The Glamourist (The Vine Witch #2)(39)
“Did he name the thing he was after?”
Yvette had always thought the attack strange but chalked it up to the man’s drug habit. “He kept yelling at me for the map. What map? Where was I going to go? I told him I didn’t have one, but he started hitting me again.” Yvette wiped a tear from her cheek. “That’s when I fell on the floor. While he ripped everything out of the wardrobe, I recited the words to a spell I’d made up. Next thing I know, a pair of scissors from the vanity go flying at him, pointed end first. Stabbed him right in the neck. The blood went everywhere, so I ran.”
“She was also attacked two days ago,” Elena added.
“The day after Tante gave me the book.”
“That man demanded a key from her. At the time we thought it a random mugging, but it couldn’t be a coincidence.”
“A key? You’re certain?”
Yvette and Elena both confirmed it with a nod.
“A key. A map.” Alexandre held his hand over the journal, as if trying to read its energy. “Certainly, appropriate words to describe a book of ciphers. But for what purpose? If it is a key, then what does it open? How does one find the matching lock? If it’s a map, where does it lead? And how does one get there?”
The front door rattled, making Yvette jump out of her chair. A customer in a black shawl peered through the glass and frowned before reading the sign and moving on. The interruption shook the shop’s owner out of his reverie, and he slid the book back to its owner. He scrutinized her jawline once more, this time daring to touch the scar tissue.
“There is a method for removing the étouffer,” he said, as if daring Yvette’s curiosity. “We could do it now, if you like.”
“Would that be wise before we know her lineage?” Elena asked. “I checked her lifecycle record. Her birth is written down, but she was never officially registered as any type of witch. And, strangely, her parents’ names have been erased. There’s no way of knowing what type of magic we would be setting free.”
“One can’t run from whom they were meant to be,” he said, as if peering at some hidden location inside Elena. “The transformation, the struggle between light and dark, that is what propels life forward. That metamorphosis is one’s purpose for existing.” His eyes scanned the space above Elena’s head as if he were reading newsprint. “It can feel like one is trapped or been sent into the murky water never to swim free,” he added, “but there is a place to rise and see clearly again.”
“Wait, are we still talking about me?” Yvette asked. “Because if this muzzle thing on my jaw is blocking my magic, I definitely want it removed. Just tell me how.”
“The one spell she’s mastered killed a man. Do you really want to uncork her powers and let them fly without any hint of which direction the magic will go? I’ve seen malevolent magic at work, monsieur. I do not wish to revisit it again.”
“Oh là là, Elena. You think I’m going to be as mad as that old demon-loving bat in the cellar? Thanks so much.”
“Of course not. But it would be reckless to ignore the Pandora-esque danger of not knowing the history of your bloodline first.”
“But I don’t even know who my parents were,” Yvette pleaded.
“And neither does Alexandre. Which means there’s something strange going on. Something someone tried very hard to hide, which makes me wonder why.”
“You’re correct; I cannot detect her lineage until the magic is free,” Alexandre interjected. “Which is why I suggest we remove the étouffer and have a look.”
“I second the motion,” Yvette said, eagerly sitting forward.
Thief, gutter rat, prostitute, murderer—she’d heard it all. Absorbed it, lived it, become it. But for the first time in her life she was filled with the sense that she was worth more. This moment had value greater than gold, she could feel it, and so she thrust out her jaw with the conviction of the recently converted. “Do it,” she said.
“We’ll need candles.” Alexandre reached in a drawer behind the counter while Elena closed the drapes in the front window and then cleared a space in the middle of the shop floor by pushing a pair of tables and an ottoman out of the way.
“What should I do?” Yvette asked.
“Stand here.” Elena directed her to the center of an invisible circle on the floor that she’d paced out by walking fully around the open space. Alexandre returned bearing four candles, each with a different colored ribbon tied around it, and a blonde-haired porcelain doll in full dress and petticoat. Elena lifted a wicker basket and removed a silver letter opener with a questioning glance aimed at the shopkeeper. When he nodded, she adopted it as her athame. With the tool she directed the flow of energy in the circle in a counterclockwise motion while Alexandre entered and began placing the candles on the floor, one for each cardinal direction.
The way the witch and wizard worked together without speaking, simply knowing what needed to be done next from a lifetime of experience, sent a snaking vine of envy slithering over Yvette’s heart. But soon she would be able to do that magic too. She just knew it.
Alexandre asked Yvette to take the doll and draw a line on its face with a smear of blood to represent her scar.
“Where do I get that from?”