The Conjurer (The Vine Witch #3)(9)
“You will free my husband from this illness you inflicted upon him first,” she said, standing to face the jinni.
Jamra grinned as if amused. “No.” He shrugged and shook his head, enjoying his power over her. “But I will agree not to kill him outright if you can prove you are not lying to me.”
“Agree to return him to his proper health”—she held up a hand to silence the jinni’s objection—“or, if Sidra is in the place I believe her to be, you will never find her again. She’s out of your reach.”
It was a gamble, but she could see no other way to save her husband’s life other than to bargain with the one thing she had that Jamra wanted: information. She folded her arms and waited for his answer.
“Cooperate and your man will get no worse. Find the jinniyah for me and I will take away the fever.” Jamra waved his hand as if to seal their agreement, then pointed his finger in Elena’s face, his breath hot like the steam from a winter cauldron. “But I will burn his brains from the inside out with the flame of a thousand fires if I discover you are lying to me.”
Elena nodded, relieved to have learned that it was possible for the fever to be reversed. She made the deal with the jinni while Brother Anselm crossed himself.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sidra never fidgeted, never bit her nails, never fretted over the things she couldn’t control. She believed one’s destiny marched forward on the single road it was meant to follow. Yet being back among her possessions, among his possessions, made the fire in her blood recede until she actually felt a chill on the back of her neck. Exposed. Vulnerable. As if still waiting for the sharpened edge of la demi-lune to fall.
Curse that Oberon! She didn’t wish to feel anything ever again, and yet here she was in a pit of emotions slithering over her skin like cool-bellied snakes.
“Are you going to tell me why Grand-Père sent us here of all places?” Yvette dropped on the sofa beside Sidra. “Bit of a coincidence, don’t you think? I mean, how did he even know?”
Sidra rubbed the back of her neck. The girl wasn’t as stupid as she usually took her to be. She’d known that before, seeing the way Yvette had survived the city streets in the throes of her wish without resorting to her thieving ways, but for once life would be easier if her assumptions were true. She wished, too, that the girl had a destiny disconnected from her own instead of being here tangled in the web of life at her side.
Sidra stared at the abandoned shoes by the door. “Your grandfather was right to return us here. This is where the path we must walk lies, no matter how painful the next steps we take.”
“Right. The two of you love your prophecies.” Yvette chewed her last orange slice. “So, who was he, the man you . . . you know?” She nudged her chin toward the shoes as she drew her finger across her neck.
Sidra turned away to stare at a cobweb dangling in the window, then closed her eyes. “My husband.”
There, she said it. And it didn’t kill her.
“You’re married? Or, well, were married, I suppose.” Yvette sat back, flabbergasted, as her eyes scanned the room a second time with the new information. “Merde.”
Sidra sprang up from the sofa. She wanted to dissipate. Disappear. Burn the apartment to the ground. Instead she gathered her scarf over her head and wrapped the ends tight around her arms.
“How long were you married?”
The faintest of smiles still found its way to her lips at the thought. “Three hundred years.”
“Oh là là. How’s that even possible?” Yvette poured herself a cup of coffee, admiring the gold inlay on the cup as she brought it to her lips.
“Three centuries is not long for my kind. We were still newlyweds.”
The scent of orange blossoms infiltrated the cracks in the window frame and under the door, filling the room with shadow memories. Sidra did not know before that a heart could shrivel to the size of a raisin and die and yet leave the rest of the body and spirit to live for centuries.
Yvette whistled low. “What happened?”
“We weren’t meant to fall in love, but we did. We tried to outrun the All Seeing’s plan for us, and we got snapped up in its teeth in the end.”
Yvette prodded her for more, but there was no reason to tell the details of her story. Spilling her heart like a common mortal who couldn’t control her emotions or mouth. And to a girl who knew nothing about love. Only the coarse, hard transaction of physical pleasure for money.
“I have to go out,” she said, suddenly unable to bear the antsy jitters in her blood. “Stay. Drink your coffee. Do not leave. You’ll be safe within these walls until I return. They’re safeguarded. But venture out and I cannot protect you.”
Yvette set her cup down. “Protect me against what?”
Sidra curled her lip and drew her finger across her neck. “Certain, torturous death.”
The breeze rustled the highest treetops, signifying an omen of change. Sidra sailed on the currents, a wisp of invisible smoke in a cloudless sky. The concealment spell she’d placed around the apartment was still as strong as the day she’d cast it, made of good, solid magic. The girl would be fine as long as she did as she was told and stayed inside. But with that one you never knew which impulse she would follow next. Was that why they’d been chained at the wrist on this journey? There was always a place for the unpredictable in life, but she didn’t like it. Not one bit.