Keep control of your reactions, an unspoken voice communicated inside her head. Concentrate on the scent of the vineyard while I jump. Elena let go of her image of Jamra so Sidra could do her work. The jinni then slipped free of Elena’s mind, stepping inside the room as if she had physically transported herself. She laid her hands over Jean-Paul’s brow. His head tossed from one side to the other, resisting. Beads of sweat gathered on his skin, slick and shiny. Sidra rubbed her fingers over her thumbs as if she didn’t wish to touch his moist skin. Instead she cupped her hands over his ear and whispered some message or incantation incoherent to Elena. Jean-Paul convulsed on the bed. His body writhed as if he fought against a pain that clawed at him from the inside out. He twisted and screamed, throwing off his blankets. Just when Elena didn’t think she could watch another moment of his torture, knowing she’d brought this pain on him, his eyes opened and he rolled to his side, where he coughed up a handful of cinders still steaming with smoke.
The sound of the monk running up the stairs caught Sidra’s attention.
It is done. She shimmered softly, then dissipated, as the warmth rose again behind Elena’s eyes before receding.
Elena waited to see Jean-Paul sit up and recover from coughing before telling Brother Anselm he’d had the strangest dream. When he was assured it wasn’t a dream, he nodded as if he understood how that might be so. Though his voice was choked, he appeared restored as he asked about Elena. Brother Anselm handed him her telegram from the nightstand. While he read, she reeled herself back in, opening her eyes with a start as she regained consciousness.
“Merde, I didn’t think you would ever get back.” Yvette rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms. “Jiminy, it’s creepy sitting here alone while you’re passed out in zombie land.”
“It’s all right now.”
Sidra materialized at Elena’s side. Her thumbnail was jammed firmly between her teeth as she seemed to fret in a very un-jinni-like way.
“What was it that Jean-Paul coughed up?” Elena asked when the jinni was fully back in her body. “Is he going to be all right?”
Sidra jumped up and checked the street, the rooftops, and the clouds through the veiled front window of the shop. “It was merely the remnants of Jamra’s foul magic. He’d sent your man’s mind into the desert, as he said. I found him following a dog deeper and deeper into the land of endless sands. If a storm had come to erase his tracks, he would have been lost for good.”
Elena absorbed the news of how dangerous the curse had been and how close she’d come to losing Jean-Paul. A lump of pity for Sidra formed in her throat. And yet her mind was curious about the peculiar magic. “A dog? You mean like the one that brought me here?”
“It’s a common-enough form among my kind, but this one was ifrit.” Sidra’s brow tensed, as if she didn’t believe the words she’d spoken. Her eyes searched the sky once again.
“Ifrit? What’s that?”
“Jinn but not jinn. The dispossessed ones I spoke of. Made of fire and smoke. Jamra has made a pact with the ifrit. It is they who will come with him.”
Elena and Yvette exchanged a worried glance.
Sidra stopped to listen when the walls of the shop creaked, as if speaking the very word had summoned the fire demons. She sniffed the air, then continued. “We should prepare for the inevitable.”
Elena agreed. Now that Sidra had successfully freed Jean-Paul’s mind from the desert, she owed the jinni her help. It was impossible to return home, at least not yet, so she needed to stay and do what she could to aid her friend. But until she could summon a more effectual magic to wield against Jamra, she was as useless as a mortal.
“And how, exactly, does one defend themselves against these ifrit?” Yvette asked.
“Or Jamra, for that matter,” Elena added. “My fiercest defensive spells had no effect against him when he attacked the vineyard. He merely absorbed the magic as if it fed his power. Swallowing it whole. He was barely scathed.”
Sidra got that look on her face that said it was to be expected going against a superior being. “Ah, but that was because you were trapped in the moment. But given time for your mind and your book to work together, I’m sure you can form a spell to meet the need. Sorcerers are known for devising all sorts of tricks.”
“But how much time?”
Sidra tilted her head as if listening for something. The wind? The cosmos? The sound of ifrit gathering in the ether? A straight answer was all Elena needed.
“There’s a spell over the village already,” Sidra said. “It will hold him off for a short while. A day perhaps, if luck is with us.”
“What kind of spell?” Elena stuck her hand out to try and sense the magic, but there were no filaments of a spell she could detect. Leastwise not within the walls of the abandoned shop.
“We did a scent spell together.” Yvette beamed at having been a part of creating an incantation. “We gathered ingredients from the market and then read the words the one-legged sorcerer wrote down.”
Now it was Elena’s turn to tilt her head. “One-legged—”
“He’s not a jinni, but he makes talismans and amulets to help people summon them.”
“He’s a thief and a liar, but his sorcery masks my presence,” Sidra said. “Still, the spell isn’t foolproof. A determined enemy could see through the veil easy enough, once he knows where to look.”
The town was already full of perfume. The scent wafted everywhere, from the distilleries to the flower fields to the women who bathed in the stuff. But wasn’t that what Camille Joubert, the perfume witch on the train, had been talking about? The witch was quite proud of how scent could manipulate matters of the mind.
“That’s it,” Elena said, struck with an idea. “We’re in the midst of the fragrance capital of the world. Run, at least in part, by witches. There has to be a way we can use that against him.”
“Their spells are all trifling sweet notions meant to attract a lover,” Sidra said, tossing her hand in dismissal. “The art of allure is their only magic. And I do not wish to attract Jamra any sooner than I must.”
Elena shook her head. “Oh, I think there’s more they can do than attract a paramour. In the right combination, scent can be as powerful a concoction as anything a potions witch could come up with.” Already her mind was racing with possibility. “I think we need to pay a visit to the parfumerie at Le Maison des Amoureux.”
“I’m going with you,” Yvette said. “I think I’d like to be surrounded by some trifling sweet notions for a change.”
She and Elena left the shop through the back alley, while Sidra chose to retreat to the rooftop, where she could watch for the impending signs of her enemy. Following the directions given to them by an elderly woman pruning dead flower heads off a potted geranium, Elena and Yvette climbed the narrow steps leading to the next hilltop terrace. There on the left, in a distinctly villa-esque two-story building overlooking the seaside valley, sat the parfumerie at Le Maison des Amoureux. The factory was a distinct terra-cotta color with blue shutters flanking each of the six windows. There were two doors: one for the factory and one for the shop where the perfume was sold. Bottles of Fleur de Sable, with their distinguishing crystal bird stoppers, lined the front window.
Elena approached the main entrance to the factory before a flutter of curiosity brushed up against her intuition, making her pause.
“What’s the matter?” Yvette asked.
“Do you smell that?”
The young woman inhaled and smiled. “Smells like lemon and thyme. Like the tonic Tante Isadora used to soothe my sore throat when I was little. Always made me feel better.”
“Really?” Elena had caught the scent of woodsmoke and grapevine, reviving happy recollections of summer picnics on green fields with Grand-Mère and Grand-Père when she was a girl. She was going to comment on the discrepancy but then stopped, recognizing the potency of the magic. “It’s a spell. To manipulate memories. I’ll bet each person experiences a different scent
when they enter to put them in a pleasant mood.” She smiled at the cleverness and entered the factory with even more determination.
A receptionist behind a huge mahogany desk greeted them with the obligatory “Bonjour.” Elena stated her business; then she and Yvette waited in the lobby while the woman relayed their message. To bide their time, they perused the museum-like displays arranged around the lobby. Housed under glass domes were delicate crystal bottles with bejeweled finials, an opaline perfume locket on a chain decorated with gold filigree, and four antique bottles filled with botanical oils. The prism-like bottles stood nearly a foot tall and were perched on glass stems with pedestals that had the imperfect patina of handblown glass. They’d been carefully crafted to showcase the essential oils contained within—patchouli, jasmine, rose, and davana. The heart of the fragrance industry for Le Maison des Amoureux, according to the placard propped at their feet.
“Don’t you want to jump in and douse yourself in the divine stuff?” Yvette asked, coveting the contents of the bottles with the same rapture as one might express for a diamond necklace.
The receptionist returned and cleared her throat just as Yvette got a little too close to the glass displays. “This way,” she said and led them to an upstairs office where Camille Joubert donned a white lab coat over the pale-blue skirt she’d been wearing on the morning train. Behind her were backlit glass shelves filled not only with dazzlingly beautiful perfume bottles but also several stoppered brown jugs with plain white labels, beakers in three sizes, and a line of tiny test tubes held in a wooden rack. On her desk sat a pestle and mortar stuffed with dried seedpods waiting to be ground. Beside the mortar rested a well-worn grimoire open to a page showing a drawing of a five-petaled flower. The witch gave a test tube filled with purple liquid a shake as they entered, looking every inch a scientist about to embark on a magical chemical experiment. And perhaps she was.
“Ah, we meet again.” Camille set the test tube in the rack and extended her hand in greeting. “Elena, was it?”
The women shook hands. Elena then introduced Yvette, who glowed ever so slightly from the excitement of the place. The young woman had improved her control so much while in the Fée lands that it was difficult to read exactly what her aura was doing, even for a fellow witch. Camille paused, obviously trying not to be rude yet completely aware that there was something different about Yvette’s shimmer.
“So, what can I do for you?” Camille asked, letting her eyes rest a second longer on Yvette.
Elena shut the door to the office and explained the situation, though out of an abundance of caution, she omitted the part concerning a powerful ancient relic capable of wreaking havoc on the world and its mortal inhabitants. After all, she’d only met the perfume witch on the train that morning. Best not to overplay her trust in the woman, despite the need for her unique help. A pointed glance at Yvette when Elena had finished her explanation seemed to convey the need to keep that portion of the story quiet for now.
“Ah, I did wonder what had persuaded that jinni to follow you so closely. Apparently he can smell trouble like a bloodhound.” Camille reached for a bottle on the top shelf. “Now, if I understand you correctly, you wish to deploy a defense against this Jamra fellow using fragrance?”
Elena had to admit the plan sounded absurd once said out loud. “Am I being ridiculous?”
Camille practically winked at them. “Not ridiculous in the least. As I mentioned on the train earlier, scent often proves the most potent element of all. And, as luck would have it, that is especially true when it comes to its effect on jinn.”
“How’s that?” Yvette asked.
The perfume witch sat behind her desk and gestured for Elena and Yvette to take a seat in the chairs opposite. She slipped on a pair of round wire-rimmed glasses before digging through the contents of a bottom desk drawer, out of which she pulled a small vial with a dropper for a lid. “Brace yourselves,” she warned. She opened the bottle, used the dropper to dab a single tear of clear liquid onto a strip of paper, then wafted it in the air so that the fragrance drifted toward them.
Yvette fell back in her chair. “Mon Dieu, what’s in that stuff? Smells like heaven.”
Elena, too, was overtaken by the allure of the scent, though she couldn’t quite place the source of such heady magic.
“This,” Camille said, “is the pure concentrated form.” She put the lid back on and smiled. “As it happens, I’ve had the pleasure of working closely with one of the jinn before. My bestselling Fleur de Sable perfume was actually a collaboration with the rarest of jinn gentleman. An absolute charmer.” She spun around to show them a crystal bottle with a pair of doves for the stopper.
Yvette nudged Elena. “But that’s Sidra’s bottle.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Camille said, her voice infused with surprise and curiosity. “She was his wife, his inspiration. How did you know?”
Elena’s neck tingled from the featherlight touch of her intuition paying attention. “She’s the jinni in the midst of this mess we’re in.”
“But she was arrested for Hariq’s murder. I assumed she’d been executed already. Such a tragedy. They seemed to truly be in love.”
Elena looked to Yvette, who nodded. “We escaped prison before that could take place.”
“We?”
It took a little convincing, but Elena managed to explain their history with Sidra so that Camille was satisfied the two of them posed no threat. Still, while Elena and Yvette had both been exonerated for the crimes they were accused of, there was no such condition for Sidra. She was still wanted for the murder of her husband.
While Camille pondered this new information, Elena sat forward to peek at the grimoire lying open on the desk. “What was it you were going to say about the jinn and the power of fragrance?”
The perfume witch waved the scented paper once under her nose and closed her eyes as if in a fragrant dream. When she opened them again, she relented. “It was his idea. Hariq’s. He wanted a scent that encapsulated the beauty of his homeland and the woman he loved. Fleur de Sable. He called her his sand flower.” She took down the crystal bottle from the shelf behind her and removed the stopper. She motioned for Yvette to hold out her wrist, then dabbed a drop on her skin. A milder version of the concentrate permeated the air, floating in a cloud of smoky, citrusy musk.
“The top note is a hint of bergamot,” she explained. “Then there’s a line of jasmine holding the middle in pure ecstasy. The heart of the scent. And at the end is the bass note, a delicate incense-like musk that lingers on the skin, reminiscent of a mystical night spent in the desert under a silken canopy as the scent of trade spices and exotic flowers sails on the summer air.”
Elena recognized a kindred spirit in the perfume witch and the way she blended scents to get the perfect flavor she was after. But how could they use this magic to help them with the jinn? As if anticipating the question, Camille put the stopper back in the bottle. She turned to her grimoire, flipping through the pages until she came to her handwritten notes at the back.
“I wrote this note down at the time, which was, goodness, twenty years ago,” she said, checking the date beside the entry. “Hariq said he and Sidra wished to stay here in the village, but there was some trouble with their families, as I recall. They wanted a way to ensure they wouldn’t be found easily. They were looking for a spell to cover their tracks.” She ran her finger under her words as she read. “The jinn are attracted to smoke, botanic fragrances, and incense. All of them natural substances. But each jinni is different. What attracts one jinni might repel another. The allure is dependent on their nature. If one’s intentions are harmless, they will often be drawn to scents infused with qualities that enhance beauty, happiness, and satisfaction. But if one’s will is set on creating mischief or destruction, it’s likely they will be attracted to aromas that heighten or reinforce those intentions—scents of char, decay, bitter reed grass. Even the modern odors of locomotive smoke, car petrol, and exhau
st fumes can attract and enliven a wicked jinn.”
“How can we use that against Jamra?” Elena asked.
Camille looked over the top of her glasses and grinned. “Well, from what I’ve gathered, he and his colleagues are not prone to being the helpful sort of jinn. Which means they wouldn’t be overly fond of my concoctions.”
“So, we blast him with this heavenly scent,” Yvette said, sniffing her wrist again.
“Perhaps we won’t deploy my bestselling perfume. However, there are certainly other aromas we can combine to achieve the same effect.”
“Jinni repellent,” Yvette said and smiled.
Elena leaned in to her intuition. “It could work. It’s why Sidra and Hariq chose to settle here. The flowers, the perfume. The fragrances protected them.” At least until Hariq’s untimely death. “We’re in a dreadful hurry,” Elena said. “Jamra may arrive at any moment. He destroyed a good portion of my vineyard already. I don’t think the village will fare much better against his wrath if he senses he’s close to finding what he’s after.”
“Perhaps your jinni friend should consider leaving to spare the village.”
A fair assessment. Elena had wondered the same thing, but there was a final destiny in Sidra’s demeanor. As much as she feared Jamra, she also seemed determined to face him. And this town was where she meant to do it. “There’s an element of fate involved. She believes this is where she must face Jamra, according to the omens she’s seen.”
“I’m well aware of the jinn and their faith in prophecies. Hariq was much the same. But I can’t do the spellwork alone, not on the scale required to protect an entire town. You’d better leave this one here with me,” Camille said, pointing to Yvette.
“Me? But what can I do?”
“Oh, with that glamour of yours I think there’s plenty you can add to help create what we’re after. I’m quite curious to see the results. Yes, most curious.”
The Conjurer (The Vine Witch) Page 12