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“Why did you come back?”
Sal’s long lashes feathered her cheeks as she gazed at her lap and the hand she’d folded into them.
“For a very long time, I’ve answered only to myself. And this is the way I prefer to live.”
The tender roots of hope in my heart froze their progress.
“But you,” Sal continued, “feel like part of myself. The better part. And if I must answer to something, then I would have it be you.”
Her golden eyes gleamed with emotion.
I moved from the seat across from hers and sat next to her.
“I would have us answer to no one. Not even each other. I would have us do as we like and be as we want. Running side by side as long as our chosen roads move in the same direction. Unbound by vows that become chains that we then grow to resent. Together, but free.”
Sal slipped her hand into mine and squeezed.
“Together but free,” she repeated.
Tugging me by the hand, she drew me in close.
Our mouths met and woke the fire in our blood, burning away the last wisps of sadness I felt in leaving my brother, my home, the only life I’d ever known behind.
Sal shifted on the bench, breaking the kiss with a mumbled curse. “What the—ouch!”
I peered behind the cushion she’d just leapt away from and was met with a pair of glowing, pumpkin-orange eyes.
“What on earth are you doing here?” I asked, as if the creature was capable of answering.
Grizelda marched out from behind her hiding place and claimed a spot on the seat between us. Her sonorous purr filled the carriage’s cozy interior.
“Looks like someone has found her familiar,” Sal said, scratching the cat behind one ear.
Grizelda flopped onto her side and rolled onto her back to expose the downy expanse of her orange and black belly.
“I know exactly how you feel,” I said, sinking my hand into her silky fur.
“So, where in the colonies are we bound for?” Sal asked, turning her attentions from the cat to me.
“Salem?” I suggested.
“Aye,” Sal said, lifting my chin to claim my lips. “That sounds like a good place to start.”
About the Author
Bestselling author Cynthia St. Aubin wrote her first play at age eight and made her brothers perform it for the admission price of gum wrappers. A steal, considering she provided the wrappers in advance. Though her early work debuted to mixed reviews, she never quite gave up on the writing thing, even while earning a mostly useless master's degree in art history and taking her turn as a cube monkey in the corporate warren.
Because the voices in her head kept talking to her, and they discourage drinking at work, she started writing instead. When she's not standing in front of the fridge eating cheese, she's hard at work figuring out which mythological, art historical, or paranormal friends to play with next. She lives in Texas with two surly cats.
Cynthia loves to hear from her readers! Visit her at http://www.cynthiastaubin.com
The Inspector and Mrs. Mac
A BAKER STREET MYSTERY
APRIL WHITE
Chapter One
