The Vine Witch (Vine Witch #1)(53)
“All right if we make some of your great tea, JuJu?”
“Help yourself, but no smoking,” she answered and secured a feathered tiara atop her head.
JuJu kissed Yvette on both cheeks, waved at Elena, then stepped out of the wagon with every curve of her body on display for the world to see.
“I can’t stay in this cramped wagon all day,” Elena said, letting the curtain drop.
Yvette stoked the tiny stove with wood kindling, then struck a long matchstick. “Well, you can’t leave. You’re not getting me arrested again because you can’t stay put until dark,” she said and blew out the match.
Elena wondered if it was possible to cast a spell big enough to stun an entire carnival. Obviously not with what little supplies she had to work with. Still, she wasn’t above muttering a bruising spell in such stifling quarters. All it took for that was a reverse spell and a little comfrey leaf, which any witch should have. The temptation made her fingers itch to open a bottle of the stuff.
But on a secondary search of the wagon she noticed something was missing. “Your roommate said she didn’t throw out any of your things, so where are your stores? Your herbs, your charms, and amulets?”
The young woman shrugged. “Don’t have none of that stuff.”
“But you must have a Book of Shadows. How do you do your spellwork?”
Yvette crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one hip. “Not everyone’s as fancy as you vine witches. I know the spells I need to get by, and that’s been plenty good enough for me so far.”
Elena suspected the young woman had little training, but she’d never run across an illiterate witch before. She sank on the cushioned bench. She’d assumed Yvette would have a spell book she could use, a book of the occult, something that might give her a head start in unraveling how the blood magic was used in the killings. It was one reason she’d agreed to spend the night squeezed between half a dozen pointy shoes and a trunk that smelled like an undertaker’s basement. If she had to lie low, at least she could spend the time trying to understand how and why she’d been framed.
There was nothing for it. She had to leave. Elena ran her fingers through her hair, twisting it into a respectable updo. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have the luxury of waiting until dark.”
Yvette banged the kettle down on the stove. “Do you want to get caught, is that it?”
“You obviously can take care of yourself, but there are things beyond my knowing that I need to figure out. Now rather than later.”
“What sort of things?”
“Theories about animal killings and blood magic for a start.”
Yvette rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms. “What the hell are you involved in?”
Elena explained about the murder and her arrest, and about the cats, the blood, and the witch that was still free to kill again. Yvette listened as she prepared the tea. To her credit, she never flinched, even when Elena admitted at one time she had meant to kill Bastien.
Yvette handed Elena her tea. “Like I said before, I didn’t know my maman. If she had a spell book, she never left it to me. That doesn’t mean I don’t know how to get my hands on one, though. I’m not the only witch traveling with this bum carnival.”
She’d thought Yvette was an isolated case, someone who’d fallen through the cracks too early to know where she belonged in the world of magic. Carnival life had a way of attracting those who’d shrugged off conformity. A place where the odd duck could find its flock. She supposed it made sense there would be others, but would they know anything more than the young woman?
“So how do we find this other witch if we can’t leave the wagon?”
Yvette eyed the racks of pretty costumes lining the wall. “Maybe there’s a way we can go out after all.” She set down her mug and pulled out a sparkly green outfit, leveling a lopsided grin at Elena. “How do you feel about peacocks?”
An hour later Elena stepped out of the wagon in borrowed shoes. They were soft and flat heeled, made for performing on acrobatic mats. She rather thought they were an improvement over the toe-pinching shoes most women wore. The outfit, on the other hand, would take some getting used to.
She’d successfully protested the cape of peacock feathers but was unable to fend off completely the outlandish taste of her cellmate. The price of leaving the wagon early meant donning a pair of risqué harem pants, a feathered turban, and a silver-beaded bodice that thankfully covered most of her stomach, though her arms were left bare. The silky trousers swished as she walked, mimicking the familiar flow of a skirt, yet she found they provided far more freedom. Her legs absolutely dared to leap off the last step. But the silver veil draped from cheek to cheek was what ultimately gave her the most freedom. Only her eyes, which were now rimmed in the same dark kohl as Yvette’s, showed above the silk.
She gave each end of the veil a secure tuck under the band of the turban as Yvette shut the door to the wagon and skipped down the steps.
“This way.”
The young woman didn’t seem to be the least bit self-conscious about strolling out in broad daylight wearing a skintight harlequin bodysuit. If she had any shame, it was well hidden behind the black eye mask as she led the way, quickly adjusting to the freedom of her own immodest trousers.
After squeezing between a pair of wagons, Elena got her first proper look at the carnival grounds. Two enormous red-and-white-striped tents rose in the center of a grassy area encircled by a dozen or more caravans. Many of them had their sides painted with symbols for luck and good life—a star, a moon, a five-petal flower. Something about the images ticked open a memory in Elena’s mind, but it slipped away with the morning mist.