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.’
