The Glamourist (The Vine Witch #2)(74)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The eerie glow of green flames pulsated as they shot out, striking a second wall and setting it afire. Even a mortal’s dim perception of magic appreciated there was only death to be found from sticking around to see what would happen next. Shrieks of panic ensued, followed by a rush for the exit.

“He’s here,” Yvette yelled. “We’ve got to get out or he’ll kill us all.”

Smoke thick with the smell of sulfur and brimstone snaked through the hallway.

And yet.

Elena watched the flames lick the walls, climbing, searching, and yet not actually devouring the structure. The flames appeared to singe the wallpaper here and there, yes, but it was spellfire. A sorcerer’s trick. The smoke was real, an added touch to sell the illusion and empty the place of witnesses, but the fire had no appetite.

Elena stuck her hand in the flame. “It’s only a spell. The comté isn’t going to do anything that might destroy the book.”

“Where’s Henri?” Yvette darted in and out of the corridor, covering her mouth against the stench. “He was just here.”

Elena squinted through the smoke, finding it harder to see or breathe. They had to leave soon or the place really would become a death trap.

“Elena, we can’t stay any longer,” shouted Jean-Paul as he watched his mother and Alexandre rush toward the exit.

“We have to find Henri.” Elena poked her head inside Hell while Jean-Paul checked behind the giant funeral urn one more time. Her eyes watered and her lungs burned as she called out for the young man. “Damn the book, Henri. It isn’t worth anyone’s life.”

Just when she didn’t think she could swallow another breath of smoke, Henri ran out of Hell holding up the book. “Found it!” he shouted triumphantly. Yvette and Jean-Paul joined them and ran for the door and the sweet promise of fresh air. At the exit, a ball of flame burst in a shower of green sparks and black smoke. When the haze settled, the comté appeared before them in a black robe, like a cheap magician in a disappearing act. Two devils stood at his side, pointing pistols while he balanced a ball of green flame in his hand.

“And then all the rats ran for the door,” the comté said. He tossed the ball of fire in the air. Behind them, new flames leaped ten feet high, only these were no illusion. Real heat from the fire pressed against their backs, lifting the hair at their collars and cutting off their only other way out.

“What do you want?” Yvette screamed.

“The book, obviously.” The comté narrowed his eyes at Henri. “Now, or I will bring the roof down on all of you.”

Henri shook his head, stubbornly refusing. The floor trembled as a green flame leaped up behind him, scorching the back of his jacket as he ducked to evade the heat. He slid the book out of his pocket, looking from it to Yvette, not sure what to do. He held it out toward the flame.

“Henri, no! It’s the only thing I have left of my mother.”

The comté stretched his hand out, green light arcing, ready to leap from his fingers. “Give me the damn book or I will burn her!”

“Let him have it,” Elena said when Henri threatened to hold the book closer to the fire.

Yvette fumed. “Are you crazy? I’d rather see it burn.”

“You don’t need it anymore,” Elena said, imparting enough calm so Henri and Yvette would trust her. It was the only way. “You know who you are, Yvette. You know what you were meant to be. That’s what you wished for, and now you know. You’re Cleo’s daughter. One of the Fée. No matter what, you were given that much.”

“But . . .”

“We need to give him the book, Yvette.”

Yvette’s face perspired from the rising heat. Elena could see her struggling, but then the young woman nodded. She grabbed the book from Henri and shoved it at the comté. “Here, and I hope you choke on it,” she said.

“At last.” The comté, teeming with the bloated euphoria of triumph, waved his hand. “Extinxit ignem.” The archaic spellwords dowsed the fire and cleared the air of the lung-stinging smoke. And though that immediate threat was extinguished, his two devils kept their guns pointed while the comté greedily licked his finger and peeled back the first page to check for authenticity. He wet his finger again, the same as he had the first time Elena was introduced to him, and turned another page.

“There should be seven pages with gold lettering,” Elena said, encouraging him to check them all. “We had only begun to decipher them. But perhaps you already know how to do that?”

“Of course I do,” he snapped before turning another page. “I’ve spent eighteen years waiting and preparing for this moment.”

“So you could rob a young woman of her one and only tenuous connection with her family?”

“If her mother wasn’t such a coward, she could have visited anytime.”

Yvette exchanged a look of confusion with Elena. Was it possible? Did he know where her mother was? Was she still there, still alive?

“May I ask how you learned about the book?” Elena watched as the comté licked his finger and turned another page. “It was kept hidden in a wardrobe, forgotten for years.” The longer she could keep him engaged, the better their chance of walking out the front door.