The Vine Witch (Vine Witch #1)(29)
“You’re with the Covenants Regulation Bureau?”
“Inspector Aubrey Nettles. I’m investigating the spate of grim incidents you referred to in there. Thought I might ask you some questions.”
“By ‘overheard’ you mean you used a cochlear charm to listen to a private conversation.”
Inspector Nettles flicked a speck of invisible dirt from his coat sleeve, ignoring her accusation. “Would you mind telling me what your interest is in blood magic?”
“I don’t have any interest in it. I’m simply curious about the dead cats, like everyone else.”
“Yet you seem to think it has something to do with you, mademoiselle . . . ?”
She couldn’t afford to disclose her name. Not yet. “I’m looking for someone, that’s all. I thought they might have passed through the tavern recently.”
She tried to walk away, but the man followed, dogging her heels.
“Like I said, it’s more than cats that are showing up dead.” He had to double-step to keep up. “There’ve been rabbits, squirrels, a badger even. Hearts cut right out of them. Not a drop of blood left in the bodies.” Elena stopped in her tracks. “Ah, so you do know something about the dark arts, then.” The man bared a cold smile, knowing he’d touched on magic she understood. “Not something your average goatherd has reason to be familiar with.”
He was right. It wasn’t common knowledge, by any means. Blood magic was the darkest form of spellcasting, absolutely forbidden by the covenants. Few books even existed that described how it was done. But then Elena was no ordinary vine witch. Her shadow world vision alone was an extraordinary talent, but it had made her all the more curious about the things she couldn’t see. When she’d mastered the divine arts while still in her teens, she sought out the magic she hadn’t been taught. Not to use but to understand. For even knowledge itself was a form of magic in the eyes of the All Knowing. At least that was the argument she’d used on Brother Anselm to gain permission to study The Book of the Seven Stars, the only surviving reference held within the abbey that mentioned blood magic. Even then, she’d had to beg. The book had been locked up for nearly two hundred years out of an abundance of caution, ever since the Covenant Laws were officially signed and sealed.
Elena clenched her tattered skirt in her hands and remembered her purpose. “I’m just worried for my goats, is all. Don’t want no harm coming to them, or me, out on the hills at night. I was hoping there’s an amulet that could protect me and my animals.”
“You seem vaguely familiar to me. Have we met before?”
The man peered at her hard enough with his third-eye vision that she felt it pierce her solar plexus. She had to get rid of him; he was getting too curious. And she knew from experience a man like him could easily be in Bastien’s pocket. Casting a spell using the small reserve of magic she’d recovered was going to hurt, like swallowing with a sore throat, but she had to try or risk exposure. She couldn’t use anything direct. A member of the Bureau would have potent charms to fend off an attack. Something off-body, she decided, as she spied an object on the ground that might do.
In the alley across the lane, a cat screeched bloody murder.
“You don’t think?” she said with convincing alarm.
The inspector cocked his head to the side, then told her to stay put while he stepped into the lane to have a closer look. While Nettles investigated the phantom cry she’d tossed off with a flick of her brow, she bent to pick up a black feather poking out of the mud. She placed it on her open palm and took a deep breath. With one eye on Nettles she muttered the necessary words, tolerating the hollow pain that welled beneath her breastbone.
“Feather black on pinion hollow, take to the sky, let your brothers follow.” She blew on the feather to send it airborne, and a moment later a flock of blackbirds dropped out of the sky, swooping and diving straight at the inspector.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jean-Paul extinguished the candle flame between his moistened fingers. A small but nagging pain had settled above his right eye since he’d sat down to read. Now, in the diminished light, he closed the book, removed his glasses, and rubbed his brow. He’d found some answers in the volume the monk suggested, but, as was often the case, they only created more questions in his mind. Still, his fear had settled, replaced with a guarded curiosity that held like a shield wall against full acceptance.
After leaving a donation in the box on the altar, he exited the small abbey library and thanked the monks on the way out. They crossed themselves and wished him a safe journey home.
Yes, he ought to get home. But to which one? Where did he belong? That was one of the new questions he’d come to face after waking up in a different world than the one he’d fallen asleep in. The one he found himself in now was full of mystery and magic. Unseen powers. And threats. And yet his old life had perils of its own. The dull progression of an ordinary life that chipped away at a man a day at a time so that he didn’t see the damage done until he found himself sitting alone in a house with nothing to show for it but the slow ticking of a clock on the wall.
He’d grown up hearing the stories about the Chanceaux Valley, of course. Everyone did. Just stories, he’d thought. Superstition. Quaint country folklore. He’d even seen the witches plying their trade in the country villages as a boy, with their potions, palm readings, and tarot cards spread out on tables outside the bistros. Christ, he’d even had his fortune told to him once. A raven-haired woman with jeweled fingers whispered to a small dog on her lap, then flipped over three cards as he walked past. She’d locked eyes with his ten-year-old self and warned him about wearing other men’s shoes. He’d laughed at the woman, while his father, in a holiday mood, had chucked a small coin in her cup.