The Vine Witch (Vine Witch #1)(61)

Yvette pushed the car to thirty-five miles per hour, sending gravel churning under the tires as they sped down the country road in the jaunty two-seater. Elena’s hair flew out behind her, and she grabbed the solid-brass fittings on the side of the windshield to hold on.

“What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever ridden in a car before?” Yvette winked through her driving goggles and grinned.

“Never,” Elena shouted over the roar of the engine. She braced her other hand against the dashboard as they swung through a curve. The acceleration blew the veil loose from her face, sending the silk flapping on the wind. She hurled a quick spell with it to create the illusion that a silver birch had fallen across the road in case the inspector’s motorcycles tried to catch up. The trick wouldn’t stop them, but it might confuse them long enough to fall behind.

Yvette patted the side of the door. “She’s a beaut. Best little bébé I’ve ever driven.”

“Or stolen.”

“Borrowed,” Yvette corrected. “It’s Gustave’s pride and joy. He’ll get it back in one piece . . . eventually.”

There was no arguing it was the fastest way to escape even if it was by way of mortal mechanics. If the inspector’s men had followed, they were nowhere in sight. Grown confident that the vehicle wouldn’t fall apart every time it hit a rut in the road, Elena relaxed her white-knuckled grip on the windshield, though she couldn’t let go completely the feeling of careening toward danger.

But what choice did she have? Jean-Paul hadn’t asked for any of this. He’d said from the beginning he wanted no part in magic and witches. Yet he’d jumped feetfirst to defend her from the false charges. He’d put himself in danger, and now she had to douse her fear and do the same for him. Newly resolved, she muttered a protection spell under her breath while she held the stolen crystal in her hand. It glowed warm against her palm, and when she looked down after the third incantation his name had been engraved into the quartz. She kissed the crystal to seal the spell before putting it back in her pocket.

Yvette slowed the car as they approached a sign. “Which way?”

They’d come to the Y in the road where one lane led straight to the village and the other curved through the lower vineyards—the safer but longer route. Elena peered at the abbey steeple looming over the village, feeling its compass point tug her forward.

“The village,” she said.

Yvette looked over her shoulder at the direction they’d just come before reluctantly putting the car in gear to climb the hill. There was danger, of course, in entering the main street. An automobile still attracted attention in the small town. Especially one with two women wanted for escape and murder sitting in the leather seats. But a witch was nothing without her instinct, and Elena’s was telling her to stop at the abbey.

“Wait here,” she said once Yvette pulled over to the curb. “I won’t be a minute.”

The young woman revved the engine for emphasis. “I hope we have that much time.”

The warning was met with a firm nod as Elena pushed against the abbey’s heavy wooden door. The thousand-year-old apse greeted her with spears of colored light that shot through the stained glass at the top of the vaulted space. A balding monk in a blue-and-white robe looked up from his sweeping at the sound of the door closing behind her.

“Elena?”

“Hello, Brother Anselm.”

He set his broom aside and approached from the altar, confusion building on his face as he noted her harem pants and silver bodice. “Good heavens, I’ve heard several stories about your return, but none included a career in the circus.”

“I don’t have time to explain. I need your help.”

“Certainly. What can I do?”

“Air, fire, water, and earth.”

The monk paused, considering. “A spell?”

“A man’s life is at stake. Jean-Paul’s. Mine as well, if I’m honest.”

“Right,” he said and began a flurry of movement. “Help yourself to the candles. And there’s water in the font. I’ll collect the other items.”

“May I take the oil instead?”

Anselm’s eyes narrowed in concern. “Of course,” he said and then hurried off through a door that led to the outside cloisters.

A moment later he returned bearing a small over-the-shoulder satchel. “I procured a little incense. It’s basic frankincense, but it should be suitable for air. And will salt do for earth? There’s a goodly amount in there. Plus a little cheese wrapped in cloth.”

“That’ll do.” Elena accepted the bag and slid the candles and stoppered bottle of olive oil inside with the other items. “Thank you,” she said and made the sign of thanks to the All Knowing. “I’ll explain someday, if I can.”

In return the monk crossed himself. “By the way, Ariella stopped by earlier. She seemed to know you were . . . free.”

“I sent a dove to find her and let her know I was okay.”

The monk considered that. “Yes, well, she lit a candle, then left a twenty-year-old bottle of wine on the altar. On her way out she dropped a rather healthy sum of coins in the orphans’ fund box. In forty years she’s never done that.”

The report made little sense, but there was no time to sort it out. Baffled, Elena promised to send another dove later and then thanked Brother Anselm as she rushed out the door to the sound of Yvette gunning the engine.