Page 1 of Twin Flames
CHAPTER 1
“According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.” Plato
York, present day
Cara Bailey arrived at the entrance ofThe Olde York Bookstore, her favourite antiquarian bookshop in York. The shop, situated in a half-timbered Tudor building, meandered across three floors. It could do with a new coat of paint, yet despite the shabby exterior, the shop emitted a welcoming glow.
Cara stepped inside, out of the bright morning sunshine and the chime of a ceremonious bell announced her arrival.
‘Hello Cara,’ called the proprietor with a big smile.
There weren’t many traditional bookshops around anymore, and she’d been a loyal customer since her student days. Cara had come to collect a copy of a rare textbook she’d ordered for her latest project.
‘Good morning, John. How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you. I believe we have something for you.’
‘Yes. That’s right. I’ll have a wander upstairs first.’
‘No problem.’
‘It’s such a treasure trove in here; there’ll be something I can’t resist.’
She walked up the spiral staircase and then scanned the shiny shelves looking for something special to jump out at her. There was typically at least one book in the history section she was compelled to buy, and she fancied a new historical novel too. Cara took care not to confuse fact with fiction in her work because the lines could so easily blur. There was always an intriguing thread to follow; a detail or an idea she’d not come across before. Widely recognised as a pre-eminent authority on the Tudor period, Cara loved her job.
A quiet contentment washed over her, and she exhaled slowly, enjoying the moment. If there was such a thing as a happy place, this bookshop was hers. She had poignant childhood memories of trailing from bookcase to bookcase, after her father.
It was unusual to meet anyone in the history section at this time of day. She spotted a dark-haired man in the far corner who was engrossed in a book. She didn’t give him any further thought; he appeared lost in his own world.
Cara studied the shelves. A glossy gold and rich burgundy tome on the top shelf caught her eye. She stretched on tiptoe to try to extract it. It was no good. Her height wasn’t sufficient to hook the edge of the book with her fingertips. She scanned the area and noticed a thick wooden stepladder, which she dragged across the carpet. Cara rushed up the steps, and her fingers touched the book as the toe of her shoe snagged the hem of her skirt. Losing her balance, she cried out. Unable to regain her footing, she tumbled off the steps. She landed in a heap on thethick red pile carpet and banged her head on the bottom of the stepladder. Cara lay still, temporarily oblivious to her fate.
A moment passed before she opened her eyes to see the dark-haired man hovering over her.
‘What happened?’ she said, as she searched his handsome face.
She pulled herself up on to her elbows and winced at the sharp pain that pumped through her skull.
‘I don’t know. One minute you were on the ladder, and the next, boom—I heard you cry out and saw you lose your footing, but I couldn’t make it over in time to catch you. Are you okay? You hit the ground with such a thump. You gave me quite a fright,’ he said.
Lines of concern creased the delicate skin around his liquid brown eyes, and for no apparent reason, Cara’s heart lurched. Why was his face familiar?
Although fuzzy headed, she experienced a flash of recognition, as if she knew him. She’d known something similar before, but only with places, not people. Perhaps she was concussed.
Then came a whooshing sound; at first soft, but gradually building into a piercing crescendo. It was an eerie high-pitched noise which haunted her ears. The man’s face grew hazy and then disappeared. The floor tilted, she had a sensation of falling and reached out to try and grab something.
Was it an earthquake? She dismissed the notion. She tried to steady herself and clutched at a pillar as the bookshelves whizzed around her.
What the. . .
She stared into a misty vortex as chilled air strangled her throat. She coughed and gasped for breath.
And then she was gone.
Newgate Prison, London, 1536
Cara saw two candles glowing on a wooden chest in the corner of the dingy room. She was surprised to find herself sitting on a hard, cold floor. Her last memory was of bookshelves and a handsome face. She stared about her in dismay.
A grubby, short man with unkempt grey hair, called out in a rasping voice, ‘Now, now ladies and gents, keep the noise down, please. We’ve had quite enough rabbiting for one day. We’ll see what His Majesty’s service has planned for you tomorrow shall we, on your day in court? You’d better get yourselves a good night’s sleep because it might be your last before your necks meet the noose.’
