The Vine Witch (Vine Witch #1)(46)
A moment later, out of breath yet relieved of the pressure like a newly opened bottle of champagne, she sobered and dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. She could still smell Jean-Paul on her skin. She inhaled, feeling herself calm. With luck the scent would last the night so she might dream of him instead of the nightmare her life had become.
“You got to see your man in court?” The kohl smudges under Yvette’s eyes had turned to watercolor streaks of black across her cheeks.
“He’s my lawyer.”
The young woman sniffed, as if trying to catch his scent too. “That’s convenient. I’ll have to keep that in mind next time a lawyer comes to me for my services. We might just have to make a trade.”
Reminded of trades, Elena reached in her pocket for the cigarettes. They were no use to her as currency. Other than the basket she’d brought back with her, there was nothing to buy—no extra food, no spare blankets, no shoes—but if the cigarettes encouraged small talk, they would at least help pass the time and make life easier.
She drew the blue tin and box of matches out of her pocket and waved them at Yvette. “Here. A small consolation for the deviants.”
“Cigs!” Yvette pounced in that sprightly way of hers, crossing the floor with a dancer’s lightness at the sight of the tin. “How did you sneak them past the guards?” she whispered.
“They’re not allowed?” She held the cigarettes and matches in her palm.
Yvette snatched them away with one swipe. “Shhhh!” she said and twisted around to see her cellmate’s reaction.
Every muscle in Sidra’s body tensed. Her mouth drew into a hard line. Her eyes, dark and hooded now, checked the corridor for signs of Matron with a predator’s gaze.
“Matches,” Yvette said to Sidra. The word had a bite to it Elena didn’t understand. Then the young woman rattled the allumettes inside the box, teasing. “Come and get them.”
The sorceress leaped, but Yvette was quick-footed and scurried back to her side of the cell. Sidra’s leg iron had stopped her just short of reaching the woman. She lunged and swiped with her long nails, but Yvette merely grinned, taunting her by shaking the box again. Confident she was untouchable, Yvette took out a cigarette and slid a match from the box. Her lips pressed into a hard smile as she dragged the tip of the match against the strike pad with a hard swipe. The phosphorous ignited in a flash of orange, and Sidra’s eyes flared in sync. Then she curled her lip at the young woman while she watched her draw the flame through the tobacco with a long inhale.
Elena thought Sidra might cut off her own foot to be free of her chain as she watched the smoke swirl from the end of Yvette’s cigarette. She knew tobacco was a powerful herb. She even knew a potion or two that called for adding the stuff, but she’d never seen anyone so ravenous for the taste.
Sidra thrust her hand out. “Give them to me, sharmoota!”
“They’re Egyptienne Luxury brand too,” Yvette said, reading the label. “Isn’t that made to measure?”
“Give her the cigarettes,” Elena said. “They’re for everyone.”
A trail of smoke snaked out of Yvette’s mouth as she tilted her head. “Want to know why ciggies aren’t allowed in our cell?” The young woman bared a fiendish smile. “Watch this,” she said and tossed the lit cigarette toward Sidra.
The sorceress sprawled on her stomach on the filthy floor, her hand open, fingers spread wide to catch the half-smoked cigarette as it rolled toward her. Once it was in her hand, she no longer prostrated herself. She raised herself up as if in a trance and walked back to the spot where her chain was bolted to the wall.
Her desperation evaporated. And yet she hadn’t inhaled. Hadn’t even held the tobacco to her mouth. Instead, she closed her eyes and thanked her god, as though she were eternally thankful for the cast-off stub.
“Just remember who gave that to you,” warned Yvette, lighting a fresh cigarette for herself.
“Why can’t we have cigarettes?”
Elena waited for an answer, but the young woman merely blew smoke and pointed at Sidra. The desert witch held her arm out to let her silk robe drape to the floor. Her eyes widened in fanatic-like anticipation as she pressed the smoldering tip of the cigarette against the fabric. A black hole rimmed with orange bloomed alive, burning through the silk until it ignited into flame.
“What is she doing? Sidra, no!”
“They can block magic and spells,” Sidra said as the fire climbed up her arm, glowing with an unnatural intensity, “but they cannot strip the essence of who we are.” Sidra’s gold and ivory teeth gleamed in a triumphant smile, then she raised her arms as if welcoming the fire, begging the heat to burn her clothes, her skin, her hair.
Elena reached for her blanket to smother the flames, but it was too late. The fire had spread too fast, as if Sidra had been drenched in oil. Fully engulfed, the desert witch glowed within the flames before bursting into a fiery tornado.
The heat grew so unbearable that Elena had to back away and shield her eyes with her hand. Helpless, she watched the flames consume Sidra’s body until it crumbled to the ground, disintegrating into a pile of waxy ash. The fire fizzled, and a column of smoke rose from the metal leg iron, coiling upward as if directed by an unseen force. Yvette stood, her eyes lit in amazement. A ghost of a laugh echoed off the walls, followed by a whiff of frankincense, and then the smoke trailed out the window and was free.