The Conjurer (The Vine Witch #3)(53)
That life was gone. Memories and mist. She tucked her bottle in among the others on the shelf and said goodbye.
The girl. She shook her head, remembering her aim. She flew to the rooftop to scan the village for the fair one. Dawn had broken over the horizon. The wall of storm collided with the first rays of sunlight, turning the sky shell pink. It was still too early for most villagers to be up and about, but those she spotted—the baker, the newspaper hawkers, the train station attendants—had also collapsed in place. And then, at the bottom of the hill in the passenger seat of a bright yellow automobile, she spotted the girl’s eerie glow. Using another ounce of energy she couldn’t spare, she made the leap into the back seat of the car.
The girl spun around. “Sidra, you found us!”
“Goodness, you gave me a start,” Camille said, adjusting her rearview mirror as she pulled over to the curb.
On the back seat beside Sidra were two canisters that reeked of lavender. “Prophets protect us, what are you doing with these?”
Yvette nodded toward the witch. “It was Camille’s idea. We were ready to deploy the scent we’d been working on—”
“But we hadn’t considered what the overpowering scent-magic might do to the mortals in the village,” Camille finished. “Some of them are dear friends, mind you.”
“So we snuck a little squirt in front of Thomas.”
“He’s my assistant.”
“And he fell straight over asleep. Camille thinks it’s all the lavender we added.”
“Still not certain about that. Could as easily be the glamour in your blood that’s affected their brains.”
“But probably a combination of the two would be the most probable explanation,” Yvette said, sounding very self-assured.
Camille concurred. “That, and my intention during the spell might have been a little too focused on my own lack of sleep.”
Sidra held up her hands to stop them talking, exhausted already from trying to follow their conversation. “But why are you in this monstrosity of a vehicle with two jugs of the fragrance? Do you see that storm on the horizon? Jamra and his ifrit are going to rain sand down on this village, batter us with destructive winds, and suffocate any who stand in their way.”
“Well, that’s just it.” Yvette sprayed a whiff of the perfume into the air with an atomizer the size of a grapefruit. “We figured maybe we could knock out two birds with one stone. Use our divine creation to offend the ifrit noses and also maybe protect the mortals by dousing them with the stuff. Put them to sleep so they don’t get caught in any crossfire.”
“I thought your laws forbid acts like this against mortals?”
“Oh là là. It’s for the greater good! You said yourself these creeps mean business. Well, so do we.”
“You can affect everyone in the village with this?”
Camille dropped her smile. “I sent doves to the witches at the other parfumeries, and they’re helping as well. I’ve got them covering the upper village and the train station below with canisters of their own.” The witch watched the cloud of scent drift from the car to the apartment building on the right. She whispered an incantation that carried the notes of a song in the spoken words. “Sleep, mortal, do not stir, inhale our scented elixir. Breathe in heavy, breathe in deep, sweet dreams await you as you sleep.” The witch swung around in her seat to see Sidra’s face once the spell was sealed. “One street at a time.”
Sidra believed the women were delusional in their thinking, but perhaps their plan was better than a mass exodus of mortals running out of the city in alarm to huddle in the flower fields surrounding the village. The storm may still kill many, but an unconscious death may prove a kindness. She’d never in her life envied a mortal, but the feeling flickered in her now like a candle flame, knowing the scent had no effect on her except to stir memories of flying over purple fields in a time she thought she’d always be so happy. What she would not give now to sleep and never wake again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Did you know he would do this?”
The dog avoided looking at the creature as the haboob took shape several miles away. “There is more of his soul eaten away than I thought,” he said.
Soon this would be over and he could be free of this forced alliance and the creature’s hollow murmurs of concern. Yet for now, the ifrit were worth worrying about. Their horses’ feet would only gain momentum as they closed the distance to the village.
“Should we do something to stop the horde?”
Was that the vibrato of fear in the creature’s voice? He shook out his fur and wrapped his tail over his feet as he sat on the edge of the roof. So, even those who can control the chess pieces when it pleases them aren’t sure of where they’ll land on the board? How then does one respect the ultimatum fate demands? But then there were matters of blood at stake that could sway even the noblest judgment.
“It is too late,” he said. “At least for the limits of my talents. Besides, this will bring us what we’ve been waiting for quicker than anything else.”
The creature steeled herself, as if proving she, too, could ride out the worst, if that’s what her nerves must do to see things through to the end. She might have been able to halt the approaching storm, if he had faltered and nodded his assent, but then what of the outcome they had all agreed was necessary?