The Glamourist (The Vine Witch #2)(72)
“What do you mean it’s off-limits? I wouldn’t advise getting in the habit of turning away one of your best customers.”
“I’m sorry, madame, but the Underworld is closed at this time for a private party.” The waiter, dressed in the costume of a red devil with a pointed tail and horns, made it clear he would no longer argue the point.
“Very well, we’ll take Hell.”
“This way, madame.”
Elena and Jean-Paul exchanged matching raised eyebrows as Alexandre took Marion’s arm and escorted her down the hall.
The corridor glowed orange and black, as if the fires of Hades licked at the customers’ heels. A few feet down it led to a room similarly outfitted with fat candles that shone behind orange theater gels in the shape of flames. Sconces had been stuffed with a light sulfur-infused incense that added the distinct scent of damnation, while a piano played a sardonic tune, mocking the listener with the occasional off-key note. And yet Elena observed how everyone seemed to be having a great time. Dancing and drinking and devil-may-care laughter filled the room with the atmosphere of a doomsday party. Even Marion swayed to the music as she ordered a bottle of champagne from the red devil.
“Maman, we’re not here to entertain ourselves.”
“I know, dear. But I always order a bottle of the bubbly. It’s expected.”
Jean-Paul shook his head in disbelief at his mother. “How often do you come here?”
“Oh, once or twice a week.” She picked up a menu designed to look like a Ouija board and coyly fanned herself with it. “It has a certain energy I find exhilarating.”
Six months ago, Jean-Paul likely would have stormed out of such a place, scorning any homage to the paranormal. Life with Elena had opened his eyes to other worlds, ones he was not so quick to dismiss anymore. He turned to her with a resigned look and asked, “Is she right? Is there supernatural energy here?”
For the most part the cabaret was a mortal gathering place for vice, but in the corners, under the eaves, and in the wispy cobwebs suspended from the ceiling, a thread of magic wove itself into the atmosphere, imbuing the space with a tinge of genuine sorcery. “There are witches here. But I don’t think we need to worry about them. Their energy is relaxed, cheerful.”
“And drunk,” Alexandre said, pointing at a man and woman in the corner laughing at an imp brandishing a lit sparkler as though it were a sword. “You can tell by the warp in their auras. But there is another witch somewhere nearby. The energy is much sterner.”
“We need to find a way downstairs,” Elena said. “Now.”
“What fun! The caper continues,” Marion said, clasping her hands.
Before Jean-Paul could stuff his mother’s enthusiasm back in the bottle, a commotion erupted in the corridor between Heaven and Hell.
“Stop that man!”
Elena jumped from her seat. “I think I just saw Henri.”
More than a scuffle, the disturbance outside Hell was quickly turning into an all-out brawl. In the middle of it stood Henri, surrounded by four thuggish-looking devils in cheap suits. Were they after the book? Henri pushed off one man and made it a step closer to the door before a second one dragged him back and punched him in the stomach.
“Jean-Paul, we have to do something,” Elena said as a crowd closed in on the scene.
“Short of aiming a fire hose, I’m not sure what I can do against a mob.”
And then they had him. Henri was pinned against the front door. His nose was bleeding and his right eye had begun to swell. Before Elena’s mind could land on the right words for a spell, a burly sort of man parted the crowd. He got to the middle of the floor and reached down to pick up a pistol. Each of his fingers was adorned with a ring. The rag-and-bone man.
“Looks like you dropped something, boy.” The man made sure to point the gun at Henri’s face as he spoke. “But you always did have clumsy fingers when it came to the game.”
“He was always better than all of us, and you know it.”
Atop the stairs, Yvette stood outside the room to Heaven. She glared at Rings without a hint of fear or forgiveness in her eyes. The onlookers bent their necks to see who had spoken, then held their hands over their mouths in wonder as she began to glow ever so softly.
“No, Yvie! Go. Get out!”
Yvette ignored Henri’s plea as she walked down the stairs, her skin pulsing.
“Your boyfriend here sold you out.” The heads of the crowd turned in unison back to Rings. “Led us right to you. Then he stole your book and tried to backstab me and the crew.”
“Let him go.”
“He’s got to pay the price, Yvette. Those are the rules.” Rings pressed the gun to Henri’s forehead. He grinned at Yvette, then pulled the trigger. No hesitation, no warning, just a squeeze. A woman screamed, and a beat later another laughed when the barrel on the gun began playing “Clair de Lune” as it turned slowly around like the drum on a music box.
“You threatened me with a toy?” Rings lashed out, hitting Henri on the temple with the butt of the gun. The young man crumpled to the floor as Rings threw the useless weapon at him.
Yvette exploded with light, illuminating as if she were powered by a thousand electric bulbs.
The crowd cheered, ready to be entertained. “A féerie! Oh, bravo.”