The Conjurer (The Vine Witch)

by Luanne G. Smith

  They wasted no time racing atop the cars, setting the roofs on fire. In the heavy winds, the flames spread in seconds, engulfing the passenger cars before everyone had escaped.

  “We have to get everyone out!” Elena shouted as women in long skirts crawled through the narrow windows, tumbling onto the wooden platform.

  Yanis hobbled to the end of the train. Jean-Paul, still weak from his fever, barely kept up. Together they pulled the people free of the windows and doors, then urged them to go to the depot for safety. A dozen people still struggled to escape the front end as the cars swayed violently with each new blast of wind. Elena screamed for them not to panic, to no avail.

  “What are those things?” a man shouted, cupping his hands around his eyes as he squinted at the roof of the train cars. Before Elena could answer, the dog leaped from the ground like cannon fire. He snarled and snapped his teeth at the first of the ifrit as it was about to stomp its foot through the car’s roof. Elena worried the demon would plunge a plume of fire on the heads of those still inside. Instead it threw the stream of fire at the dog. The animal’s fur burned bright orange, but then the flame receded as if it had been absorbed into his body. He lunged, tearing at the ifrit’s leg until the demon fell backward off the roof and plummeted into the crevice between the wheels of the locomotive and the platform. The dog jumped onto the coal tender and shook out his fur. As if on command, the engine spewed a column of hissing steam from its boiler, extinguishing the fire demon so that it shriveled into a pile of wet ash, leaving a sooty smudge on the side of the platform.

  The second ifrit leaped over the dog, landing in the cab of the locomotive. Elena watched in horror as the creature inhaled the seething fire glowing in the coal burner. Water! She had to find water. Or as close to it as she could muster. She reached into her satchel as the wind whipped her hair around her face. There had to be something of use. Sand, still hot from the desert sun, grazed her cheek with its stinging bite as her hand hit the sack of salt. Salt and sand. Of course!

  Elena grabbed a handful of salt with one hand, then held out the other until she felt the grit cover her palm. Turning her back to the wind, she eyed a standpipe coming out of the ground. She rubbed the sand and salt together, focusing her intent while reciting her spell, as the dog and demon lurched at each other inside the cab. “Desert sand within my hand, fill your thirst at my command. Draw forth the water ’neath the ground, until the fire is neatly drowned.”

  The pipe used for filling the steam engine boilers with water creaked and moaned under the pressure of the spell. Elena called the water forth as she held her hand out to direct the flow of energy, prying open the spigot and bending the nozzle toward the train. The dog’s ears went up, and he bounded out of the way just as a gush of water shot from the pipe with enormous pressure to spray the burning cars. The flames on the roof sizzled and sputtered, while the ifrit emerged from the cab of the engine looking like a wet sock. The beast spread his wings and flew off until slowly disintegrating into lavalike pieces that scattered over the rocky hillside.

  The people were drenched, but at least the immediate threat was over. The howling storm, however, continued to rage. Yanis and Jean-Paul helped herd the terrified passengers into the depot and out of the path of the haboob. Some did ask, hesitantly, why the entire depot crew was asleep on the floor. In their shock, none seemed to notice when they never received an explanation.

  Elena found Jean-Paul in the crowd, shivering and exhausted. She lit a fire in the lobby stove and said a quick spell to warm the room. The worst of the fear was beginning to wear off the passengers as they evaluated their injuries and came to terms with what they’d witnessed. Sand and wind continued to batter the depot, but the walls held firm. Elena chanced a look out the window and couldn’t even see the village through the haze. What damage was being done atop the hill? Where was Sidra? Yvette? Camille? Were they sheltered or already battling Jamra and his demons? And where was that dog? Wasn’t he one of them? Couldn’t he do something? But he hadn’t come inside, and he was nowhere to be seen on the platform.

  She would have to go out again. She must. But first she was going to have to do something about the two dozen mortals in the depot waiting room muttering to themselves about winged fire creatures. Yanis seemed to come to the same conclusion as he approached her bearing the braid of sweetgrass and incense from his bag.

  “We can do it if we work quickly but quietly,” he said.

  “What does he mean?” Jean-Paul removed his glasses to wipe the dirt off the lenses.

  “I’m sorry, my love, but we have to go help the others.”

  “Others?”

  “Sidra and Yvette. Camille and the dog too. They could already be in danger.”

  “A dog? You can’t be serious.” He slipped his glasses back on. “It’s mayhem out there.”

  “Which is why we have to go. They can’t face this alone.”

  Jean-Paul pulled her aside. “Elena, we should all get on the train and head in the other direction. Go back home. Whatever those things are, they just tried to kill dozens of people. They have wings made out of fire, for God’s sake.”

  “They want to do more than just kill a few passengers,” she said. “This is Jamra’s doing. He’s the one who called up this storm. He’s the one who summoned those demons. If he has his way, he’ll unleash havoc on the world and kill every mortal he can. But, yes, let’s go home to our quiet vineyard and wait it out and hope for the best, while people we know and care about are left to face him alone.”

  Jean-Paul’s lawyerly side was ready to argue still. Elena held a finger to his lips. No magic, no spell, just waiting for him to see what must be done.

  “Right,” he said at last, dropping his shoulders as he looked at the beaten and shocked faces of the passengers around him. “You’re right. That maniac jinni has to be stopped before he does this to anyone else.” He wiped away the tiny particles of sand that clung to her cheek. “Can you do it? Can your magic stop him?”

  She didn’t want to lie or give him false hope, but if she didn’t believe it possible, she would never be able to summon the courage to go back outside. “If we all work together, but we must hurry.”

  He kissed her hand, held her tight, then got out of the way.

  Elena began by setting the end of the sweetgrass rope in the stove and quietly cleansing her athame with the smoke. Once satisfied it had been purified, she paced the room in a circle, which often meant waiting for a woman in a drenched hat with drooping ostrich feathers to move out of her way so she could continue the ritual unnoticed. When she’d completed the circle, Yanis lit the incense, letting the scent fill the room. As nonchalantly as possible, the two stood in the center of the circle and cast a quick calming spell. Not quite a sleeping spell, but the warmth from the stove and the scent of the smoldering sweetgrass wove together with the incantation to keep those in the room sedated.

  Elena hoped Jean-Paul would forgive her, but there’d been no way to exclude him, being a mortal. She raised her hands in the sacred pose and thanked the All Knowing for hearing her intentions. Yanis finished his acknowledgment to the All Seeing, and then they pulled their scarves over their faces. She’d meant to kiss Jean-Paul once more before leaving but couldn’t find him in the crowd of slumped bodies. She stepped over outstretched legs and tilted the heads of the few young men in the room, yet he was nowhere to be found. And then she knew.

  Elena left the safety of the building, entering the swirling sand and wind, and there was Jean-Paul waiting on the platform, a woman’s lace-trimmed fichu tied over his nose and mouth.

  “We go together or not at all,” he shouted over the din.

  Yanis and Elena looked at each other, then back at Jean-Paul. Elena handed him a chunk of amethyst. Yanis offered him a bronze talisman from his pocket. And then the three of them trudged up the hill to where the storm spun in a violent vortex above the village. The dog emerged from the train and limped quietly behind, stopping every f
ew feet to look over his shoulder.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  A whirling funnel descended onto the roof of the clock tower below. From it spun Jamra, flanked by two fire demons. Sidra had been waiting, watching the storm develop from atop the cathedral’s bell tower across the street. This, she knew from observing the birds, was where she would meet her nemesis.

  The girl and the perfume witch, exhausted from their night’s effort, were tucked away in the shop several streets over. There was little long-term protection inside those walls, but it would do for the moment. They had put the town of mortals to sleep, then hunkered down to wait for the worst of the storm to land. When the wind and sand hit full force, Sidra escaped to the rooftop to meet her enemy. And there he was, staring up at her with the searing blaze of hate smoldering in his eyes.

  So be it.

  Sidra held her arms out to welcome him. The sleeves of her caftan, now tattered and dirty, fluttered in the wind. Her bangles rattled as she raised her arms higher. Come, she thought. Try and take what you think is yours.

  In a flash, Jamra vanished from the clock tower and reappeared at Sidra’s side atop the cathedral. He’d ditched his Western suit and put on his finery: an indigo-blue caftan jacket with gold embroidery and matching leggings that ballooned slightly over the tops of soft leather boots, as if he’d arrived at an improvised coronation of his own making. The demons, meanwhile, smelling of rotten meat and foul waste from the back end of a cow, squatted on the wall behind him, one on each corner. Their tails dangled over the side of the building as their fetid breath steamed in the air. Sidra focused her eyes on Jamra. The wind swirled around them in a dizzying motion, though once he landed it did not touch them. They stood in the eye of the vortex, cut off from the rest of the devastation.

  Jamra folded his arms. “In the name of sanity, I hope you have the dagger with you.”

  “In the name of all that’s sacred, it will never belong to you.”

  They were mere spoken words, a puff of breath in the dirty air, but their meaning burned as they struck Jamra’s ear with the heat of rebellion. His face contorted from its usual sneer into a full-frowned expression of loathing.

  “Enough of this game playing.” His hand lunged out lightning fast and gripped her by the throat. He lifted her off the ground. Sidra clutched at his fingers against her neck, fighting for release. “You will not dissipate. You will not change form. There is nowhere for you to go. You are bound here. There is no crevice I cannot find you in this filthy human village.” He set her down again, and she gasped for air. “I am done asking, jinniyah. If you do not produce the dagger, now, you will watch your friends die.”

  Jamra snapped his fingers, and behind him both demons took a dive off the roof. Sidra felt for damage along her neck as she coughed up smoky phlegm. She’d been singed by his touch. He’d grown stronger since their last encounter. And she, her power bound within the village, had grown weaker. She straightened and sent a blow to his stomach with a jolt of energy stolen from the storm. He stumbled backward, dirtying his fancy coat as he hit the roof tiles.

  Sidra braced for more violence, but instead of retaliating, Jamra stood and laughed at her pathetic effort. He brushed grit from his fine blue jacket a speck at a time as the fire demons rose up behind him. It had been no bluff. Each carried a struggling woman in their grip—Yvette, shimmering with anger, and Camille, wide-eyed and out of her depth. The ifrits’ scaled hands were pressed tightly over the women’s mouths, though the beasts kept their noses turned away as if trying to avoid inhaling the women’s stench. Jamra was wrong if he thought she believed he’d keep his word. He’d never said he would let them go, even if she were to falter and give him the dagger and its dangerous sigil. And so she could show only indifference.

  “They’re nothing to me,” she said and hoped the shaking of her leg didn’t show under her caftan.

  Jamra approached Camille. “Was this the one with you in prison?” He sniffed her hair and turned his nose away as if the scent disgusted him. “They all begin to look alike to me after a while. Though this one’s reek I would remember.”

  Camille had been trembling uncontrollably, her eyes brimming with tears, until he said that. The woman was still scared, but something changed. She stopped clutching at the demon’s arm, letting her hands slip inside her lab coat pockets instead.

  “Where is it?”

  Sidra drained the emotion from her eyes. He would find only hooded apathy in them. Nothing more. When she did not answer, Jamra put his hands on her, feeling under her robes, patting her sides, fumbling over her breasts. She stared at the clock tower across the lane as she suffered through the indignity of his unclean hands on her body. As if she were so stupid as to wear the thing on her person once dawn arrived.

  Frustrated, Jamra pushed her away. “I warned you,” he said.

  He reached for Camille’s hair and yanked her out of the arms of the fire demon. Behind him, Yvette struggled and let out a muffled scream. Her breath heaved under the scaly arm that covered her mouth.

  Sidra twitched her nose as if she smelled something in the air, looked at Camille, then turned away. As subtly as possible, she put the thought in the witch’s head that she wasn’t powerless.

  Held only by her hair, Camille pulled an atomizer filled with the enchanted perfume out of her lab coat. She pointed it directly in Jamra’s face and sprayed. The jinni reeled, spinning away from the witch. Incandescent with rage, he coughed and spewed the sensuous, beautiful fragrance out of his lungs and mouth. Camille jerked free of his grip, but not before he flung the back of his hand out, connecting with her jaw. She fell to the ground as the cathedral bells began to chime.

  The clanging noise rattled the roof, giving Sidra a moment of distraction. She took hold of Camille and jumped from the tower onto the tile roof below. Camille began to slip on the landing, but the jinni held firm and lowered the witch to the street. Before the ifrit could dive down to reclaim her, Sidra ran up the side of the tower and hurled the fiery demon into the wall of the raging vortex. His body ricocheted through the storm and was spit out on the other side of the ether. The burst of magic cost her dearly. She doubled over to catch her breath, wary for the next blow.

  Jamra wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his caftan. Combustible with anger, he ordered the second ifrit to throw Yvette from the roof. The girl screamed and wriggled in the creature’s grip before managing to free her mouth. “Let go of me, you fils de pute!” The ifrit, struggling to contain Yvette’s manic energy, dangled her over the side of the roof. She grabbed the creature by the wing, the arm, and finally the leg before it successfully disentangled itself from her and kicked her body over the edge.

  Sidra lunged half a step to intervene before halting herself. There was a pause while the ifrit leaned over the side to see the mess he’d made on the pavement below. But he’d obviously never dealt with a fairy before. As soon as the beast hunched over the lip of the roof, his hair and claws were singed off by an electric zap pulsating from Yvette’s fingertips. The girl rose in the air, elevating herself with her Fée powers, her glamour fully engaged and glowing with electricity.

  The ifrit brushed the burnt hairs from his arms before swiping at Yvette as if she were a nuisance gull. But the girl’s skills had improved under her grandmother’s training. She easily maneuvered out of the demon’s reach without losing her balance. When he came at her a second time, she reached in her endless pockets for her atomizer, then sprayed him in the face with the weaponized perfume as the witch had done. The creature gagged and snorted, wiping his nose and mouth to be rid of the horrible smell assaulting his senses.

  Jamra shouted at the ifrit. “Kill her!”

  The beast snorted a stream of mucus from his nose and charged. The girl, her ire glowing, delivered a bolt of electricity, shocking the swollen-eyed ifrit off his feet. The creature swung his arms wildly, as if unable to see, then dissipated to escape the electrifying jolt still crackling through his body.

&n
bsp; Jamra turned on his bootheel and marched toward Sidra. “The dagger. Now!”

  Free of the ifrit, the girl lunged when he did. He threw an arc of fire, cutting her off and forcing her to retreat with her hands over her face.

  “Come and take it,” Sidra taunted and leaped from the bell tower onto the roof of the building below.

  Thank the All Seeing, Jamra gave chase, leaving the girl behind. The tiles rattled as he landed in a crouch behind her. She was playing for time, though what that would gain her she didn’t yet know. Around them the storm spun out. The fury of the wind and sand receded even as her heartbeat sped up. All she knew was that she must lead him away from the girl.

  Sidra veered left, then right, zigzagging over the ancient rooftops, breaking tiles and brushing the crowns of the highest palms with the soles of her sandals. Layers of sand covered the streets and windowsills, collecting in flowerpots and filling downspouts with their grit. Jamra’s hot breath remained at her back. But where to go? The market square came into view as the air cleared of dust. Sidra dissipated and escaped through the ether, leaving the rooftops for the narrow lane where Yanis lived—a village canyon only an arm’s width in places, walled in on either side by the buildings whose roofs she’d just run over. She swam through the air invisible, looking for a nook or crevice in the plaster she could hide in before she hit the village boundary and was sent flying back to the town’s center. Curse Jamra and his sorcerer!

  As she fled, the narrow uphill street suddenly descended. It twisted left and then right, going around another corner until she no longer knew which direction she flew. Had she taken the wrong alley? Impossible. She’d been traveling toward the upper village, but now she was heading straight for the fragrance factory in the center. The scent already floated to her on the wind. But what had brought her here? In her panic to escape Jamra’s fire, had she missed the influence of some unseen energy around her, turning her, guiding her?