The Conjurer (The Vine Witch #3)(19)
The jinni swallowed the last of his wine, then poured himself a second glass. Elena held hers out as well. Yes, the idea might work, she thought as she swirled the wine. Let him drink and eat his food. Take it in. But not too fast. Not yet.
She’d never had much practice with silent incantations, but there were ways to conjure spells without speaking a word. Intent was always the main ingredient, of course. Speaking or writing the words out loud put them into the world in the precise form. But as long as the mind stayed true to her intentions and didn’t wander, she should be able to channel the magic toward her goal without him noticing.
Elena swirled her glass so the wine rotated inside like a small tempest. The aroma of the fermented fruit funneled out, wafting in the air between them. Yes, with help from the wine she could do it.
A single sip to wet the tongue. A second one, the spell’s still young. Take one more the blood will thin, drain the glass let sleep begin.
She let the words of the spell run through her thoughts three times to reinforce her intention, all the while concentrating on the potency of the wine and the jinni drinking it. Candlelight reflected in the drink’s ruby tones, hypnotizing with its beauty as it spun around. She sent that dizzying sensation floating to Jamra. But slowly. Something to dissolve in his blood as the alcohol worked its way through his veins, heart, and brain.
The jinni snapped his fingers at the waiter. “Don’t you adore the quaint mortal gesture of paying for nourishment,” he said to her. As the waiter approached with the check, Jamra waved his fingers over his palm like a common magician doing prestidigitation. A stack of coins appeared in his hand, which he tossed on the table for the waiter to sort through.
“I’m not sure that’s how it’s done,” Elena said, then mouthed an apology to the waiter as they walked outside.
As yet, the jinni had given no indication he’d caught her at her spellcasting. Of course, there was always the off chance the silent incantation hadn’t worked. Or, worse yet, had missed Jamra and hit someone else in the café. She startled at that briefly before coming back to her senses. But as they walked along the sidewalk, Jamra’s feet became unsteady, and the magic that had transformed her attire began to fade so that she wore her blue wool skirt and dirty sabots again. He, too, transformed. His jacket, shirt, and tie smoldered with orange fire that nibbled at the threads until they turned to ash. He brushed them away with a giggle as he staggered in a free-flowing robe. Only his tailored trousers, black derby, and oxford shoes remained.
They’d come to a point in the neighborhood where three streets converged at an odd pointed angle, almost as if the city’s original planners had meant to create a letter Y in the center of town. To their left was a short side street, which they gravitated toward. More of an alley, to be honest, except for the odd business entrance tucked at one end. The other doors all appeared to be rear entrances to cafés and small shops—rarely used, judging by the cobwebs that had collected in the frames of a few of them. At the far end a stray dog trotted by, but otherwise the alley appeared abandoned.
“Voilà!” Jamra announced for all the street to hear, then laughed at his overt attempt at a proper accent. “I love that word.”
He stumbled into the alley and pointed with a flourish. “Your quarters, madame.”
A majestic tent appeared before her eyes that stretched from wall to wall in the alley. Unable to resist her curiosity, Elena pushed back the cloth of the tent’s opening and entered, where she was met with soft lamplight that glowed from multicolored lights suspended from the ceiling of fabric. Below she found a plush rug and narrow platform bed buried in pillows that was certainly large enough for her to curl up and sleep on. A brass washbasin, a hairbrush, and a mirror sat on a small octagonal table. It couldn’t be real. Not in the center of town. And yet she could feel the silk and cotton of the tent, the wool and leather of the rugs and pillows, the cool metal of the mirror’s handle.
“I’m to sleep here? In the middle of town? Won’t someone discover the illusion?”
Jamra had followed her inside and sunk into the pillows on the bed, his eyes half-closed from the mixture of wine and her spell. “I create illusions within illusions within”—he burped—“illusions. Do not doubt my magic, woman.”
“Nor mine,” she said under her breath.
She’d assumed they’d return to the landing site where her tapestry was stashed in the tree so they might remain out of sight of mortals. Yet the tent was warm and inviting and so much better than sleeping on the cold ground. But then, he was still right there in the same tent! If he’d meant to conjure his own quarters, as any respectable man would, it was too late. His lids fluttered shut and his head tilted back against the pillows. Her spell had hit full potency.
Elena took a pillow from the bed and used it to sit on the floor. She waited a minute to see if Jamra would rouse from his sleep, but once his mouth fell open and the snoring began, she closed her eyes. She no longer needed an item belonging to Jean-Paul to find him. The bond between them had created a silver thread that coiled through the liminal space. The connection was still there for her to pick up as soon as she entered the shadow world—an encouraging sign.
At the end of the thread she saw him. Jean-Paul’s head was propped on a white pillow. His glasses were on the side table beside a glass of water. His fever seemed to have lessened. She tried to press closer, but another energy held her back. Brother Anselm. He sat in a chair in the corner reading an illustrated book of Scheherazade’s tales. He’d no doubt grown curious about the jinni and his powers and hoped to find answers in the pages. She looked back at Jean-Paul. Although unconscious from the jinni’s curse, he looked little different from when he was in a pleasant sleep after a long day’s work. His body shivered, and Brother Anselm sat forward to adjust his blanket and reapply the cool cloth to his forehead. She didn’t know how the jinni’s magic had sent his mind to the desert, but she asked the All Knowing to let him find some small oasis where he could find comfort until she returned.