The Conjurer (The Vine Witch #3)(46)
“I have seen it with my own eyes.”
Yanis tilted his head as if recalling something once forgotten. “There were objects created, embedded with the sigils to better keep track of them. A cup, a mirror, a belt. I forget the rest, but this dagger should have had a guardian. They were all assigned to magi of the highest order. Their movements traced with scrying stones. What happened to him?”
“He died alone on Zimbarra. My husband and I discovered his bones on this island. The dagger was buried in the sand beside him.”
“Zimbarra? No wonder his death went unnoticed. The movement of the island would have simulated the wanderings of a magus.” Yanis stood and paced, dragging his wooden leg against the floor despite the pain. “So, you found the sigil and brought it here? Did you know how dangerous that was?”
“They didn’t know what they’d found until an ifrit recognized it,” Elena said in Sidra’s defense.
“An ifrit?” Yanis tapped his closed fist against his lips. “Where is it now? Is the dagger hidden? A relic like that must be protected.”
“It is in a safe place.”
“But where? The Order will need to secure the weapon. Do you understand the damage something like that could do in the hands of a . . .”
He stopped himself before the word spilled out, but Sidra had already snatched the word out of the air for him.
“A jinni?” She stood and gathered her scarf over her head. “Go back to your chalk drawings, sorcerer. And may they spare your life when the sun comes up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sidra dissipated from the shop, shrinking into the quiet solitude of an empty cupboard in an upstairs attic. She missed the sanctuary of the bottle and the scent of jasmine and bergamot Hariq had created for her. But that was gone now, her bottle left behind in another realm. Safe. Still, she needed a quiet place to hide, if only to regain her balance again. The fire of fury and destruction and the blaze of warmth and comfort coexisted inside her, always battling one another for control. There was no such thing as an even flame. Which was why not even she, despite the restraint of a hundred patient camels waiting to drink, could be sure of resisting the lure of the dagger’s power forever. No, the weapon was where it needed to be. Gone from this realm and safe in the airy humidity of another.
Centered once more, Sidra decided she ought to go check on the girl before the morning light. A storm was coming, and the chances of she, the witch, and the fairy outlasting it would be better if they were all together when the force hit. She wondered if Yvette ever suspected the power she’d once held in her hands or, at times, stashed in her gown between her breasts. Yes, she would go find the girl and bring her back. There was no truly safe place for any of them, but perhaps the sorcerer’s marks on the floor would help. With the right words spoken by the witch, a small circle of safety might withstand the damage about to be unleashed.
It was well past midnight when Sidra seeped out through a crack in the cupboard to travel within the ether to the parfumerie on the top of the hill. She knew the place well from the times Hariq had thought he was sneaking off to pursue his pet project, a perfume designed for her. Of course she’d known what he was up to. The scent found her every time he returned home. The fragrance clung to his robes, his hair, his skin. Even in their ethereal state, the jasmine mingled with his natural oud scent, adhering to his being. But that was years ago. A blink in time, yet a lifetime gone by.
The walls of the factory were made of stone, the windows of glass, but they proved no barrier. Shards of her energy slipped through the interstices, reforming on the other side so that when she reanimated, two stories up, she stood in a depressing walled cubicle full of bottles, paper, and mortal machinery. Lifeless things endowed with a little ingenuity but otherwise useless.
The girl shrieked down the hall. That frivolous high laughter of hers that sounded like crystal bottles clinking together. Before announcing herself, Sidra crept up to the doorframe to learn what had caused the fair one’s outburst. She found Yvette in a room crowded with the hot metal bellies Hariq was so drawn to—the copper boilers used to distill the fragrant oils from the tender flowers. Heaping baskets of pink and white petals awaited the fate of having their precious scents extracted through steam. She inhaled both the smell of the flowers and the heat coming off the boilers, filling her lungs with bittersweet memories. They’d been so sure this was their safe haven.
“Sidra!” Yvette spotted her lurking in the dark. Curse her fairy instincts. “We’ve been at it all night. And now we’ve just about got a plan of attack sorted out. You won’t believe how we managed it.”
“What is all this?” she asked, stepping into the room, her eye steady on the witch holding the glass bottle. “What have you done?”
Yvette wiped her hands on a cloth and nudged her chin toward the witch. “This is Camille Joubert. She owns the joint. She’s been letting me help her with the perfume.”
“Enchantée,” Camille said before peering closer. “You are Sidra? Then I feel like I already know you. Hariq talked about you all the time when he was here.”
Sidra’s lip began to curl at the idea of this woman thinking she knew her. Yvette nudged her in the arm and mouthed, “Behave.”
“Actually, I’m thrilled you’re here,” Camille said. “We could certainly use your opinion on this concoction we’ve come up with.” The perfume witch crossed the room to where several beakers full of liquid sat atop a wooden table. She pulled the stopper out of a large container filled with a yellowish fluid.