The Rekindled Flame
FEELING THE SHOCKWAVE of the explosion at the opposite end of the sanctorum, Madame Destine stood swiftly from her bed and then smiled.
'Cornelius,' she said.
Since Sir George had left her quarters, she had spent her time contemplating her renewed gifts of clairvoyance, wondering what she was going to do now that all the pieces of herself were back together. Everything was so much clearer – none more so than her present predicament. How was she supposed to ensure that her task was complete if she were imprisoned?
A mute Hades Consortium guard stood motionless at the doorway, although every now and again he would glare at her as if daring her to try to escape. She was a prisoner, unable to affect the winds that blew in her direction. She prayed that Cornelius would come for her, but the man was obviously busy causing his particular brand of trouble at that moment. He would sort everything out and restore order to the world. Cornelius always said that she could notice a single ray of sunshine in a rainstorm. Nevertheless, she looked over at the imposing figure of her guard, clad in his dark red robes, and surveyed her options: she could sit and wait for Cornelius to arrive, or she could grasp Fate with both hands and bend it to her will.
If only I could bend the will of my silent guard, she thought.
And then, as the words graced her mind, they triggered something of interest. She knew that she possessed a fine-tuned perception of the emotions of others, a one-way link that gave her access to their private thoughts and feelings…but what if that link was not solely one-way? Aloysius Bedford had said that she had no idea what she was capable of. If she were not to try, how would she know her limits?
At her age, that thought intrigued her.
She glanced across the room at the guard. Wave after wave of her prying sensitivity drifted out from her mind. Her guard's state of mind was an open book to her…and she decided to thumb through the pages.
Madame Destine could sense his hatred towards her, but it was misplaced. The guard had no idea just why he hated her – just that he did. His hatred had little foundation, he hated her merely because it was expected of him – or ordered of him. That worked in Destine's favour. Hatred with no emotional grounding can be easily shaken. All she needed to do was tap into it and replace it with an emotion a little more hospitable…
Destine began to slowly push his thoughts to one side, diluting every speck of hatred within his heart, purifying him, instilling a sense of peace within his mind. It took mere moments and, when she had finished, the guard was visibly changed. He tottered slightly on his feet, more asleep than awake, drifting between the two. As Destine approached him, the guard did not even flinch.
'That is right,' Destine said softly. 'Just relax…I mean you no harm.'
Her gentle, melodic accent lifted and fell poetically, captivating the young guard's senses. He faltered a little, as if stirring from a deep sleep, but as he heard Destine's songlike voice continue to massage his mind, he relaxed totally.
'I just want to borrow these,' she said, reaching for a large ring of keys affixed to the guard's belt. 'And I wonder, would you be able to escort me from this dreadful place? You see, I have a friend that has just arrived and I would love to meet him. You would? Oh, what a dear boy you are.'