The Vine Witch (Vine Witch #1)(62)

The property at Domaine du Monde stood abandoned. No workers walked the vine rows, no maid peeked out through the curtains as she dusted the upstairs windowsill, and no attendant came out to greet them and escort them inside Bastien’s grand home. Elena also noted the protection spells surrounding the property had been removed.

But there were ghosts. Memories from Elena’s past floated up to remind her of when she’d once looked forward to visiting the vineyard and flirting with the handsome vigneron who’d taken the helm from his ailing parents. She’d admired his certainty, his drive, and his dream for creating a brilliant future in a bright new age. He’d plied her with praise and sweet honey kisses. How intensely they’d gone from believing they were in love to accusations of curses and murder. He’d been an innovator and successful businessman, yes, but he could be cruel too. Manipulative. Self-centered. Vindictive. It’s why she’d been so certain he was capable of having her cursed. Just another loose end to clean up after a failed proposal. But she’d misjudged everything, and now he was dead.

Yvette killed the engine, and Elena felt a shadow of malevolent energy brush up against her.

“So what now?”

She took a cleansing breath and recalibrated her thoughts. “They’re in the cellar.”

“Right, so how do we get down there?”

“We don’t. Not yet. There’s something we have to do first.” She stepped out of the car, the satchel over her shoulder, and walked to an outbuilding to the left of the main house.

Yvette followed her inside and stared up at the knives, picks, and hammers hung on hooks along one wall of the workspace. She took down a short-handled saw and tested the grip. “Since when does someone need one of these to make wine?”

“It’s the cooperage,” Elena said, dropping the satchel on a workbench. “They make the barrels in this building.”

Yvette whistled low as she walked along the wall. She removed an ax from a peg and juggled the tool in one hand, tossing it blade over handle as comfortably as flipping a coin in the air. “There’s enough hardware here to slice through ten bad-seed witches.”

If only it were true. “I’m going to need an athame,” she said. “See if you can find something suitable while I clear a space.”

“That’s the fancy knife, right?”

Elena rebuked her with a look of disbelief.

“Oh là là. We weren’t all raised to be so high and mighty, remember? Some of us work the carnival for a living.”

“Yes, it’s the ceremonial knife. The sharpest you can find.”

Yvette blanched. “You mean to do a real proper spell? Here? While she’s down there?”

“I do. Now hurry. We haven’t much time.”

While Yvette explored the hardware on the wall, Elena took a broom and swept the floor clean of the wood shavings between the workbench and the fireplace.

Yvette returned a moment later offering a round-handled cochoir, a wicked-looking knife with a curved steel blade used to plane wooden staves. “Fancy enough for you?”

“That will do,” she said and tucked it in her costume at the small of her back.

Together they emptied a crate and turned it over in the center of the floor. Elena opened the satchel and removed two candles, both white with clean wicks, and set them aside. Then she placed the salt, oil, and incense on top of the crate. To her surprise, Brother Anselm had included something he neglected to mention. The cheese, which he’d wrapped in cloth, was tied up with string. A sprig of dried lavender and bay leaf had been secured in the center with a knot. She nearly cried at the gesture, knowing he’d meant it as a protective charm.

Her resolve reinvigorated, she took a deep breath and motioned to the young woman. “Come stand beside me.”

For once, Yvette obeyed without comment, seemingly awestruck at the prospect of participating in a full ritual. If life permitted, Elena vowed to find a way to mentor the young woman later so she at least knew a few simple spells to begin building her own Book of Shadows. But first they had to survive the witch in the cellar.

Setting her doubts aside, she concentrated on the small tin of frankincense and rubbed her thumb and fingers together. Tiny sparks danced on her fingertips, then fizzled. “Merde. I’m perspiring too much to hold a flame. Hand me the allumettes.”

Yvette patted her pocket and shook her head in alarm. “I left them with the ciggies back at the fairground.”

Elena dabbed her upper lip with the back of her wrist and pretended not to panic. She wiped her palms against her harem pants, though the sequin and silk did little to absorb the moisture.

Concentrate!

She took a deep breath and rubbed her hands back and forth, ready to try again, when a whirlwind swelled to life in the courtyard and slammed against the cooperage. A cyclone of dust and debris twisted through the doorway, crashing against the workbench and ravaging the shop in a fury of raw energy.

“It’s her,” Elena said, scrambling to protect the paltry items on her altar. Around them barrels splintered, saws and iron tongs stabbed the ground, and the window glass shattered before the energy spun out and dissipated in a small gust that billowed their hair off their necks. “She knows we’re here. We must finish. Quickly now.”

Fear was no longer a luxury. Elena planted her feet, centered her thoughts, and rubbed the base of her palms together. There was heat but no fire. She closed her eyes and opened her mind until she felt the prickly sting of fire against her fingers. She opened her eyes, and soon an orange ball of flame bloomed to life like a poppy in her hands. With more than a little relief she set it down atop the incense, then watched as the frankincense began to glow. Maintaining her focus, she aligned her thoughts toward her purpose and held the cooper’s knife over the rising smoke. Asking the All Knowing for its blessing, she purified the crude athame by passing it through the sweet incense three times. The metal shimmered as if coated in oil, and she began her ritual.