ALSO BY LUANNE G. SMITH
The Vine Witch Series
The Vine Witch
The Glamourist
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2021 by Luanne G. Smith
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542019606
ISBN-10: 1542019605
Cover design by Micaela Alcaino
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
The perfume was long gone, the last drop dabbed against her skin years ago, yet the sweet scent from the jasmine lingered inside the bottle. The essence of a broken promise. All the tomorrows that would never be made to swirl in the mind by a single inhale. Close the eyes, breathe deep the sorrow of loss, and remember the dream of what might have been.
Sidra shifted inside the bottle, swirling languidly as she curled up at the bottom like a snake made of smoke and mournful regret. She could recline there for a thousand years, lost in memories of things past without a soul to disturb her. Safely shut up, she was free of her pursuers, free of the troubles of the world, free of obligation and pain.
A fingernail tapped against the glass. The noise disturbed the quiet like a clanging bell of a clock tower. She swore she would turn the girl to ash for breaking her hard-found peace.
Yvette wiggled the stopper loose. “Out,” she said.
The girl stepped away so that Sidra could no longer see her pale eye peering down at her through the neck of the bottle. The scent of Yvette’s cigarette smoke, however, wafted over the opening, stale and pungent. Sidra shrank away, refusing to acknowledge the interruption.
Another tap, only this time Yvette gave the bottle a shake too. Sidra’s anger flared. Her melancholia dissolved as her ire churned, her heart and mind spinning, ready to spring forward. She shot out of the bottle, a creature born of fire and air, a funnel of roiling energy, soaring on unseen currents that yielded to her command. Willing herself visible, her spirit, mind, flesh, and bone coalesced in the open air until the weight of gravity anchored her animated body to the earth. Or wherever this light-filled realm was that she’d smuggled herself into.
“I thought you jinn had to obey whoever opened your bottle.”
“And I thought you were forbidden to smoke in the home of your ancestors.” Sidra advanced on Yvette to puncture her self-assuredness, but the girl no longer retreated. Not now that she’d stepped into the river of her free-flowing Fée powers.
“Guess we’re breaking all the rules today.” Yvette glowed softly as she stubbed her cigarette out in a golden chalice. “Grand-Père found out you’re here. He’s requested a ‘chat’ by the stream.”
Curse that Oberon. She’d conjured a way to escape the stinking city of infidels despite the magic bond imprisoning her there, and now this fairy king could ruin everything with his meddling. But this, too, was partially foretold by the fire.
Sidra waited for Yvette to gather her cigarettes and lighter from her vanity and stuff them deep in her pockets, then followed the spritely girl outside her grotto and through the forest. The path stretched out beneath a canopy of trees festooned with moss and lichen that smelled of fresh green growth. Bulbous red-and-white mushrooms sprouted in the soil at their feet while tiny frogs croaked in the undergrowth. Bluebells tinkled a subtle tune in the wake of their passing.
Sidra despised every step through the damp air. She craved the searing heat and brittle-bone dryness of the desert sirocco. She yearned for the company of lizards with their beaded skin as they skimmed over grains of sand to find shelter from the midday sun. A ransom she would pay to sit cross-legged once more beneath the palm trees with their sparse leaves worn as a crown. Now those were trees that made you appreciate life, not these water-fat monstrosities that dropped their shiny green leaves in one’s path like cheap souvenirs for the taking.
“They said to look for him by the standing stones.” Yvette levitated off the ground a mere foot to see over the top of a flowering bush, her shining and glittering nothing but an added boast. The girl had recently learned how to use her powers to rise in the air and showed off her skill at every opportunity. As if traveling on air currents were anything but child’s play. Jinn were born on the air. Unseen. Free to fly wherever the wind took them in whatever shape they wished.
The chattering of tiny winged creatures hiding behind tufts of moss and lumps of stone prompted Sidra to lift the hem of her caftan in disgust so that the beastly things wouldn’t hitch on. If she’d known the insufferable beings inhabited the forest like lice, she might have thought twice about her plan to escape to the Fée lands. But no, she’d not been ready to confront her enemy. The one who’d entrapped her in the city. Not yet. And so she had to suffer in this hideous realm for as long as it took.
A leathery-faced imp flew in her face and squirted nectar at her from a plump flower head he’d plucked from the path. She swatted the thing away. The touch of her skin sizzled its wings off in a puff of smoke. She took a small pleasure from the act, knowing she had such an effect on the nuisance beings.
Yvette pointed to the circle of standing stones. Her gauzy new clothes, much too elegant for a sharmoota, shifted in the breeze, clinging to her body like second skin. Another one of their fairy tricks because she knew the girl had slipped several bulky items in her pockets, yet there was no proof of them in her lithe silhouette. Enviable magic. A pocket like that could come in handy for one with her sticky-fingered talents, but the girl no longer carried the air of a street thief. Cleared of a murder she hadn’t committed, Yvette had taken on the role of a daughter of the court with more dignity than Sidra might have expected. Grudgingly, she admired the girl’s audacity. She was foul-mouthed and inappropriate at every turn, but the jinni supposed she was merely true to the ways of her kind.
“Greetings.”
The tall woman, the queen of this place, hailed them with
a wave and a dagger smile from a throne made of interlaced willow branches. At her feet sat two of the tiny winged fiends, shelling hazelnuts and piling up the nutmeat in a woven basket. They hissed at Sidra as if they’d seen what she’d done to the third creature that ought to be there with them.
“Titania,” Yvette said and lowered her head.
“Nonsense. Call me Grand-Mère, child.”
The girl turned to face the man with the antlers sprouting out of his temple and bowed. “Oberon . . . er, Grand-Père.”
“Your luminescence is improving,” he said. “May you continue to shine.”
“Thank you.” Yvette still carried praise uneasily in her grubby hands, but she was getting better at accepting kind words without swatting them away like flies. The girl nudged her head toward Sidra. “I brought her like you asked.”
The jinni had stood tall and impassive during their formal exchanges. These trifling Fée with their featherlight bodies and narcissistic posturing were of little concern to her. All she cared about was the safe haven the occlusion of their realm provided from the rest of the world. Still, when Oberon finally turned his attention on her—his golden eyes lit with the hues of the forest, unblinking in the morning light—she could not deny she felt the full heft of a king’s prerogative weigh on her head. She had heard tales about the king of the Fée. How proud he was. How indulgent. She saw now the truth in the rumors as he twirled a wineglass in his hand before draining the contents in one gluttonous gulp.
Oberon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We are open to guests in our realm,” he began. “We are a social people by nature. Proud of our ways and gifts, which we freely share.” He set the glass down and leaned forward, brows like oak leaves tightening. “But we are not accustomed to harboring stowaways whose only wish is to hide from the troubles of the world.”
Sidra tried to remain impassive, but her upper lip curled of its own volition. “Was it the girl who revealed me?”
Oberon sat back as if amused by the question. “Do you think a king relies on his granddaughter to tell him what goes on in his own kingdom? Your presence made itself known like a hot ember among the snowdrops from the moment you arrived.”
She’d lost track of time. How long had he known she was there and done nothing? Weeks? Months? Had she made the mistake of underestimating this being of light and frivolity?
“My apologies, Oberon.” The words tasted of ash on her tongue, but it was all she could think to say to preserve her toehold in this realm.
“Accepted. However, your false humility will do you no good here.”
Anger simmered beneath Sidra’s skin, flushing her with prickling heat. How would her magic work in the Fée lands against a king? The dampness of the woods gave her pause, surrounded as she was by so much mist. Her fire might only smolder and hiss.
“It’s not her fault,” Yvette said in a rare show of contrition. “It was me. I stole a wish from Sidra, so I owed her a favor. She was hiding inside a bottle I was keeping safe for her when we landed here. The secret was mine. I should have told you.”
Sidra lifted her chin a proud notch. “We were following the trail of a fire omen.”
Oberon seemed to consider the notion as he inhaled a scent floating on the air. “I am aware of the prognosticating powers of the jinn,” he said, gazing at Sidra. “The spark from which your magic flares is perhaps older than the font from which my people sprung, but you would do well to keep in mind you are not the only one here with abilities to see the future.”
The king stood and walked to a birdbath nestled between two standing stones beside his twiggy throne. A trio of sprites had been dipping their feet into the water, splashing and laughing at the faces they made in the reflective surface. He shooed them away, sending the creatures flying into hiding in the long mossy robe he wore. Oberon spread his hand over the surface to still the water. His eyes tracked something momentarily as it darted across the surface. He half smiled, then grimaced as he raised an oaky eyebrow at the girl’s grandmother. She demurred and sheathed her smile as the king dipped a finger into the water and swirled it around seven times until it flowed in a tiny whirlpool. He watched the water go around, then cast his hand over the surface of the font as if to seal its magic. With a sigh he strode before Sidra and Yvette. Behind him his queen bit her lower lip.
“The long curl of fate will devour itself if allowed to spin in a circle too long,” he said, eyes firmly locked on Sidra’s as he towered over her. “A dog chasing its tail. A snake that eats itself. An end undone by a hungry beginning.” His eyes glimmered with the sheen of prophecy, as if he were still trapped halfway inside the vision. “Though I understand your kind prefers to remain in shadow, you do not belong here. You may no longer hide within my borders,” he said and returned to his seat beside Titania.
The fire that had crept into Sidra’s fingertips pulsed, begging for release. Curse that fairy for looking into the beyond. Had he seen her pain and desolate future? Did he care so little about her fate that he would toss her off like a leaf falling from one of his grotesque trees? The tittering creatures took to the air as if to mock her, daring to get near enough to tug at her robes.
“But what if she has a good reason to stay?” Yvette implored as only a granddaughter could.
The king cast a doubtful look that made the limbs on the trees shudder.
Sidra flicked a fallen leaf from her shoulder. “I won’t beg a host for shelter where it is not freely given.”
“But you can’t go back. You’ll be blown to smithereens by that creep.”
“I do not need you to plead my case, girl.”
“Oh là là, I was only trying to help. Fine, go ahead and get yourself banished. And good riddance.”
A creature no bigger than a hummingbird fluttered in front of Sidra’s face. It was naked except for the chestnut twigs tied to either side of its head meant to mimic Oberon’s antlers. The sprite grinned before urinating on Sidra’s caftan.
“This is an example of your famous Fée hospitality?” she said, holding up the sleeve of her ruined silk for all to see. “Then it is better I am gone.”
Yvette rolled her eyes. “It’s only a trickle.”
Sidra blew hot breath on the filthy creature, not quite burning him to a crisp, but what hair he had on his head was singed down to the bare scalp. His twiggy antlers disintegrated to ash before he fluttered off to pout beside his queen.
“Enough!” Oberon stood. His winged subjects froze in the air, waiting to see which way the fickle royal wind would blow. “While I harbor no ill will toward you or your kind, jinni, you do not belong in these lands. Not because you are unwelcome but because your fate awaits your return to the other world. Life’s consequences will not simply go away because you found a temporary place of safety.”
“I will abide the laws of fate, but know there is only death for me if I return to that city of infidels.”
“Someone put a binding spell on her,” Yvette added, giving Sidra a sideways glance. “She tends to bring out the hate in people like that.”
Sidra showed her teeth, but her hostility did not last. The jinni backed down uncharacteristically, turning away when her emotions threatened to dampen her fire. “I cannot return there,” she said resolutely once she’d regained her control. “Do not bind my fire by tossing me back into that place. I would rather sink to the bottom of the bottle for an eternity than be thrown into that whirlwind of grief again.”
Oberon took his wife’s hand in his and considered the jinni’s plea. “And yet the laws by which we all abide do not allow you to remain in passivity and stagnation. No one’s path stops midlife. It must continue toward its end.”
Titania made a barely perceptible noise in the back of her throat before covering her mouth with her hand to hide her whispers. Her king leaned in to listen. After a moment he straightened, his eyes gleaming with the spark of an idea. The jinni hugged her slightly damp caftan around her arms as if to shield herself f
rom his verdict.
The King of the Fairies was handed a wooden staff with a crystal affixed on top by one of his winged minions. “Upon consideration, I will grant you your escape from the city in which you were bound,” he said to her enormous relief. And then he added a “however” that filled the jinni with the sort of dread that made her wish she’d grabbed hold of something solid first.
The word left hanging in the air was the last thing she remembered before being squeezed through a narrow seam between worlds, where glittery lights, like sunlight on water, flared in her peripheral vision.
CHAPTER TWO
A tiny green tendril unfurled in Elena’s hand. So small and fragile now, but in weeks it would become a tenacious anchor strong enough to hold up the vine when the fruit grew fat and heavy. She placed her hand on the cane and closed her eyes, listening for the rush of life inside. Cells inflated and deflated as nutrients from the soil fattened out the roots, holding on to the energy needed to create new growth. Satisfied with the plant’s prospects, she hooked the tendril around the vine’s woody cane and hung a charm of mustard and rosemary to protect the plant row from any shadow spells creeping around the root crowns at night, hoping for a place to deposit fungus.
A bee buzzed in Elena’s ear, offering his good opinion of the vineyard.
“Yes, they are spreading quickly this year,” she said. The sun overhead had as much to do with the progress as the gentle morning rains they’d received over the last three days. All in all, she and the bees agreed it could be a bountiful year. And not just for the vines. The cellar was filled with fat barrels from the previous year’s vintage—her first since returning after the curse that had nearly destroyed everything. Only a few more months and they would bottle the wine and offer it for sale to customers all over the continent ready to buy by the case. If luck was with them, they might eke out enough profit to fix the leaky roof on the house before the attic beams rotted.
Three rows over, Jean-Paul was busy tying down the canes, coaxing them into position to bear the heavy grape clusters needed for the wine. Though a mortal, he had a natural rapport with the vines. He didn’t know it, but they leaned toward him ever so slightly whenever he bent down to dig around their feet.
The Conjurer (The Vine Witch) Page 1