The Conjurer (The Vine Witch #3)(36)
She nodded. “He was no market sorcerer. Behind his eyes he was jinn. But not of any clan. One of the dispossessed.”
“Dispossessed?”
“Outcasts. Unwanteds. The marauders who ride before the storm, their horses’ hooves kicking up the dust to create the great haboob. We fled to the ether as soon as we recognized him for what he was, but not before he’d seen the mark on the dagger. Afterward we took the sigil straight to the jinn leader we pay tribute to. He is a wise one with a great gift for envisioning the future.” Sidra recalled the look on Rajul Hakim’s face when they unveiled the dagger, full of astonishment, as if they’d found one of the lost treasures of the world. “When he told us of its power, we understood the mistake we’d made in returning it to the mainland.”
Sidra raised her palms to ask forgiveness from the All Seeing. “It was the dispossessed one who told Jamra about the dagger, I’m certain. It is they who he’s aligned with.”
“Where’s the dagger now?” Elena asked. “Somewhere safe? Shouldn’t it be in the hands of an official custodian or protector?”
“The dagger is safe for now. But anything can be thought safe until it’s found.”
The fairy and witch grew silent. Such beings of air and light, earth and herb. The thought of fire and death made their skin glow with the sheen of nervous perspiration. Their mood was as it should be. For it was their hands now, together with hers, that held the balance propped in place. One slip in the wrong direction and they might all be flung into chaos.
The balance between them must be held. Debt and indebtedness. One gesture in exchange for another. It, too, was as it should be. She would do this thing for the witch’s husband, and then Elena would stay until the other was done. Tawazun.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The anonymity of the abandoned shop proved the wisest place to hunker down for the remainder of the day, especially after learning that there was more at stake with Jamra’s impending arrival than mere murder. Elena held the talisman in her hand. Invoking Sidra’s name for help could draw attention to the jinni’s whereabouts, but without her help Jean-Paul might be lost forever. She felt the jinni’s glittering eyes on her as she wrestled with what to do.
“We cannot stop Jamra,” Sidra said. “The fire isn’t wrong. The confrontation has already been willed. But we can still try to help your man.”
“Go on,” Yvette said, turning her medallion over in her hand. “You have to try. I’ll say it too.”
The bronze felt warm in her palm, as if urging her to use the magic. Elena ran her finger over the symbols engraved on its surface. Small glyphs in the shape of an eye, a moon, a star, and a bird’s wing. Such different magic, yet similar too, the way it used symbols instead of words to connect with the source. Elena met Sidra’s eye one last time. She had no choice. If the jinni had already accepted her fate should the talisman’s energy reveal her location, then she must trust in the generosity of the offer. She closed her fingers over the metal and spoke Sidra’s name while envisioning the help she desired.
“It shall be done.” Sidra scooted closer on the sofa. “We’re lucky. You have the gift of second sight. Without it, he would be doomed. But we have a chance. First you must look into your world of shadows. Find your husband. I will follow you there. Now, for we must act quickly.”
So, she meant to heal him by piggybacking on her vision the same way Jamra had. The notion made her uneasy. They would both be vulnerable while in this state, with only Yvette to keep vigil in their absence. And yet the young woman had never failed her. With that in mind, Elena settled into the soft pillow and closed her eyes. A moment later her vision, only slightly slowed by the acknowledged presence of the jinni in the liminal space, followed the silver thread to Jean-Paul. He was still unconscious, though he’d been moved and was now in their bed. Stubble shadowed his jaw and his eyes darted beneath their closed lids, but otherwise he appeared as he had before. Brother Anselm wasn’t in the bedside chair. Turning her vision east, she sensed the monk moving in the kitchen below. The scent of sautéed chicken wafted up from the stove. She took it as a positive sign before feeling a psychic nudge to get out of the way.
An odd sensation filtered in behind Elena’s eyes. Warmth, as if she’d been staring into the fireplace, filled her vision. Her sight dimmed until she no longer sensed the light around her. Panic crept in at the edge of her thoughts until the calming scent of ripening grapes, just as the sugar rises before peak harvest, infiltrated her olfactory senses, soothing her while Sidra overtook her shadow vision. A good trick, that. And though she couldn’t see her, she sensed the jinni smile at her thought. Once Elena relaxed, the light seeped back in and her sight returned, though she no longer controlled where her line of vision was cast.
Sidra concentrated on Jean-Paul’s eye movement, the way it flitted rapidly under the lids. Frantic. Frenetic. Elena saw her hand reach out and presumed she no longer controlled her own limbs in the shadow world either. It was as if she and the jinni occupied the same space in her body yet remained side by side in her brain. She thought about Jamra nearly invading her this way and her body shivered, knowing he wouldn’t have preserved her mind.
Keep control of your reactions, an unspoken voice communicated inside her head. Concentrate on the scent of the vineyard while I jump. Elena let go of her image of Jamra so Sidra could do her work. The jinni then slipped free of Elena’s mind, stepping inside the room as if she had physically transported herself. She laid her hands over Jean-Paul’s brow. His head tossed from one side to the other, resisting. Beads of sweat gathered on his skin, slick and shiny. Sidra rubbed her fingers over her thumbs as if she didn’t wish to touch his moist skin. Instead she cupped her hands over his ear and whispered some message or incantation incoherent to Elena. Jean-Paul convulsed on the bed. His body writhed as if he fought against a pain that clawed at him from the inside out. He twisted and screamed, throwing off his blankets. Just when Elena didn’t think she could watch another moment of his torture, knowing she’d brought this pain on him, his eyes opened and he rolled to his side, where he coughed up a handful of cinders still steaming with smoke.