowed her spirit to remain earthbound. Heaven was nothing but a glittering hell without Cynthia.
‘Helena! Oh my God, what has he done?’
Helena forced open her eyes. She wasn’t dead yet. She was hallucinating. Why else would Cynthia be rushing across the fiendish room, mahogany hair streaming behind her like a cape, hazel eyes glowing with fierce and feral love, her soft hands fluttering over Helena’s skin like butterfly wings?
‘That fucking bastard! I’ll kill him for hurting you.’
Yes. Definitely hallucinating. A proper lady like Cynthia Burrows would never use such coarse language.
‘Leave,’ Helena gasped. If Cynthia really was there, she needed to escape. Immediately. Before Sinclair came back.
‘Yes, you sweet, stubborn, impossible woman. We’re going to leave. Right. Now.’
Helena tried to shake her head, but the world was spinning.
She heard the screeching scream of metal ripping apart as the chains connected to her leather cuffs fell around her like iron rain. With nothing holding her upright, Helena dropped in a heap on the hot cedar floor.
‘I’ve got you.’ Hands pulled her against a soft chest, and the scent of Cynthia covered her like healing balm. She tried to move, but her legs were so heavy.
Cynthia’s strong arms supported her. She could fairly taste the damp air on her tongue like dew covering the lilies as they shuffled out of the sauna and into the larger room.
‘I’m taking you to the pool. You need your element.’
Her feet bumped over the tile floor. Blessed chill covered her.
Helena’s vision cleared. The glittering water was only a few paces away. She forced her limbs to move, lurching forward.
Cynthia tried to hold her back, but her magic called to her, vibrant and vital.
Dragging free of Cynthia’s grip, her toes curled over the edge of the tile, and with the last of her strength, Helena flexed her legs, diving into the pool, swirling in the eddies as a million bubbles kissed her skin. She sank into the depths.
Cynthia froze, unsure of what to do. Helena was slipping deeper into the pool, her red hair spiralling in the water, pulsing like copper sunlight.
Her pale skin glowed in the dark water as her grey eyes flashed silver.
She extended her arms wide as her shift billowed in the current.
The water began to swirl around her, a living vortex with Helena at its heart.
‘Lady Burrows. What a surprise. It seems I ’ave caught two doves with one net.’
Cynthia’s spine stiffened. She didn’t need to turn to know who stood behind her, but neither would she give an enemy her back. Slowly, she pivoted.
‘Doves are far too gentle, Sinclair. I am no bird of peace.’ She would show him no fear.
‘What should I compare you to then? Bats, perhaps?’
A piercing bark and the clattering of claws on the tile floor heralded Hamlet’s entrance.
He skidded around a corner, one of his pursuers slipping on the tile and crashing in a heap.
The man behind him tried to leap over the sudden obstacle but he wasn’t able to clear the mountain of tangled limbs and hulking shoulders.
He went head over feet in a splatter on the floor.
Three other men were far enough behind the collision to alter their courses and manoeuvre around their fallen comrades.
As Hamlet streaked past Sinclair and made a beeline for Cynthia, she threw up her hands instinctively.
‘Stop!’ The air tightened around the men, freezing them in place.
One man had his hand on his gun, another’s eyes were bulging as his hands were trapped in front of him, fingers curled into claws.
The third man’s mouth was open on a silent scream.
Flexing her arms, they lifted several feet off the ground.
Sinclair glanced behind him at his levitating men, then back to Cynthia. He whistled long and low, pulling a pistol from where it was holstered on his back. ‘I knew your friend was a witch, but I ’ad know idea you were one of ’em. I wonder, Lady Burrows, are you powerful enough to stop a bullet?’
A flash of light exploded in her peripheral as the acrid stench of magnesium filled the room.
Cynthia flicked her gaze to her right and saw the giant huddling over a camera on a stand.
Hamlet’s hackles rose as his body vibrated with a wicked snarl.
Sinclair reached behind him with his free hand and pulled another pistol.
How many bloody pistols does this devil have?
‘Of course, which bullet would you stop?’ One of his guns pointed at Hamlet, the other barrel stared her down like the black eye of a cyclops.
‘I planned on catching Miss Blair in the act, but I’m ’appy to blackmail the both of you.
’ He turned his face to speak to someone on her periphery while keeping his eyes on Cynthia.
‘Take another picture. Make sure you get the men.’ Sinclair’s barked command preceded another blinding flash.
Spots exploded in her eyes as she blinked fiercely to clear the sting of smoke.
Her power was faltering. She couldn’t hold the men. One of them screamed as he shifted in the air, nearly crashing to the ground.
The memory came to her fast and fierce.
‘Darling girl, do you know how much I love you?’