The Glamourist (The Vine Witch #2)(84)
Yvette glanced at Elena, hoping for advice. “What do I do?”
“It’s what your heart wished for when you weren’t looking,” Elena said, taking Yvette’s hand. “That’s the truest kind of magic. Be with your family, and discover your lineage.”
Even as she said it, Yvette knew the truth. To know her mother and father and learn their magic was what she’d waited for all her life. She just hadn’t counted on the moment requiring so much courage to say yes.
She let go of Elena’s hand and, as if mustering the nerve to jump off a cliff, nodded at her mother. “I choose to go with you.”
As soon as she spoke the words, Monsieur Whiskers jumped from Tulane’s arms into hers. She cuddled the cat against her chin, relieved to have something alive and warm to bury her face against. She looked around at the faces of the people, witch and mortal alike, who had helped her, each in their own way, to arrive at this moment of having everything she’d ever dreamed of. They smiled at her, eager to see her take the next step, and so Yvette said her goodbyes, shaking hands and thanking everyone for their wishes of good luck. But when she came to Henri, her heart nearly somersaulted with regret. Aside from Tante Isadora, she’d known Henri the longest of anyone.
“Oh, Henri, I have to go.”
“Couldn’t you stay just a little while longer?” He reached in his jacket and pulled out the leather wallet. “Or I could go with you. I can pay.” His hopeful gaze darted to Cleo and Tulane. “I have the money,” he said, offering the bills he’d taken from the comté. “Take it.”
“Your paper money has no value in my father’s realm,” Cleo said, her words imbued with sympathy for the damage being done to the young man’s heart. “And it is not a place where mortals easily adapt.”
Disappointment came naturally to les enfants who haunted the back lanes of the butte. Always had. But to see it float in Henri’s eyes now nearly had Yvette changing her mind.
His offering hung between them a second longer before he put his money away.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“No, you did it, Yvie. Like you always said you would. You found your magic.” He wiped the corner of his eye with his cuff before reaching into his satchel. “I think I captured you best in this one,” he said, handing her a charcoal sketch. “Maybe you could take it with you instead so you’ll think of me now and then?”
Yvette recognized the palm-size drawing—the girl sitting on the steps of the butte, overlooking the city. They were practically still kids then, yet he’d shown her without a trace of a scar. The omission was why she hadn’t been sure the picture was of her the first time she saw it. But now she wondered if he’d ever seen the flaw in the first place.
She took the sketch and waited for him to meet her eye again. “Henri, you can’t stay in the city. They’ll come after you. Run. Go somewhere Rings and his goons can never find you.”
“But—”
“Promise me.”
The truth seemed to settle inside Henri. He let out a breath and shrugged the satchel up on his shoulder. “I always did want to take a ride on one of those big steamer ships across the ocean,” he said, as if knowing he was being forced to accept a consolation prize compared to the one standing before him.
On impulse she leaned forward and kissed him. With both hands he held her face and kissed her back. Then they both promised they’d find each other again. Nothing was forever, not even goodbye. She folded the kiss and the promise into her heart, tucked the drawing between her and the cat, then told her parents she was ready to go.
Inspector Nettles stood before her brushing his thumb over his fingertips, as if ridding himself of the feel of being left empty-handed. She remembered then about the stowaway jinni hiding in the bottle between her breasts and waved at the inspector as he turned to leave.
“Au revoir, mademoiselle,” he said and doffed his hat at her in defeat before turning on his heel and disappearing through the fog at the door.
At the thought of truly being free, Yvette’s body filled with buoyant light. Her skin glowed ever so softly as a humming energy surrounded her. Already she could feel a tug inside her heart, beckoning her home to a place she’d never been. Her mother leaned in and asked her to picture that particular glimmer of light when the sun glints off a ripple of water. The image caught in her mind, her bones and veins fizzed with glittery energy, and the next thing she knew she was skimming across a wave of ultraviolet into the realm of the Fée to live under a roof of stars.
CHAPTER FORTY
Minister Durant blinked back, his mouth forming a small O shape as he read the form drawn up by Jean-Paul and signed by Elena.
“But this is absurd.” He leaned forward and thumbed through the codebook. “There is no precedent for this.”
“Oh, but there is,” Jean-Paul countered. “LeBlanc in 1789 and Gaultier, 1791.”
When he hadn’t been able to find an obvious appeal to her dilemma through the law, Jean-Paul had followed a hunch and searched the official lifecycle records. It was seeing Yvette and her mother reunited that had given him the idea to take a look at Elena’s genealogy. Though with Elena, sifting through her complicated lineage was like tugging on a thread and having a lifetime of loose notions come undone.