The Glamourist (The Vine Witch #2)(66)
“Telephone? For me?”
“You are Mademoiselle Boureanu? The woman in the dragonfly dress, yes?” he asked.
“Yes, I suppose I am,” she said and released the bird.
The ma?tre d’h?tel escorted her back inside the restaurant to a small wooden phone booth beside his station. She hardly knew what to do with the thing, but she’d seen people lift the receiver to their ears before, so that’s what she did. As if by magic, Alexandre’s voice spoke to her from inside the odd contraption as soon as she said, “Hello?”
“We have a problem,” he said. “The book is gone.”
“Gone? How?” Elena asked, raising her voice slightly to make sure the sound would carry through the wires to the other end.
“Stolen by that duplicitous thief Henri, that’s how. I do hate to interrupt your evening, but I thought you’d want to know right away.”
Elena felt a headache coming on. “He’s going to try and bargain for Yvette. He must have lied about knowing where they’re keeping her, or at least how to get in touch with her captors.”
“Would these be the same people who tried to kill him earlier?”
“Almost certainly.”
“Then good riddance.”
“You don’t mean that,” Elena said and turned her back to the ma?tre d’h?tel when it became obvious he was listening in on her conversation. “That scamp, pretending to escort me safely to dinner when instead he’d meant all along to steal the book and march straight into the lion’s den.”
“Shall we hex him?”
The thought was tempting. Instead she sighed into the receiver, feeling the effect of the jinni’s wish still churning in the ether around her, compelling her to act. “He cannot hand over that book. Not yet,” she said, shutting her eyes in defeat. “I’m coming back to the shop. There may be a way to find him and, I presume, Yvette, if fate decides we’ve been played for fools long enough.”
“Ah, good luck with that,” he said. “I’ll leave the lamp burning in the window.”
Elena returned to her table and broke the bad news to Jean-Paul and his mother. With the eyes of the restaurant already keen to watch for more signs of disruption from the trio, there was little room for an open argument. Elena apologized and stood. Jean-Paul, as she expected, excused himself and followed, but then Marion did the same with a broad gesture of mea culpa to her dining peers before doing a quick-step to catch up with the couple on the sidewalk.
“What in heaven’s name was that about?” she asked, showing her temper as she stamped her foot on the pavement.
“Maman, I’m so sorry. Please, go back inside and finish your meal.”
Her head turned, zeroing in on her son. “And further humiliate myself by eating alone? As it is, I won’t be able to return for a month.” Then she pursed her lips and took aim at Elena. “And please enlighten me about what could be so important that you would walk out on your fiancé and his mother during a celebration dinner? Honestly, the two of you have been up to something all week long, and I demand to know what it is.”
Jean-Paul opened his mouth to speak but seemingly found himself without a defense. Elena stepped forward, lowering her voice when she spotted the ma?tre d’h?tel once again hovering suspiciously near the doorway.
It was time for the truth.
“My ability to remain a winemaker has been called into question this week.” She held up a hand when Jean-Paul moved to interrupt. “In a sense, I’m being blackmailed by the Ministry of Lineages and Licenses to turn over a fugitive, a woman with whom I escaped prison when I was wrongly arrested for murder. They would like to have her back in custody, and if I don’t help them do so, they are going to ruin my career and the reputation of Chateau Renard.”
“But there is no such thing as a Ministry of Lineages and Licenses.”
“There is if you’re a witch.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“A witch. Which I am. And now I must return to the curiosity shop where I’ve spent my day so that I might locate a stolen book, most likely one belonging to one of the Fée.”
“A what?” Jean-Paul asked.
“A fairy. Yes, I’m convinced that’s what Yvette is. But she’s in trouble, and so I really must go.”
Jean-Paul and his mother exchanged glances as the downpour of supernatural information rained on them. And yet, a second later Marion nodded, pulled up her gloves, and stuck out her hand to call her carriage.
“Well, what are we waiting for? It would be unconscionable to abandon a friend, let alone one of the Fée, if one knows they’re in trouble,” she said with the heart of a believer, and the three of them clambered into the cabriolet and headed for Alexandre’s shop.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Henri had the cab drop him off at the intersection across from Hell’s Mouth. At the foot of the butte the streetlamps were spaced far enough apart that he had a fifty-fifty chance of slipping through the alley without being recognized. Rings would know by now he wasn’t dead, of course. A pity, given the obvious advantage of surprise at being a walking dead man.
He double-checked the weight of the book in his jacket pocket, then darted across the street, dodging the cars and fiacres racing to and from the city center. Already he could tell by the mood of the gathering crowd the money would be flowing like a stream through the streets tonight.