The Conjurer (The Vine Witch #3)(43)

“Gather any items you think you might need for a spell,” she said.

He shook his head, collected his items from the counter to pack them away, and closed his market stand, securing it with a padlock.

The man grumbled all the way to the abandoned shop about lost income and the debts he had to pay. It was little use explaining that there were other obvious metaphysical rewards and debts at stake. Elena entered the alley behind the abandoned shop so they might go in through the back door unnoticed. The man stopped halfway, as if having second thoughts.

“She tried to kill me, you know.”

“Sidra? Believe me, if she’d wanted you dead you wouldn’t be talking to me now.”

Yanis limped closer. “Yes, but she blames me,” he said with a nod toward the store.

“For what?”

“Her husband’s death. But it wasn’t me. And I don’t believe it was her, either.” His eyes seemed to sink into his skull, his expression remorseful. “I was careful with the incantation, with the amounts. You understand. I can tell you’ve worked with potions. It was one batch for the both of them. Each the same. But something went wrong.”

“Why did the inspector arrest Sidra for his murder?”

The man swallowed and shook his head. “He said it was a classic lovers’ quarrel. And she still had the potion bottle when the police finally caught up to her. They claimed she poisoned him. But there was no poison.”

“What was in the tincture?”

“Mimosa flower. It’s a spell to mimic death, but one wakes after two or three days. Sometimes people need to start over. Leave an old life behind and start afresh.” He shrugged as if to say he was merely the messenger. “But even a double dose shouldn’t have killed him.”

Elena’s first thought was to wonder if a jinni could die by poison. But the authorities obviously thought so. And they’d have happily executed Sidra for the crime of murder if she hadn’t escaped through fire. But poison? Yanis was right. It didn’t make any sense. Then again, nothing in life had made sense since she’d broken the curse that had transformed her into a toad. Nothing except perhaps finding Jean-Paul. Love was the one curious remedy that had emerged through all the turmoil.

Right. The sooner they faced this next challenge, the sooner she could return home. She opened the door and waited for Yanis. “We have work to do,” she said. Recognizing there was little choice in the matter, he limped forward like a man marching toward his own execution.

Sidra was not there when they entered, which pleased Yanis. Elena watched as his eyes traveled around the room, taking in the fine silk canopy, brass lamps, and the rest of the accoutrements she presumed were part of his native culture as well. Did she read regret on his face? Or perhaps homesickness? She knew from experience that longing for one’s home was the sort of emotion to strike at the most inopportune moments, flooding the eyes with yearning.

She looked away to allow him a moment. “You may help yourself to the coffee, if you like. It’s charmed to stay constantly hot.”

Elena removed her apron from her satchel and tied it around her waist as Yanis ran his fingers over the seven-pointed star pattern on a pillow.

“She did all this?” he asked.

“Yes. I assume it’s all an illusion, but the textures always feel very real. Better than anything I’ve ever feigned.”

“It’s no illusion. This was all manifested to be real. The work of a master conjurer.”

He knelt to study the pattern on the pillow more closely. Elena felt compelled to do the same, given his interest. It was then she noticed the intricate pattern of a circle within a circle within a circle within an elaborate decorative design.

“Does it mean something?” she asked.

“Only everything,” he said and managed a humble smile. “The circle in the middle represents the energy at the center of the universe. All things are drawn around it. Some near, some farther out. We are all at various distances from the center. But all strive to find the heart. The symbol is a good thing. A good reminder.”

His finger maintained almost reverential contact with the circles as he stood. When he let go, he removed his frayed skullcap and nodded slowly. “I will help you,” he said. “Though it will be difficult and dangerous, and there’s no guarantee any of the spells will work. Not if there are jinn involved.”

Elena had done difficult and dangerous before. She raised her hands in the sacred pose and welcomed his help, though she was beginning to suspect he was more learned than a mere street vendor peddling charms and trinkets to tourists. Once in agreement, they leaned over her grimoire to scan for the limited information it held on desert mysticism. There were a few drawings featuring pentagrams meant to control spirits and some spindly notes she’d scribbled from her time in school when she’d been allowed to study The Book of the Seven Stars but nothing of any urgent value. Yanis concurred.

“We’ll simply have to start with our intuition,” he said. “And what I remember from my school days as well.”

Each shared their inventory of supplies, laying the items out on the counter. Yanis had brought a rope of sweetgrass, a stick of incense, an amulet bearing a quadrangle of symbols she didn’t recognize, a white crystal, a candle stub, and a stick of chalk, which he explained was most important for drawing symbols on flagstones. Elena emptied her satchel next. She still carried the two coins, her athame, some bundled rosemary, a polished bloodstone, an amethyst crystal, a packet of salt, and a smudge pot full of ointment that was really only good for treating blisters. It wasn’t much to work with, but Yanis disagreed, claiming intent was the most important ingredient. Elena heartily concurred, and so they set to work.