The Conjurer (The Vine Witch #3)(62)
Sidra approached the shelves lined with green glass bottles wrapped in metal filigree. Crystal birds topped them all, each an exquisite piece of art that caught the light and promised all the beauty in the world. The girl squeaked in protest despite the burn of the iron ring on her neck. As if she could read minds. “The sigil is there,” Sidra said and pointed to a bottle on the third shelf, the fourth one over from the left.
Jamra snatched the bottle in his hand and tore out the stopper, tossing it to the floor, where the birds’ wings shattered on the marble. He tipped the bottle over and shook it, expecting a shrunken dagger to fall out. Instead, a pungent stream of perfume dripped and spilled over his fanciful jacket. She hoped it had ruined the silk forever. Sidra may be facing her final moments of life on this earth, but she didn’t have to change how she felt about this camel’s ass.
“My mistake,” she said and took a final ounce of pleasure at seeing Jamra’s eyes water from a cloud of perfume once dedicated to her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Elena hurried down the narrow lane, her feet slipping in sand as she rounded the corner. The steps leading to the parfumerie were straight ahead. It couldn’t be too late. The vision had taken place only moments ago.
“This way,” Yanis shouted.
The sorcerer moved deceptively fast over the stones, maneuvering his false leg in a step-drag motion. Camille limped behind, ignoring for the moment her injuries, fatigue, and the obvious shape of a body buried beneath a blanket of sand beside a lamppost. The dog trotted alongside Elena and Jean-Paul, restrained for the moment from his usual supernatural speed. He deliberately kept pace with them, waiting for something. Holding back, yet herding them forward as if they were sheep he was shooing into a pen. All the while his eyes watched the rooftops as he kept his ears bent skyward. His lack of panic was the only thing giving Elena hope that they weren’t too late.
The group reached the perfume factory, out of breath and ragged from the ravages of the wind against their skin and the adrenaline rushing through their veins. The plaza in front of the parfumerie was the last place Elena had seen a vision of Sidra. The scent of toasted orange rind and frankincense still lingered in the swirling air, as did the odor of meat left too long to scorch in the fire. She and Jamra had to have been in the plaza mere minutes earlier, but where had they gone?
The dog sniffed the air too. Instead of following the trail to the parfumerie as Elena expected, he spun around and grumbled at the sky.
“Wait, something’s wrong,” Yanis said.
The dog’s shoulders tensed and he growled. At first Elena worried she’d led them to the wrong place, but then a dark smudge appeared in the sky. The figure grew larger as it descended through the haze of dust. The clear outline of fiery wings and a tail came into focus. In a matter of seconds the air churned with the beating of half a dozen wings as two more ifrit dropped from the sky to circle the courtyard.
“Run!”
The group sprinted for the factory door, only to find it locked. Camille, her hands shaking, fumbled for the key in her coat pocket as the dog barked and snapped his teeth at the creatures.
“Come on, Camille! They’re swarming.”
The witch slipped the key in the lock and jiggled the door open just as a pair of scaly feet landed on the flagstones beside them. Camille sprayed her perfume at the beast, making him gag and swipe at his nose. It was distraction enough for the group to get inside and slam the door shut.
All but the dog. Their guide and guardian hadn’t made it inside.
Elena peered through the glass in time to see the animal get plucked up in an ifrit’s arms and carried away to the rooftop across the courtyard. She squeezed her eyes shut as her heart sank for the poor fellow. If not for him, none of them would be alive.
Inside, Jean-Paul waved a hand in front of his face. “Does the perfume always smell this strong in here?”
The overwhelming fragrance polluted the air in the factory lobby, affecting the nose keenly but none so much as that of the perfume witch. She inhaled in alarm at the full degree of scent floating in the air. “My perfume,” she said, tracing the source with her nose. “It smells as if . . . oh, no, no, no. What is he doing in there?” She flinched as the sound of smashing glass hit the floor and a fresh cloud of Fleur de Sable billowed out of the shop.
Camille marched toward the entrance to the shop until Jean-Paul took hold of her shoulders, keeping her back a mere second before she would have been seen. And he was right—they couldn’t just barge in there. Who knew what Jamra might do if cornered? The perfume witch relented and held her trembling fingers over her mouth as she worried over her precious goods being destroyed on the other side of the glass.
The group tucked themselves out of sight to figure out what they must do, while the wings of even more ifrits battered the side of the building. On the other side of the wall, Jamra raised his voice. They tensed, waiting for a violent outburst or the sound of shattering glass, but heard only his mocking laugh cut through the aftermath. Something had changed. The urgent panic Elena had sensed while following Sidra through the village had morphed into something else: sheer survival.
But something else had shifted, too, almost as if a layer of static electricity hung in the air around them. Camille caught the sensation as well, raising her hand to test the air. Above them, a cloud of light appeared in the lobby, shimmering as it swirled in a clockwise motion.