The Conjurer (The Vine Witch #3)(8)
“I can’t help you,” she yelled. “I know nothing of Sidra’s whereabouts. Release this man from your spell. He’s a mortal. He has nothing to do with you or your grievance against her.”
“Grievance?” The jinni pressed his palms together and touched his fingers to his forehead, as if fighting for blessed calm. “Do you have any idea what that jinniyah is capable of? What she has done to my family?”
“Whatever she did, it happened before I was acquainted with her.” Elena returned to Jean-Paul’s side, lifting his head to let him rest in her lap.
“But you knew her soon after. In prison. You befriended her, even knowing she was a murderer.”
The man Sidra had killed. The reason she was to be executed before she escaped through fire. Was that what this was about? “The man she killed. Who was he to you?”
The jinni picked a thorn out of his teeth. “My brother.”
Ah. The crux of the matter.
“It was she who led Hariq astray and then abandoned him to the ever after, cursing my family by weakening our clan and our fight against the infidels. And for that you will lead me to her so I can strike her from this earth forever.”
“How can I? Sidra is gone. If she’s no longer in the city, then she’s in the ether. You’d have a better chance finding her than I would.”
“Except she could not have left the city without the help of sorcery. If you released her from the bonds I placed there, then she owes you a debt. This she must answer. You must call her.”
“What bonds?”
The jinni’s lip curled slightly under his thin mustache. “Are you toying with me, witch?” He stared at her with glittering eyes that telegraphed the pain he was willing to inflict.
“On my husband’s life, I don’t know what you’re on about. She confessed she was confined to the city, but I have no idea how she freed herself.”
He inhaled, calculating the truth or lie as Brother Anselm returned with the water. The jinni withdrew three paces, his hand tugging at the thin trail of beard on his chin. The monk knelt beside Jean-Paul, who appeared to be breathing normally despite the slight shiver he’d developed. The jinni watched the monk administer a cool cloth, though he didn’t smirk at the effort as she expected.
“I knew Sidra would return to the city,” he said as he circled behind the trio hunkered on the flagstones, “like a cat slinking into an alley at dark looking for scraps. I still bear the mark of her fire on my skin from our previous encounter, crossing my back as if I’d been whipped. A fire like that does not simply fade and go away.” He revealed a nasty burn on his neck. Elena felt no pang of sympathy at the sight.
“She did this after murdering my brother. Do not doubt she is a danger that must be stopped.” He wandered toward the cellar entrance and spread his hand against the oak door as if feeling for hidden energy. “I, too, know sorcerers. It is how I bound Sidra to the city. A spell cast over the fire using her true jinn name.” He took his hand away and smiled, seemingly at his own shrewdness. “The spell was designed to let her slip into the city, but once she crossed the boundary, the trap was set. The snare triggered. I was this close to flushing her out when she disappeared.”
For all his arrogance, he must have missed something in his planning. “A flaw in your spell?” she suggested.
He nearly lashed out. “No! I do not miss. The only flaw in the magic was being too broad. It is very difficult to catch smoke in one’s fingers.” He brushed his hands free of whatever he’d detected at the door.
“Yet you believe I could have somehow freed her?”
“She could not have escaped the spell around the city, either by magic or force, without outside help.” He nudged his chin at her, offering the mildest hint of deference. “I saw a vision of you and she together in the flames of a prophecy. Sidra could not have freed herself on her own power. She is too green, too impulsive. But perhaps someone experienced with witchcraft found a way to disrupt the spell long enough for her to escape.” He turned his eyes on Elena. “There is a rumor you broke a curse you had been afflicted with. That you worked this magic while transformed. One who can break their own curse might be cunning enough to slip an alley cat like her through a trap.”
And yet she hadn’t. She knew Sidra had been bound to the city when they’d shared a coffee inside the illusion of a tent atop the butte in the city. Elena hadn’t even offered to help. Hadn’t been asked to. She regretted that now, knowing this vile man was the one who’d entrapped her friend. Elena thought back to the last time she’d seen Sidra. The night at the museum when Yvette had been reunited with her family in the Fée lands. Yes, curious circumstances there. She hadn’t seen or heard from Sidra since. Her brow twitched in thought.
He’d noticed.
“What is it? What have you seen?” The tenor of his voice dropped to a threatening whisper.
Elena considered her choices and relented. “I didn’t assist her, but it’s possible I may know where to find Sidra after all.”
“Tell me at once!”
Brother Anselm removed the cloth from Jean-Paul’s forehead and dipped it back in the water. As he wrung it damp, Elena slid out from beneath her unconscious husband, resting his head gently on the hard stones. She kissed Jean-Paul’s forehead and cheek, feeling the heat of his skin against her lips, then sent a silent plea with her eyes to her old friend to watch over him. He returned a nod, understanding her meaning.