The Glamourist (The Vine Witch #2)(47)
She eyed the bird as it preened its feathers. Tentatively she lifted her hand to call it down, imagining the words she would whisper in its ear—she’s there in Le Maison Chavirée, dancing and singing as if she hadn’t a care in the world—when something in the lane pricked her instinct. The whiff of incense and coffee. The brass ting of a finger cymbal.
Following the impulse, she let her hand fall at her side and headed up the hill, skirting the great domed basilica looming over the top of the butte. She was sick of doubt and misjudgment and so she called on all her senses to home in on the thing pulling at her, wanting to feel certain she was after something that mattered. A few steps later her nose caught the scent of leaves in the seasonal process of losing their chlorophyll. But not just any leaves—grape leaves.
There, on a slope filled with rubbish, a single grapevine sagged against a retaining wall, its canes still laden with withering fruit. She’d nearly forgotten about the small vineyards that were once scattered across the butte until the spread of blight from the witch Celadine’s phylloxera curse took them a decade earlier. To discover this single survivor, an anomaly among the hodgepodge buildings, gaslights, and muddy lanes, seemed a near miracle. Elena gripped the hardened cane of the vine and closed her eyes, tapping into the energy of the plant even as the flow was retreating down to the roots after a summer of growth. She needed to feel that vibrancy and be reminded of her power again. But as hard as she tried, she could find no history in the vine, no memory, no trace of reciprocation between the roots and the soil, the leaf and sun. It was like the vine had simply materialized out of thin air. Perhaps it had.
Elena released the vine and opened her eyes. A smoky cloud heavy with the scent of frankincense wafted over the wall.
“Hello, Sidra.”
“As-salaam-alaykum.” Sidra reanimated and nodded her head in greeting. “Follow me,” she said, more as an order than an invitation.
The jinni’s robe billowed out behind her as she led Elena to the other end of the retaining wall to where a scarlet tent sat with its front flaps rolled open. A café table and two chairs had been centered on a woven rug. An offering of fist-size dates sat in a blue bowl atop the table. Sidra invited Elena to sit across from her. As she did, a waiter wearing a brown hooded robe seemed to appear from the ether to bring them coffee. He poured the light-brown blend from a brass dallah. Unlike any Elena had seen, the coffeepot had a long crescent-shaped spout like the bill of a shorebird. The server filled two decorative demitasse cups halfway. Sidra called the cups finjan and instructed Elena to drink but not drain the coffee inside.
“Your ruse worked like a charm,” Elena said, picking up her cup. “I was fully taken in by the rare appearance of the vine.”
“You were looking for a sign to guide you.” Sidra teased Elena with a knowing smile. “But I assure you it is real. I’m pleased to leave the vine where it is as a gift, if you think it wise.” Sidra pushed the plate of dates toward Elena. “Please, you will find the fruit is the best to be had.”
The tent, and everything in it, had to be a mirage, and yet it was real enough that Elena could taste the cardamom in the coffee and feel the leathery, sweet texture of the dates with her teeth.
“I’ve been suffering from a bit of doubt lately,” Elena said and set her cup down.
“It is the girl. She has always been trouble, that one.” Sidra took Elena’s nearly empty cup and swirled the dregs at the bottom around three times before covering it with the saucer and flipping it over. “She stole a wish, and now she’s affected the fate of those around her.”
Elena felt a tinge of guilt at the way she’d walked out on Yvette. It was true the girl was difficult at times. Ignorant, headstrong, impulsive. But she was also brave and resourceful and openhearted. And in the midst of transformation. They both were.
“Yvette mentioned you hadn’t meant to return to the city, that you’re possibly trapped here?”
“I swore never to return to this stinking place.” The light in Sidra’s eyes turned ominous as she glanced over her shoulder to scout the lane for threats. “That is what I mean. That girl, she compelled us here, and now all our fates are caught in the dog’s teeth of her wish.” Sidra tapped the overturned cup with her finger. “It seems we were all linked to the same chain of fate for good or ill in that prison. But this does not mean one may tug the chain in only the direction they wish to go.”
“The authorities have threatened to take away my status as a vine witch if I don’t turn Yvette in to them. But how can I?”
“You find this a difficult choice?” Sidra gave Elena’s saucer a quarter turn.
“She hasn’t had a chance at life yet, at least not the one she was supposed to have. Someone stifled her magic when she was a mere child. Yvette doesn’t even know what kind of powers she has. How can I take her future away from her?”
“But you can condemn your own future to save a murderer?”
“Apparently I’m being compelled by some jinni’s convoluted desert magic.”
Seemingly pleased with the logic, Sidra grinned, revealing her gold-inlay teeth. She turned Elena’s empty cup right side up again. The fine sediment that had settled in the bottom after Elena drank the coffee clung to the insides of the cup, forming a pattern. A pair of butterfly wings, symmetrically defined with a central body, revealed itself in the dregs.