The Glamourist (The Vine Witch #2)(27)
Yvette reached out to pet the cat and reassure him when Elena stopped her.
“There, hold your hand just where it is,” she said. “Let it hover over the cat’s back. Now I want you to concentrate and see if you can make him lift his fur. If you’re a kinetic witch, the command ought to come through naturally. Just breathe in and out—feel the energy rise beneath your fingertips.”
Yvette held her hand steady as she closed her eyes to concentrate. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. She pictured the cat’s fur standing on end. A slight tickle reached her fingers. Was it working? Her heart opened to the possibility as she squinted to take a peek.
The magic she thought she’d felt was only the cat’s whiskers brushing against her skin as his fur remained as smooth as ever.
“It’s okay,” Elena said. “We’ll try something else.”
And for the next hour they did just that, trying everything from lighting a candle with a snap of her fingers to boiling water in the washbasin with a simple fire incantation, all without luck.
Frustrated, Yvette returned to her mother’s book to look at the pages again, wondering if she was ever meant to be a witch at all. “Do you think she made it up? Could this all be a bunch of nonsense?” What she didn’t ask was if her mother might have been afflicted. Mad. Locked away in an asylum.
“It’s not nonsense, Yvette. There’s something there.”
Relieved by Elena’s answer, Yvette handed her the book when she held her hand out. “Sometimes I can feel the energy. Almost like the book is alive and trying to tell me something.”
“It’s infused with magic,” Elena said, studying the binding. “I just don’t know what kind yet. Perhaps something meant only for you. Which makes me think we’re going to require some professional help.”
“I thought that’s what you were.”
“Oh, no. I’m quite good with fundamental magic and anything to do with plants, but my intuition tells me we might need someone who specializes in the outer parameters of the supernatural to sort this out. As luck would have it, I may know the perfect witch for the job.”
“Sounds good to me.” Yvette grabbed her stolen velvet as if ready to head out the door.
Elena closed the book and handed it back. “I was going to suggest I go alone, but I think you’re right. The magic bound to that book seems especially attuned to you, so you should probably come with me.”
“Right. Let’s go see this witch friend of yours.”
Elena stood up and tugged her jacket taut over her skirt. “Two things. One, I’m afraid my time is up. I have plans for the evening and if I don’t leave now, I’ll be missed. And two, we have to be smart about this, Yvette. You’re still a fugitive. Before we go anywhere, we’re going to have to do something about your appearance.” She pointed to Yvette’s hair and clothes, then tapped her finger against her jaw to indicate the telltale scar on the lower cheek as well. “We cannot take any more chances of you being spotted in the city.”
Yvette glanced down at her outfit. There was nothing wrong with the way she looked for the butte. No one offered a second glance at someone dressed in an old curtain with harlequin tights under their skirt in this neighborhood. But of course, a professional witch was probably going to be located in the heart of the city, which meant she’d stand out like the misfit she was. And standing out meant getting caught. Going back to prison now, when she was on the verge of discovering the secret from the mother she never knew, was not going to happen.
“All right,” she said, agreeing to the terms. She picked up the pot on the stove and blew out a speck of dirt, determined to settle into her shabby new surroundings until she could emerge in public as someone other than Yvette Lenoir, the murderess with the golden hair and unsightly scar.
Monsieur Whiskers curled up on the cot as Elena rubbed her fingers together to light a fire in the stove before waving au revoir.
CHAPTER TEN
Now that she thought about it, the scar was unusual. A pale mark that ran along the girl’s left cheek and jaw. Not thin, as though made with a knife, but like someone had swiped the skin with a stick of chalk. Elena had never asked about it out of politeness, but she’d always harbored a curiosity. Naturally, the imagination made up the worst stories, though with Yvette any one of them could be true. Perhaps when this book mystery was settled, she’d work up the nerve to ask about the circumstances.
“My dear, I don’t believe you’ve heard a word I’ve said.” Marion smiled coyly as she wrapped her fox stole over her shoulder and clipped it in place by the clasp implanted in the animal’s teeth. “Oh, you are in love, aren’t you? Daydreaming about the big day? We’ll be sure to ask Madame Fontaine if she has any insights about your matrimonial future. She’s quite good, you’ll see. Oh, here we are.”
Elena smiled wanly and stepped out of the carriage onto the quiet residential street. A halo of soft lamplight landed on the cobblestones in front of a white marble facade with a black door. Petals from a faded geranium fluttered down from a wrought-iron flower box bolted beneath the window overhead. While curious to see what passed for a spirit medium in the mortal world, Elena’s mind had been elsewhere, otherwise occupied with thoughts of foreign magic that might explain the strange notations in Yvette’s book. But all that would have to wait until this ridiculous outing was over.