The whisper surfaced like a leaf on a river’s eddy.
Hamlet rose from his pillow and padded down the aisle, side-stepping puddles along the way. He stopped at her feet and bumped his head into her knee. Helena dropped to the floor, her dress soaking up yet another pool of water as she cradled the witch hazel tonic in her hand. At this rate, she would walk home soaking wet from her mismanaged magic, and all the bottles in the store would be spotted with droplets. ‘Not all creatures are built for love like that, Hamlet.’
Jumping on his hind feet, he put both paws on her arm. His golden eyes pierced the secrets hiding in her soul.
‘I’m not wrong.’ Her chin quivered.
He stretched his neck and licked her cheek. In all of their days together, he had never lowered himself to such canine behaviour.
Oh. Dear. Goddess.
I’m wrong.
Her coven knew it. Aunt Rowan knew it. The fox knew it. And he was trying to break it to her gently.
Hamlet yipped just as the bell to the front door tinkled and leather slapped onto wet wood.
‘Damnation,’ Helena whispered, standing and walking swiftly down the aisle around the shelf. She had forgotten to lock the front door. ‘I’m sorry. We’re closed for the day. We open again tomorrow at—’ The words died in her throat. Hamlet was at her heel. The growl rumbling from his chest this time held true menace.
‘Miss Blair. Just the woman I was ’oping to find.’ Damien Sinclair’s voice fell like a stone in deep water.
‘What the devil are you doing here?’
‘I’ve ’eard so many compliments about All Things Bright and Beautiful. Some say it’s the finest store for women’s beauty products in all of England. Far superior to Madame Rachel’s. Apparently, the potions you sell are so effective at restoring a woman’s youth and beauty, it’s akin to witchcraft.’
Helena couldn’t stop the snort of disbelief. ‘I hardly think you converse with our clientele, Sinclair.’
The darkly handsome man raised a midnight brow. ‘You would be surprised at the quality of company I keep, Miss Blair.’
Hamlet’s growl increased in intensity.
There was unmistakable menace in Sinclair’s gleaming smile.
‘We are closed. Leave now.’ Helena forced steel into her voice.
‘Oh, but I’m ’ere for a certain product not to be found anywhere else.’
Pulling moisture from the air, Helena knew her eyes were shifting from grey to silver, but she needed to arm herself. Because Damien Sinclair only came out of Seven Dials for one purpose: to start a war. And Helena would be damned if she let him leave the apothecary without a few battle scars.
Flooding rivers could fell an oak tree in moments. It could lift a ship, drown a village, and reshape the earth. Her witchwater would easily sweep away a devil like Sinclair.
Holding one hand palm up and cupping the other over it, her magic built, pooling into a swirl of aquamarine in her palm, waiting for her thoughts to form it into a spray powerful enough to cut through stone.
‘This is your last chance to leave unscathed, Sinclair. Whatever you seek, you won’t find it here.’
‘I seek a witch, Miss Blair.’
Helena let the elemental force sweep through her. The Devil of Seven Dials might be hunting witches, but she refused to be anyone’s prey.
Hamlet’s snarl abruptly sharpened into a yelp of fear as something heavy slammed into the back of her head. The world went dark.
Helena felt the heat first. She was breathing in flames. Dry air sucked any moisture from her body in a suffocating wave.
She blinked as salt stung her eyes and blurred her vision.
Leather ties bit into her wrists when she tried to pull her arms from where they were secured above her head. Metal chains were attached to the cuffs around her wrists. They clinked and creaked as she strained against them, but didn’t give an inch where they were secured to a large beam in the low ceiling.
Someone had removed her dress, petticoats, corset, and bustle. She wore only her shift and would have been outraged at Sinclair undressing her if the very idea of heavy clothes in such a dry, hot environment didn’t make her want to claw out of her skin.
