Chapter 26
Power coursed through Helena, an unstoppable river of magic filling her with elemental force. She was alive, and strong, and ready for war. But none of it mattered.
As she rose on the water, she watched the counterpart of her soul shudder from the impact of Sinclair’s bullet, and Helena’s world fractured.
Cynthia collapsed onto the wet floor, blood mixing with water.
Breaking her oath to never fall in love had nearly destroyed Helena.
Breaking her vow to do no harm was easy.
Propelled forward on a stream of rage, Helena attacked Sinclair with claws and teeth, hexes and undiluted hatred, wrath and wicked witchcraft. A banshee scream erupted from her lungs as they tumbled to the ground. Hamlet joined the fray, biting wherever he could find purchase.
Pressing her palm over Sinclair’s mouth, she jetted a stream of water down his throat. She would drown him with her pain.
His dark eyes widened with fear as he grappled with her. He grew frantic in his struggles, but Helena no longer cared. She would claim her vengeance. For Cynthia.
Strong hands gripped her, ripping her away from Sinclair, who curled onto his side, spewing water. She fought against whoever dared stop her, twisting and writhing in their unrelenting arms.
‘Helena!’ Aunt Rowan’s voice pierced the red haze shrouding her vision. ‘Stop.’
Muscle memory forced her to still. When Aunt Rowan used that voice, no one disobeyed. Not even Helena.
‘We do no harm, Helena. Even now.’ Aunt Rowan’s words resonated along her nerve endings as her screams of vengeance became wails of grief.
No longer fighting against her, Helena gripped her aunt in a desperate plea.
‘He shot Cynthia. He shot her. He shot Cynthia.’ She couldn’t stop the haunting chant.
‘He did not kill her. She lives. And we are going to heal her. But I need your help, Helena. I need you to help me bring her back.’
Hope, painful and precious, cracked the shell of despair covering Helena’s heart. ‘She lives?’
‘For now. But you must stop trying to kill this piece of filth so we can save your spirit match.’
Reason emerged from the frenzy. Helena wiped the tears from her face and looked into her aunt’s grey eyes, so similar to her own. ‘What do you need me to do?’
A swarm of uniformed men seemed to appear from the darkened corridors of the baths, led by Uncle Lachlan and Thomas.
Helena barely noticed as they crowded around Sinclair and his men.
The Devil of Seven Dials was still coughing up water, his handsome face red and blotchy.
He was lucky to still have breath in his lungs.
Clio must have come with her husband, because she was at Helena’s side with Ellie close behind. ‘Come on. Let’s get Cynthia away from prying eyes. It will take all of us to bring her back from the breach.’
‘We need to act quickly, but all will be well, Helena.’ Whether Ellie had a vision, or she was just speaking from her unshakeable faith that the world was generally a good place, Helena took comfort in her words.
The four witches hurried to Cynthia. With their combined strength and a levitating spell from Aunt Rowan, they were able to quickly move Cynthia into the shower room, away from Scotland Yard’s finest.
Laying her carefully on a bench, the women created a tight ring around Cynthia.
Ellie cast a circle of protection while Aunt Rowan placed her hands on the wound. ‘I can draw out the bullet, but she is weak. We must work swiftly.’
A blue glow formed around the edges of Aunt Rowan’s splayed fingers, spilling into the crimson hole.
Helena crouched by her beloved’s side, silently pleading with the goddess to let Cynthia live.
Cynthia arched her back as her screams drowned out the wet sucking sound of metal being pulled through her flesh.
‘Stop! You’re hurting her.’
‘It must come out. I’ve almost got it.’ In another moment, Aunt Rowan clasped her hand in a fist. She opened her fingers to reveal a lead slug slick with dark blood.
‘My fire will cauterise her wound.’ Clio took her aunt’s place, but Helena pulled her back.
‘Wait, let me flush it first. Aunt Rowan, will you draw out any fragments?’
The two worked together, Helena sending a carefully controlled jet of water into the wound as Aunt Rowan sought any part of the bullet or particles of her clothing that might remain and ensured they were swept away. Cynthia moaned, but didn’t thrash as she had before.
Aunt Rowan nodded at Helena, who reluctantly stepped back to let Clio use her witchfire to stop the bleeding. Ellie held Helena’s hand, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.
Clio’s brow drew down in concentration, her eyes closed, as she sought out the open vessels that needed to be sealed.
Cynthia was still. Too still. Perhaps her body was exhausted, or maybe…
She will be well. She must recover. I cannot live in this world without her.
Wiping perspiration from her forehead, Clio stepped back and looked at Ellie.
‘Can you see her aura?’
Cynthia was far too pale, her mahogany hair unnaturally dark against her cheeks. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.
Ellie’s bottom lip trembled. ‘It’s still fading. Aunt Rowan, what else can we do?’
Aunt Rowan blew out a heavy sigh. ‘Blood magic. It’s our best chance.’
Without thought, Helena pulled Cynthia into her arms. ‘Cast the spell.’ Wrapping herself around Cynthia like a human shield, she pulled her body tight to her own, willing her warmth to seep into Cynthia’s skin.
‘It requires a willing sacrifice.’
Helena glared at her aunt. ‘She has my sacrifice. Take my blood.’
Aunt Rowan shook her head. ‘I won’t. I know what your mother did to you, Helena. I won’t do the same.’
Angry tears welled. ‘This isn’t the same! I willingly give her my blood.’
Hamlet, who had followed the women into the shower room, padded over to Helena, his golden eyes fathomless. Without warning, he sank his teeth into her arm deep enough for her to cry out. Pulling away, blood welled.
‘Thank you!’
Hamlet whined, bumping his head against her shoulder.
Helena wrapped her arm over Cynthia’s chest, her blood sinking into the still open wound.
Ancient words poured from Helena like an ageless spring as water rose around them, holding Helena and Cynthia in the curl of a flowing wave.
‘Don’t leave me, Cynthia. Our souls are entwined. We are fated for each other. I need you. I love you. Please, stay.’
Cynthia’s skin warmed like sunlight over still pools.
Her chest rose in a breath. Helena watched in awe as she began to glow, then blaze like a lantern as the wound knitted itself together.
Every vein in her body shone through her skin as the magic grew in power.
When the last smudge of blood absorbed into the wound, it sealed itself, her smooth skin unmarred save a crescent moon in hawthorn-berry red.
Cynthia’s eyes fluttered open and the wave broke around them in a spray of mist, covering her coven like dew drops.
Helena finally understood what it meant to drown in someone’s gaze. She could sink into Cynthia’s depths for eternity.
‘Helena.’
She pressed her mouth against Cynthia’s lips, tasting hope and love and Cynthia’s honeyed flavour. ‘I love you, Cyn. So much and forever. Don’t you ever do this again!’
‘Do what? I was trying to save you.’
‘And you got shot instead.’ Salt tears blended with Cynthia’s sweetness.
‘But I did save you.’ Cynthia tightened her arms around Helena, strong and sure and alive.
‘Yes. You did. We saved each other.’
‘Thank the goddess. Because I love you too, my darling witch.’
Superintendent MacDougal, after ensuring Sinclair and his men were safely on their way to Newgate, insisted on speaking to Cynthia despite Helena’s vehement protests.
‘He told me he’d confessed to you, Cynthia. You know the truth of Hubert’s death, and he would no’ say a damn thing more. The bastard.’
‘This is not the time! She needs to come home and rest.’ Helena pulled Cynthia closer, her warmth seeping into Cynthia’s skin.
Sinclair hadn’t told Superintendent MacDougal about Mrs Higgins.
Of course. He said himself he wanted to see what I would do.
He wanted Cynthia to bear the weight of condemning a good woman for killing a bad man. He truly was a devil.
Cynthia stepped out of Helena’s warm embrace, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin.
‘Mr Sinclair is guilty of terrible crimes, including shooting me. But he didn’t kill Hubert.
’ She swallowed, searching for courage in her depths.
She had been raised to know right from wrong.
To hold people accountable for their actions.
To understand the hierarchy of classes and honour those codes.
In the end, a housekeeper from Seven Dials had murdered a marquess from Mayfair. The correct choice was clear.
‘Hubert killed himself.’
Helena stepped close, gripping Cynthia’s hand and squeezing.
‘Sinclair told me he was going to call in all of Hubert’s debts.
He returned the keepsake from his mistress.
Even she wanted nothing more of him. We would have been ruined.
Instead of facing the consequences of his choices, Hubert killed himself.
In the end, the only person responsible for Hubert’s death was Hubert. ’ Sinclair had been right about that.
The early-morning sun broke free of white clouds and drenched the sky in gold and pink, the soft colours filtering through the glass ceiling above them.
Superintendent MacDougal shook his head. ‘He’s lying to protect his own skin. I’ll make him tell us the truth.’
‘That is the truth, Superintendent MacDougal. He tried to murder me, but he didn’t murder my husband.’
Helena stepped in front of Cynthia, blocking her from the superintendent. ‘You’ve heard what she has to say. She is telling the truth, Uncle Lachlan.’
Cynthia felt quite swoony watching Helena guard her.
‘This canna’ be right.’