The Vine Witch (Vine Witch #1)(56)

He narrowed his eyes at Elena. “Do you mind removing your veil?”

She supposed this was dangerous talk. Not the sort of thing discussed in polite company. Or with a stranger you’d just met. Yvette put a hand on her arm to stop her, but there was no real harm in showing her face to Rackham. He didn’t know her. And she’d be gone by nightfall anyway. If that was the price for the information she wanted, it was a paltry sum. She pulled the corners of her scarf loose from her turban. “Sinister how, Professor Rackham?”

He stared at her lips as they moved in the dim light, and his throat convulsed in a hard swallow behind his fake goatee. His brow puckered ever so slightly as he twisted the ring around his finger. A toadstone, Elena noted. Just the sort of useless amulet a carnival witch like Rackham would put his faith in. Though she wondered who he thought might be out to poison him.

“I really couldn’t say.” He released the ring and twisted his neck to look at the clock on the wall. “And it appears I’ve run out of time. The gates will be opening soon, and, as you may suspect, I am often besieged with people seeking their fortunes.”

There was more behind what he’d hinted at, she was sure of it, and she wasn’t going to let him get off that easy. “Sinister how?” she repeated, bleeding any submissiveness out of her voice.

He hesitated, avoiding her eye. Something about their conversation had spooked him. Whatever he knew must be disturbing indeed.

He checked the clock again and then relented. “There are said to be spells that have never been written down in any book,” he said at last. “Old magic. Bound in the earth. Held in a crevice of time. Some call it conjuring the Devil, because to see the spell rendered, one must enter into an exchange. It’s the blackest of magic. The kind that can eviscerate the soul if even a word is out of place.”

“Démon dansant.” Elena’s mouth watered at the feel of the words on her tongue. “But it’s just a childhood rhyme. Are you saying it’s real?”

“More than one witch has expressed that belief. Do you think your little valley is the only place to have found a trail of dead creatures? I travel all over the Continent. Everywhere I go there are other stories. Theories. Suspicions. The police don’t keep track of such things, but witches do.”

“What’s démon dansant mean?” Yvette asked, hugging a pillow against her middle.

Elena recited the rhyme she’d learned as a child, then explained. “It’s magic that hides in the shadows, outside the view of the eye of the All Knowing. And the covenants.”

Rackham added, “To engage in magic with a demon is to flay your heart, mind, and soul open to him on the promise of an exchange of immense power. In what form, I’m not sure. Money, authority, or perhaps even immortality would be my guess.”

“Which would explain the extensive trail of dead animals.”

Yvette flipped over the Queen of Wands. “Merde, you two are giving me the creeps.”

“With good reason,” Rackham snapped, asserting his air of authority once again. “But if that’s what this murderess was up to, they won’t need a trial. Without more blood for her spells, the pact will be broken. That’s how dark magic works. She’ll wither to a strip of leather like the beasts she’s killed.”

“But what if the person hadn’t been caught yet,” Elena ventured. “Would there be a way to recognize them? A dark aura around the pupil? Or maybe a mark left on the skin from the exchange?”

“A smell. That’s what some scholars have surmised. One telltale mark would be the scent the demon leaves in the exchange.”

Acrid, foul, sulfuric—it was something, however vague.

Rackham shook himself loose of her sharp gaze. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I must realign my chakras and prepare for my clients.”

Yvette glanced at Elena out of the corner of her eye before slipping her mask back down over her face. “Thank you for seeing us, Professor,” she said, stacking the tarot cards back on the side table.

“Certainly. Though I would ask that you keep this conversation just between us,” he said. “A little mischief in the dark arts is a fine thing for the reputation, but I don’t want any of this demon business, if that’s what it is, being associated with my work as a medium. Most mortals are flustered enough when they enter my wagon without talk of devils.”

“Of course, Professor.”

He reached out to retrieve the book from Elena. Instead, she made the effort to replace it herself on the bottom shelf. She lingered a second longer, her finger trailing over the other spines, before she twisted around to look at Rackham over her shoulder. “You have a wonderful collection,” she said and tucked her veil back in place.

He attempted a civil nod, though his eyebrows knitted together in a worrisome expression. “I hope you found it helpful, mademoiselle . . . what did you say your name was?”

But Elena was already out the door, a palm-size crystal hidden in the pocket of her harem pants.

They kept their heads down until they rounded the corner of the nearest wagon. The pace of the carnival had picked up as workers scrambled to get ready for the impending crowds. Yvette took Elena by the arm and led her to a quiet space where the outhouses were lined up behind the snake charmer’s tent. There, the younger witch pulled out her cigarettes and struck a match. She sucked in a deep breath of smoke, then let it out slowly. “You’ve got sticky fingers,” she said when she’d calmed down.