The Glamourist (The Vine Witch #2)(50)

“What is it?” He sniffed at the pot.

“A healing balm.”

“I suppose you think you’re a witch like all the rest?”

“Yes.”

He licked his lips and nodded. “I think I believe you,” he said and lifted his shirt again.

The wound wasn’t life-threatening, though it was a good thing she showed up when she did or the next one surely would have been. He applied the balm as she spoke a quick healing spell that seemed to make him flinch more than the medicine.

“Now, tell me where Yvette is.”

“Don’t know where they took her. I only know they’ve been looking for her.”

“They, Henri?”

He gently pressed his palm to his side, then touched it again as if surprised the wound no longer bled or, presumably, hurt. She snapped her fingers to get his attention back on track.

“The man who tried to kill me is one of them. And the boss who told him to come after me too. They’ve been watching for Yvie ever since she escaped prison.” He blinked and pointed at Elena. “Wait, you’re one of the women she ran away with. I remember seeing your picture in the paper next to hers. You murdered some winemaker.”

“I was cleared of those charges, thank you. Now, tell me who this boss is and what he wants with Yvette.”

Henri went silent, his eyes checking the muddy road in either direction to see who might be watching. He bore the same emotional wall around him as Yvette, built up from living on the streets and learning from necessity how to deflect danger.

“Henri, if you don’t tell me what you know, we’ll never be able to help Yvette, so speak up.” Elena conjured a prickly ball of energy in her palm, the light snapping and hissing at the young man in a suitably menacing manner. “Maybe you aren’t a friend of hers after all.”

“Okay! I sometimes do work for a guy named Rings.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of him. A thief.”

“Yeah, well, he got wind that someone important was looking for Yvie and offering a reward. Said if we spread out and kept our eyes open, we’d be able to find her before anyone else did, on account she used to run with the gang.”

“What important person?”

“I don’t know, but he’s obsessed. I think she stole a rare book from him. Must have been real old or something, because that was part of the deal. Get the girl and the book.”

So, just as they had suspected, the attack on Yvette when they’d first reunited hadn’t been a random mugging on the street. They’d tried to get to her before, which meant the code in the book had to be hiding something of great worth.

The wheel on the flour mill behind them began to creak and turn, grinding on, reminding Elena of the time they’d already lost.

“Were you planning on abducting her too? Is that why you were waiting for her?”

“Me? I could’ve grabbed Yvie a dozen times if I’d wanted and turned her in. I was trying to protect her. That’s why I got jumped. Rings must have figured out I already knew where she was and didn’t tell no one.”

“Why not?”

Henri sheepishly reached in his satchel and removed his portfolio of sketches. Half were of Yvette. And they were quite good, the evidence of a young man’s infatuation.

“I couldn’t hurt Yvie that way. Maybe I thought about turning her in when I first heard about the money, sure. Who wouldn’t? But she’s my Mademoiselle Delacourt.”

Elena did a double take. “Your what?”

“My muse, my inspiration. She’s why I paint. Someday I hope to actually capture how beautiful she is on canvas. Like Monsieur Tulane did with his paintings.”

Elena looked closer. Yvette was delicately drawn with freckles and filament-thin eyelashes and blue veins under translucent skin. He was a decent artist, she supposed. But on second glance she noticed, too, the intimacy of the details in the sketches, the obvious voyeurism, the near worship of Yvette’s unique beauty.

He was in love with her. Or obsessed.

“Do you know where they took her?” Elena asked. “You must know something about this man who ordered her abduction.”

Henri shook his head. “Rings is the only one who knows his identity, and he didn’t tell any of us the rest of the plan. Probably wouldn’t have split the money, either.”

“What will they do to Yvette if they have her but not the book?”

Henri shrugged. “Don’t know. Rings said the buyer was dead set on it being both, though, so they’ll find a way to make her tell them where it is.”

“And you truly don’t know where they took her?”

“No, mademoiselle.”

She would have accused him of lying, except the boy had sincerity written all over his face. He truly did care about Yvette, which got her thinking again about the strange magic they’d unleashed in the girl. She was undeniably imbued with a supernatural energy. Yvette and the book.

Yes, whatever the book was meant to do, it wouldn’t, or perhaps couldn’t, do it without Yvette. Their magic was tied, one to the other.

Elena began to walk with purpose toward a tree-lined embankment that overlooked the city. There the great tower—wizard-made, if the rumors were true—loomed above the glitter and squalor below. Using it as her compass point, she followed the river to the left with her eye.