The Vine Witch (Vine Witch #1)(38)

“Well, well,” Nettles said, slapping the collar of his jacket up against the first drops of rain. With a little too much self-satisfaction he walked up to Elena, looked her over in her proper work clothes, and smirked at the change in her appearance. “It seems our conversation is not yet finished after all, goatherd.”

Jean-Paul took a threatening step closer to the man. “I warned you in the village you have no further business with her.”

“Oh, did the constable not spell out the official reason for our visit?” Then he dropped all pretense of civility. “I have a warrant for this woman’s arrest.” Nettles nodded at the constable, who removed from his vest pocket an official-looking paper with a red wax seal displaying the mark of the magistrate on the bottom.

“Arrest? You can’t be serious.” Jean-Paul looked to each man’s face, hoping Nettles had it in him to make a joke. “On what charge?” He took the warrant from the constable and scanned the document.

“The murder of Bastien du Monde. I think you’ll find everything is in order.”

The last sliver of sun was swallowed by cloud; the temperature dropped and a north wind gusted through the valley.

“Murder?” Elena gasped. “Bastien is dead?”

“Very, mademoiselle. Found gutted like a cat this morning on the edge of the village.”

“Du Monde? Dead?” Before he could stop it, Jean-Paul’s mind blamed the witches—the nameless, faceless creatures he’d feared as a child. Then he looked at Elena, so vulnerable as she stood before the law, and had to swallow his shame, knowing how wrong he’d been in the past.

“This is madness. I didn’t murder anyone,” she said, her arms going limp at her sides. “I haven’t left the property in days.”

The inspector turned to Jean-Paul. “Can you verify this?”

“Of course. She’s been here with me the entire time.”

Nettles licked his bottom lip, which on his face translated into a lascivious sneer. “Day and night, monsieur?”

He stuttered at the implied accusation. “I . . . no, not at night.”

“I sleep in my workroom in the cellar.”

Nettles raised an eyebrow. “Among your spell books and potions?”

Jean-Paul frowned and folded up the warrant. “What does that have to do with anything?” He turned toward Elena. “Don’t say another word to them.”

Nettles ignored him and took a step closer to her. “And do you ever fancy a moonlit stroll alone in the shadow world when everyone else is fast asleep?” Rain fell on Elena’s hair, raising a cloud of mist around her. She stared back at the man with cold blue eyes but said nothing. “I suspected as much the moment I first saw you,” he said, leaning in. “I have a knack for these things.” He straightened and crooked his finger at the bikers. “Take her into custody. And search the premises.”

Two of the riders pushed past Jean-Paul to get to Elena while the third strode toward the house.

“Wait. You can’t do this. Where is your evidence?” Jean-Paul pushed back and was immediately knocked to the ground by the constable, who’d struck him in the back of the legs with a club. He watched helplessly from his knees as they twisted a pair of thick metal handcuffs around Elena’s wrists. His eyes did a double take as a faint blue glow emanated from a circle of runes engraved into each metal cuff.

“The modus operandi is the evidence, monsieur.” Nettles tightened the gloves on his small hands, stretching them so the ridges of his knuckles showed under the leather before plucking Elena’s knife from her belt. He held it with the tips of his fingers, as if careful not to smudge any evidence that might be found, then glanced down at Jean-Paul in triumph. “Are you at all aware of who I am?” When Jean-Paul did not answer, the inspector lifted a brow as if he yet again was faced with the task of informing the ignorant. “I inspect acts of illegal magic. Constable Girard here inspects crimes against mortals. When the two branches of law enforcement overlap, we have a crime that violates the covenants. In this instance we have a dead mortal obviously killed by a witch. Our victim was found dead by means of a specific form of exsanguination. A ritual only a few skilled witches are capable of.”

Elena paled as if reading her fate in the foggy air. “Blood magic.”

“Dark, evil magic that runs contrary to the laws of the All Knowing itself, mademoiselle, and for which you will meet a most gruesome fate when judgment is passed.”

The inspector’s eyes shifted to the house as Madame hobbled outside, clearly distraught.

“Is it true? He was murdered?” She pressed her hand against her chest when she saw Elena in chains. “You can’t take her. No, not again. She’s done nothing.”

“And yet we have multiple witnesses, myself included, who heard her publicly threaten the man in the street just a week ago. I regret, madame, so much shame has been brought on such an old and respected house.”

Elena took a step toward Madame but was thrust back by the two men flanking her. “It’s all right, Grand-Mère. It’s just a misunderstanding. The magistrate will sort it out. I’ll be home soon. I didn’t use anything.”

The old woman fretted, pulling at her hair so that it frayed loose from its pins in long white strands that clung to her face in the rain. “You can’t honestly believe she had anything to do with this. We make wine, that’s all.”