The Conjurer (The Vine Witch #3)(38)
“I’m going with you,” Yvette said. “I think I’d like to be surrounded by some trifling sweet notions for a change.”
She and Elena left the shop through the back alley, while Sidra chose to retreat to the rooftop, where she could watch for the impending signs of her enemy. Following the directions given to them by an elderly woman pruning dead flower heads off a potted geranium, Elena and Yvette climbed the narrow steps leading to the next hilltop terrace. There on the left, in a distinctly villa-esque two-story building overlooking the seaside valley, sat the parfumerie at Le Maison des Amoureux. The factory was a distinct terra-cotta color with blue shutters flanking each of the six windows. There were two doors: one for the factory and one for the shop where the perfume was sold. Bottles of Fleur de Sable, with their distinguishing crystal bird stoppers, lined the front window.
Elena approached the main entrance to the factory before a flutter of curiosity brushed up against her intuition, making her pause.
“What’s the matter?” Yvette asked.
“Do you smell that?”
The young woman inhaled and smiled. “Smells like lemon and thyme. Like the tonic Tante Isadora used to soothe my sore throat when I was little. Always made me feel better.”
“Really?” Elena had caught the scent of woodsmoke and grapevine, reviving happy recollections of summer picnics on green fields with Grand-Mère and Grand-Père when she was a girl. She was going to comment on the discrepancy but then stopped, recognizing the potency of the magic. “It’s a spell. To manipulate memories. I’ll bet each person experiences a different scent when they enter to put them in a pleasant mood.” She smiled at the cleverness and entered the factory with even more determination.
A receptionist behind a huge mahogany desk greeted them with the obligatory “Bonjour.” Elena stated her business; then she and Yvette waited in the lobby while the woman relayed their message. To bide their time, they perused the museum-like displays arranged around the lobby. Housed under glass domes were delicate crystal bottles with bejeweled finials, an opaline perfume locket on a chain decorated with gold filigree, and four antique bottles filled with botanical oils. The prism-like bottles stood nearly a foot tall and were perched on glass stems with pedestals that had the imperfect patina of handblown glass. They’d been carefully crafted to showcase the essential oils contained within—patchouli, jasmine, rose, and davana. The heart of the fragrance industry for Le Maison des Amoureux, according to the placard propped at their feet.
“Don’t you want to jump in and douse yourself in the divine stuff?” Yvette asked, coveting the contents of the bottles with the same rapture as one might express for a diamond necklace.
The receptionist returned and cleared her throat just as Yvette got a little too close to the glass displays. “This way,” she said and led them to an upstairs office where Camille Joubert donned a white lab coat over the pale-blue skirt she’d been wearing on the morning train. Behind her were backlit glass shelves filled not only with dazzlingly beautiful perfume bottles but also several stoppered brown jugs with plain white labels, beakers in three sizes, and a line of tiny test tubes held in a wooden rack. On her desk sat a pestle and mortar stuffed with dried seedpods waiting to be ground. Beside the mortar rested a well-worn grimoire open to a page showing a drawing of a five-petaled flower. The witch gave a test tube filled with purple liquid a shake as they entered, looking every inch a scientist about to embark on a magical chemical experiment. And perhaps she was.
“Ah, we meet again.” Camille set the test tube in the rack and extended her hand in greeting. “Elena, was it?”
The women shook hands. Elena then introduced Yvette, who glowed ever so slightly from the excitement of the place. The young woman had improved her control so much while in the Fée lands that it was difficult to read exactly what her aura was doing, even for a fellow witch. Camille paused, obviously trying not to be rude yet completely aware that there was something different about Yvette’s shimmer.
“So, what can I do for you?” Camille asked, letting her eyes rest a second longer on Yvette.
Elena shut the door to the office and explained the situation, though out of an abundance of caution, she omitted the part concerning a powerful ancient relic capable of wreaking havoc on the world and its mortal inhabitants. After all, she’d only met the perfume witch on the train that morning. Best not to overplay her trust in the woman, despite the need for her unique help. A pointed glance at Yvette when Elena had finished her explanation seemed to convey the need to keep that portion of the story quiet for now.
“Ah, I did wonder what had persuaded that jinni to follow you so closely. Apparently he can smell trouble like a bloodhound.” Camille reached for a bottle on the top shelf. “Now, if I understand you correctly, you wish to deploy a defense against this Jamra fellow using fragrance?”
Elena had to admit the plan sounded absurd once said out loud. “Am I being ridiculous?”
Camille practically winked at them. “Not ridiculous in the least. As I mentioned on the train earlier, scent often proves the most potent element of all. And, as luck would have it, that is especially true when it comes to its effect on jinn.”
“How’s that?” Yvette asked.
The perfume witch sat behind her desk and gestured for Elena and Yvette to take a seat in the chairs opposite. She slipped on a pair of round wire-rimmed glasses before digging through the contents of a bottom desk drawer, out of which she pulled a small vial with a dropper for a lid. “Brace yourselves,” she warned. She opened the bottle, used the dropper to dab a single tear of clear liquid onto a strip of paper, then wafted it in the air so that the fragrance drifted toward them.