The Glamourist (The Vine Witch #2)(53)
“Is it some kind of foreign language or magical symbolism?” she asked.
Alexandre held his hands palms up. “That is the reigning mystery. I’ve cross-referenced it against all the literature at my disposal, including The Book of the Seven Stars. Oddly, none of these, what I presume are letters invented for the purpose of communication, show up in any of the resource material.”
While they spoke, Henri hovered over Elena’s shoulder. The glass knife still rested over a small section of the page, magnifying a few of the microscopic symbols. He pressed in closer, encroaching on Elena’s aura space.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’ve seen that one before,” he said, pointing.
“Henri, that’s highly unlikely.”
“That one too, maybe.” Henri opened his satchel and spread his portfolio on the table next to the paper. He shuffled through his drawings until he found one of a woman kneeling in a bed of flowers and a man standing beside her, kissing her cheek. “This is a rough sketch I did for practice, trying to copy Tulane’s style. But look here.” He tapped on the lower right-hand corner of the drawing. “He’s put these types of symbols on most of his later work. I always figured they were decorative. Embellishments. Like a signature or something. They’re fun to draw, you know.”
Elena compared the crude drawing to the magnified markings. They truly were similar. Alexandre evidently thought so too.
“I think we need to find this Tulane and have a chat with him,” the old witch said.
“You can’t,” Henri said. “He died. Years ago. That’s why his art is worth so much now. They’ve got three of them hanging in the Musée Couloir.”
Elena collapsed onto the cot. “Our first real breakthrough and we hit a literal dead end.”
“Not necessarily,” Alexandre said. “As I recall, there may yet be someone who can shed some light on the book’s mysterious past.”
Elena sat up. “The woman who raised her. Of course.”
“I think at this juncture it would be prudent for us to drop in on the proprietor of the—what was it? Le Rêve?—and get information about the girl’s family relations.”
“Tante Isadora?” Henri pulled a face. “Have you met her? You’d have better luck trying to charm a snake to dance in your hand.”
“I have not had the pleasure of her acquaintance,” Alexandre said, “but now that I know you are familiar with the madame, I can depend on you to introduce us properly. Gather your belongings, Henri. Off we go.” Alexandre put his hat back on. “And by the way, getting a snake to dance in your palm is child’s play for most witches,” he said, giving his derby a pat.
With firm resolve, the trio set out on the five-minute trek across the butte. Elena and Alexandre followed at a distant pace behind Henri to absolve anyone of the idea they were together.
Alexandre cleared his throat and took Elena’s arm in his so they might talk quietly. “How fares your neck?”
“You saw that, did you?”
“Difficult to miss an elemental taking a swipe at one of three people inside an arcane circle.” His cane tapped steadily along the sidewalk, tip-tap. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the bifurcation in your aura, would it?”
“I didn’t realize my predicament was so obvious.”
“The rift has grown wider, even in the time since yesterday. The elementals must have sensed the tension in your aura. One can be at peace within one’s own chaos, but not in another’s, which this business with the young woman is turning out to be. That swipe may have been their way of saying you’re risking imbalance. Whatever it is that’s causing the split, they’re letting you know you must eventually relinquish one side or the other before irreparable harm is done to your aura and power.”
Elena hadn’t quite understood what was happening to her at first. But she knew now what he said was true. Her family bloodline was demanding she return within its fold, tugging against the vine magic she’d been given by proxy through Grand-Mère and Grand-Père. She could feel both sides pulling her energy in two.
Ahead, Henri walked to the top of the hill, lit a cigarette as prearranged, and turned right down a side street.
“Ah, here we are,” she said as they strolled up to the corner where Le Rêve stood at the top of a steep incline. In the glare of daylight, the partially rural setting and whitewash exterior did little to enforce its reputation as a bawdy cabaret. However, the overwhelming odor of alcohol infused within the wood, plaster, and dirty cobblestones did. The place reeked of nightly drunken abandon even before they’d entered.
Two men playing poker at a sidewalk table under a nearby tree set their cards down when Alexandre and Elena approached the door. One glanced over his shoulder at them, his bushy mustache highlighting a grim expression. Police? One of the men tried to catch her eye, so Elena ducked inside the cabaret behind Alexandre, hoping they hadn’t recognized her.
The main room of Le Rêve was empty and dimly lit, except for the corona of sunlight seeping in around two small shuttered windows in the front and a pair of gaslit sconces hung over the bar in the back. Elena’s eyes generally adjusted quickly to the dark, but Alexandre, whose sensitive vision allowed him to read auras, asked for a moment so that he might not trip on the unseen step or obstacle before his pupils dilated properly.