The Vine Witch (Vine Witch #1)(32)

The inspector burst through the back door of the laundry shop, casting threats into the open alley. He pushed over wooden crates and kicked at abandoned barrels in his way, shouting for her to show herself. He couldn’t have been more than a block behind her.

Why had she come to the village? She should never have taken the risk. But then she thought of Jean-Paul, and her resolve returned. She pulled the work knife from her belt. Blood raced to her temples, throbbing in sync with her panicked heart. The inspector taunted her to come out in the open as he rattled door handles and pounded on doorjambs. A boot sole thudded against a wooden plank. The sound of frustration. But it was not followed by a stomp up the alley in her direction. Not yet. She pushed her back flat against the door and calmed her breathing until her heartbeat normalized again. Stupid man. Why couldn’t he have minded his own business instead of eavesdropping on other people’s conversations?

Two quick breaths later, desperation incited her to act. Gripping the knife, she jiggled the door handle, forcing the lock with the tip of her blade. The door gave way and she squeezed inside, clicking it silently closed behind her. She didn’t need to look up at the brick oven and copper mixing bowls to know where she was. The intoxicating aroma of butter, chocolate, and sugar hit her full in the face.

Of all the shops in the village, she’d broken into the kitchen of Patisserie d’Amour.

Her head reeled at the scents, her mouth watered with want, but fear overrode her craving. With her cloak pulled over her nose and mouth, she staggered through the curtain into the main shop, skirting past the glass case full of macarons, custard tarts, and freshly baked croissants. Tilda, her head wrapped in a blue silk scarf, looked up from a tray of pain au chocolat fresh from the oven. Elena gave a heartbreaking sigh at the sight and averted her eyes as she stumbled for the front door, narrowly avoiding the seduction.

“Thief!”

Tilda chased her to the door with her spatula held like a weapon, shouting her accusation into the street for everyone to hear. Shop owners, the postmaster, and even a pair of waiters stuck their heads outside to see what had happened. Elena dared a quick look over her shoulder before darting into the road to maneuver around a couple strolling arm in arm on the sidewalk.

In her desperation to escape, she didn’t register the rumble of the engine rattling along the cobblestones. Didn’t see the headlights bearing down on her.

The driver slammed on the brakes, locking up the wheels. The rubber tires skidded on the stones as a woman shrieked in warning. The horn sounded and the goose-nosed auto jolted to a stop a mere foot from Elena’s body. The hot gasp of the engine exhaled against her legs as she froze with her eyes dead set on the driver.

A cloud of steam roiled up from the car’s engine. The man rose out of the driver’s seat, waving his hat to clear the air. Seeing how close he’d come to hitting her, he gripped the windshield and leaned forward to inspect the front of his car for damage. “Blast it, goat woman, what were you thinking running into the road like that? Didn’t you see me coming?”

She’d already felt the rough chafe of his voice against her heart, having listened through the bricks, but she wasn’t prepared to meet him face-to-face in the street. To look into the same eyes that had once stared deep into hers and claimed everlasting love. Eyes that quickly betrayed her after a sideways glance toward his new lover: ambition. Eyes she now wanted to scratch out with her bare hands.

He continued yelling at her, more worried about his confounded machine than whether he’d injured a pedestrian. Seven years he’d had her cursed and left for dead, and he couldn’t even be bothered to look up after nearly killing her a second time. But she thanked the All Knowing the man was such a self-centered ass. It might just give her the small chance she needed to escape. She wrapped the end of her cloak back over her face and turned for the opposite side of the street.

“You there, stop! Someone stop that woman.”

Nettles. The inspector sprang out of the patisserie, eyes on his prey. Despite the weakness in her legs, the doubt in her heart, and the closeness of the growing crowd, Elena ran from the car, away from the inspector, desperate for a way out. In her panic, her clumsy sabot caught on a cobblestone and she stumbled, tearing her skirt and scraping her knee. The postmaster beckoned her forward, showing her the open road behind him. She got to her feet and lifted her hem, ready to run, when a firm hand grabbed her by the arm and spun her back around.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Jean-Paul’s mind swayed over everything he’d read as he nudged his horse onto the village’s main road. As the sun went down he realized he’d been gone nearly twenty-four hours. Scratching at his new beard confirmed it. But she could have no quarrel with the way he’d reacted. The world had changed, not him. Though that wasn’t quite true. For good or bad, he would never be the same after the things he’d seen.

He gave the horse a kick to hurry the beast along when he noticed a commotion on the street ahead. A crowd had gathered in a circle to gape at what he assumed was yet another traffic accident. He fancied the new automobiles and nearly bought one himself when he still lived in the city, but they were unquestionably a danger in these country villages. Twice now there had been a collision between a car coming down the main road at top speed and a horse-drawn cart stubbornly plugging along at last century’s pace.

It occurred to him he’d been the cart most recently, nearly run over by the revelation that the witches of the Chanceaux Valley were no mere superstition invented to draw in tourists. They were real. Their magic was real. Even the thing he’d seen. To say he’d been blindsided by the revelation would be an understatement. And yet he’d walked away from the collision mostly unharmed.