The Vine Witch

by Smith, Luanne G.

  “Right, I’m shit at magic. I’m shit at life. But I’m still a witch, and you’re going to need my kind of help.”

  “Really? And what kind is that?”

  Yvette straightened. “Let’s just say, between the two of us, I’m not the one claiming I’m innocent.”

  The confession sent a shivery dart through Elena’s conscience. She’d known the young woman had been locked up for murder, but she’d let herself half believe it was a false accusation like her own. “Yvette . . .”

  “It’s true. According to the rule of three I’m already damaged goods. I didn’t have much learning growing up, but I know that much about magic. If it comes to it, if she tries to do to this man what she already did to the other, you’ll need me. Maybe snuffing her out for good is the thing I can do that you can’t.”

  And you might also die in the process, Elena thought. But before she could dissuade the young woman, a commotion on the other side of the fairground erupted. Performers who ought to have been in position to greet customers for the carnival opening hightailed it for their wagons. And somewhere men shouted as an argument broke out.

  “That’s Gustave, the carnival owner,” Yvette said, craning her neck toward the noise. A shrill whistle followed, sounding a warning. “Uh-oh.”

  “What is it?”

  “Les flics.”

  “The police? They found us already?”

  “Not yet they haven’t.” Yvette turned back to Elena. “Take me with you, and I promise to get you out of here in one piece.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  The young woman shrugged. “I don’t like people who hurt cats.”

  “And if I can’t protect you?”

  Yvette pulled a small but deadly hairpin out of her updo. “Witches still bleed, don’t they? I can protect myself.”

  The air went out of Elena as she finally relented. “We haven’t got much time.”

  “Good thing I know a trick or two of my own, then.” Yvette slipped her mask back down and took off for the other end of the carnival. “Go back to JuJu’s and wait there. I’ll meet you in five minutes,” she called over her shoulder before disappearing behind a trio of stilt-walkers.

  Elena threw her hands up in surrender. She was beginning to think the curse had bonded with her blood and bones, affecting everything she saw or touched or loved. Grand-Mère included. She must be worried sick. There was precious little time, but she couldn’t have her mentor fretting over her again. Not after what she’d put her through the last seven years.

  Scanning the distant trees, she uttered a quick summoning spell. A rock dove and a stork swooped out of the sky, landing at her feet. “You might send the wrong message,” she said to the stork and shooed him on his way. To the rock dove she explained in the simplest terms about the bierhexe and that she was well but unable to return home. The bird cooed, and she sent him on his way with a spell to help home in on Grand-Mère’s location, wishing she could fly away with him. She might yet be cursed with bad luck, but she still didn’t want to get caught. Covering her face with the veil, she headed for JuJu’s wagon, battered once more by the whims of the All Knowing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Though old and obsolete, Jean-Paul knew the ancient wheel was still capable of twisting lower on its Archimedes’s screw with enough pressure to macerate fifty tons of grapes to release the vin de presse. He’d seen it demonstrated with pride three years earlier when he’d toured the cellar at Du Monde’s insistence. As if reading his thoughts, the wheel winked at him in the candlelight and descended its first inch, forcing the pallet that much tighter against his chest.

  “Not long now.” Gerda walked up the steps at the base of the old press. “She knows you’re here.”

  “You’ll burn in hell for this.”

  The witch scoffed. “What makes you think I haven’t already?” She knelt beside him holding a knife, an almost tender look in her eye. “A little insurance,” she said, then slashed a two-inch cut into his exposed forearm.

  He cursed her, spat at her, and writhed against his restraints as she held the wine cup to his skin to collect his blood.

  “Come now, we haven’t even started,” she said, walking back to her circle. “You should save your strength for when the screaming really begins.”

  She stirred the blood with her finger while speaking more gibberish. His stomach tugged at his throat as if he might retch, but he held it down, terrified of choking to death in his restraints. She finished whatever spell she’d formed with her evil words and then came at him again carrying a small bowl. He braced for more bloodletting, but instead of cutting him she dabbed a poultice onto the cut, relieving the pain of the knife’s sting. Was she doctoring him now? She had to be deranged. Insane.

  “Get away from me, you fiend.”

  His blood rimmed her fingernail. She sucked at it and smiled. “Oh, you have no idea,” she said, then turned the crank on the windlass to let the wheel twist down another punishing inch.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Elena squeezed between a pair of show ponies decorated with feathered headdresses and sequined saddles. JuJu’s wagon ought to be straight ahead, but it wasn’t. She’d gone the wrong way, and now she was terribly lost in a maze of angry show people in a panic to avoid a police shakedown.

  “Check it again! Check every closet, trunk, and storage space. They’re here somewhere, I know it.”

  The inspector.

  He was searching for her two wagons down on the right. The timbre of his voice as he shouted commands shook Elena out of her confusion. She backtracked behind the ponies and skirted left, keeping to the rear of the wagons to get as far away from him as she dared. It was safe for the moment, but it was only a matter of time before the police spread out and searched that area too. Could she run and make it to the trees without being caught? Was there a spell that could produce a distraction big enough to fool an army of officers?

  She racked her brain for a spell that might mimic fireworks or gunfire, anything to create a commotion to confuse the inspector, when she heard an engine purr like a lion. A bright-blue two-seater convertible rolled up beside her. Behind the wheel, having donned a pair of driving goggles, sat Yvette.

  The young woman revved the engine and nudged her chin toward the passenger-side door. “I thought you were a goner for sure when you weren’t at JuJu’s.”

  “I got turned around.”

  “Lucky you. They’re all over her wagon looking for us. Come on, get in.”

  There was no time to argue. Despite her reservations Elena jumped in the passenger seat of the diabolical contraption and held on. Yvette shoved the stick shift into gear, then pressed her foot on the gas pedal, and the car sped off. Elena dared a quick look over her shoulder. The inspector ran out of JuJu’s wagon, waving frantically at his men to return to their horses and pursue, but the newfangled automobile hit the dirt road and took off at an exhilarating speed.

  Yvette pushed the car to thirty-five miles per hour, sending gravel churning under the tires as they sped down the country road in the jaunty two-seater. Elena’s hair flew out behind her, and she grabbed the solid-brass fittings on the side of the windshield to hold on.

  “What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever ridden in a car before?” Yvette winked through her driving goggles and grinned.

  “Never,” Elena shouted over the roar of the engine. She braced her other hand against the dashboard as they swung through a curve. The acceleration blew the veil loose from her face, sending the silk flapping on the wind. She hurled a quick spell with it to create the illusion that a silver birch had fallen across the road in case the inspector’s motorcycles tried to catch up. The trick wouldn’t stop them, but it might confuse them long enough to fall behind.

  Yvette patted the side of the door. “She’s a beaut. Best little bébé I’ve ever driven.”

  “Or stolen.”

  “Borrowed,” Yvette corrected. “It’s Gustave’s pride and joy. He
’ll get it back in one piece . . . eventually.”

  There was no arguing it was the fastest way to escape even if it was by way of mortal mechanics. If the inspector’s men had followed, they were nowhere in sight. Grown confident that the vehicle wouldn’t fall apart every time it hit a rut in the road, Elena relaxed her white-knuckled grip on the windshield, though she couldn’t let go completely the feeling of careening toward danger.

  But what choice did she have? Jean-Paul hadn’t asked for any of this. He’d said from the beginning he wanted no part in magic and witches. Yet he’d jumped feetfirst to defend her from the false charges. He’d put himself in danger, and now she had to douse her fear and do the same for him. Newly resolved, she muttered a protection spell under her breath while she held the stolen crystal in her hand. It glowed warm against her palm, and when she looked down after the third incantation his name had been engraved into the quartz. She kissed the crystal to seal the spell before putting it back in her pocket.

  Yvette slowed the car as they approached a sign. “Which way?”

  They’d come to the Y in the road where one lane led straight to the village and the other curved through the lower vineyards—the safer but longer route. Elena peered at the abbey steeple looming over the village, feeling its compass point tug her forward.

  “The village,” she said.

  Yvette looked over her shoulder at the direction they’d just come before reluctantly putting the car in gear to climb the hill. There was danger, of course, in entering the main street. An automobile still attracted attention in the small town. Especially one with two women wanted for escape and murder sitting in the leather seats. But a witch was nothing without her instinct, and Elena’s was telling her to stop at the abbey.

  “Wait here,” she said once Yvette pulled over to the curb. “I won’t be a minute.”

  The young woman revved the engine for emphasis. “I hope we have that much time.”

  The warning was met with a firm nod as Elena pushed against the abbey’s heavy wooden door. The thousand-year-old apse greeted her with spears of colored light that shot through the stained glass at the top of the vaulted space. A balding monk in a blue-and-white robe looked up from his sweeping at the sound of the door closing behind her.

  “Elena?”

  “Hello, Brother Anselm.”

  He set his broom aside and approached from the altar, confusion building on his face as he noted her harem pants and silver bodice. “Good heavens, I’ve heard several stories about your return, but none included a career in the circus.”

  “I don’t have time to explain. I need your help.”

  “Certainly. What can I do?”

  “Air, fire, water, and earth.”

  The monk paused, considering. “A spell?”

  “A man’s life is at stake. Jean-Paul’s. Mine as well, if I’m honest.”

  “Right,” he said and began a flurry of movement. “Help yourself to the candles. And there’s water in the font. I’ll collect the other items.”

  “May I take the oil instead?”

  Anselm’s eyes narrowed in concern. “Of course,” he said and then hurried off through a door that led to the outside cloisters.

  A moment later he returned bearing a small over-the-shoulder satchel. “I procured a little incense. It’s basic frankincense, but it should be suitable for air. And will salt do for earth? There’s a goodly amount in there. Plus a little cheese wrapped in cloth.”

  “That’ll do.” Elena accepted the bag and slid the candles and stoppered bottle of olive oil inside with the other items. “Thank you,” she said and made the sign of thanks to the All Knowing. “I’ll explain someday, if I can.”

  In return the monk crossed himself. “By the way, Ariella stopped by earlier. She seemed to know you were . . . free.”

  “I sent a dove to find her and let her know I was okay.”

  The monk considered that. “Yes, well, she lit a candle, then left a twenty-year-old bottle of wine on the altar. On her way out she dropped a rather healthy sum of coins in the orphans’ fund box. In forty years she’s never done that.”

  The report made little sense, but there was no time to sort it out. Baffled, Elena promised to send another dove later and then thanked Brother Anselm as she rushed out the door to the sound of Yvette gunning the engine.

  The property at Domaine du Monde stood abandoned. No workers walked the vine rows, no maid peeked out through the curtains as she dusted the upstairs windowsill, and no attendant came out to greet them and escort them inside Bastien’s grand home. Elena also noted the protection spells surrounding the property had been removed.

  But there were ghosts. Memories from Elena’s past floated up to remind her of when she’d once looked forward to visiting the vineyard and flirting with the handsome vigneron who’d taken the helm from his ailing parents. She’d admired his certainty, his drive, and his dream for creating a brilliant future in a bright new age. He’d plied her with praise and sweet honey kisses. How intensely they’d gone from believing they were in love to accusations of curses and murder. He’d been an innovator and successful businessman, yes, but he could be cruel too. Manipulative. Self-centered. Vindictive. It’s why she’d been so certain he was capable of having her cursed. Just another loose end to clean up after a failed proposal. But she’d misjudged everything, and now he was dead.

  Yvette killed the engine, and Elena felt a shadow of malevolent energy brush up against her.

  “So what now?”

  She took a cleansing breath and recalibrated her thoughts. “They’re in the cellar.”

  “Right, so how do we get down there?”

  “We don’t. Not yet. There’s something we have to do first.” She stepped out of the car, the satchel over her shoulder, and walked to an outbuilding to the left of the main house.

  Yvette followed her inside and stared up at the knives, picks, and hammers hung on hooks along one wall of the workspace. She took down a short-handled saw and tested the grip. “Since when does someone need one of these to make wine?”

  “It’s the cooperage,” Elena said, dropping the satchel on a workbench. “They make the barrels in this building.”

  Yvette whistled low as she walked along the wall. She removed an ax from a peg and juggled the tool in one hand, tossing it blade over handle as comfortably as flipping a coin in the air. “There’s enough hardware here to slice through ten bad-seed witches.”

  If only it were true. “I’m going to need an athame,” she said. “See if you can find something suitable while I clear a space.”

  “That’s the fancy knife, right?”

  Elena rebuked her with a look of disbelief.

  “Oh là là. We weren’t all raised to be so high and mighty, remember? Some of us work the carnival for a living.”

  “Yes, it’s the ceremonial knife. The sharpest you can find.”

  Yvette blanched. “You mean to do a real proper spell? Here? While she’s down there?”

  “I do. Now hurry. We haven’t much time.”

  While Yvette explored the hardware on the wall, Elena took a broom and swept the floor clean of the wood shavings between the workbench and the fireplace.

  Yvette returned a moment later offering a round-handled cochoir, a wicked-looking knife with a curved steel blade used to plane wooden staves. “Fancy enough for you?”

  “That will do,” she said and tucked it in her costume at the small of her back.

  Together they emptied a crate and turned it over in the center of the floor. Elena opened the satchel and removed two candles, both white with clean wicks, and set them aside. Then she placed the salt, oil, and incense on top of the crate. To her surprise, Brother Anselm had included something he neglected to mention. The cheese, which he’d wrapped in cloth, was tied up with string. A sprig of dried lavender and bay leaf had been secured in the center with a knot. She nearly cried at the gesture, knowing he’d meant it as a protective charm.

  Her resolv
e reinvigorated, she took a deep breath and motioned to the young woman. “Come stand beside me.”

  For once, Yvette obeyed without comment, seemingly awestruck at the prospect of participating in a full ritual. If life permitted, Elena vowed to find a way to mentor the young woman later so she at least knew a few simple spells to begin building her own Book of Shadows. But first they had to survive the witch in the cellar.

  Setting her doubts aside, she concentrated on the small tin of frankincense and rubbed her thumb and fingers together. Tiny sparks danced on her fingertips, then fizzled. “Merde. I’m perspiring too much to hold a flame. Hand me the allumettes.”

  Yvette patted her pocket and shook her head in alarm. “I left them with the ciggies back at the fairground.”

  Elena dabbed her upper lip with the back of her wrist and pretended not to panic. She wiped her palms against her harem pants, though the sequin and silk did little to absorb the moisture.

  Concentrate!

  She took a deep breath and rubbed her hands back and forth, ready to try again, when a whirlwind swelled to life in the courtyard and slammed against the cooperage. A cyclone of dust and debris twisted through the doorway, crashing against the workbench and ravaging the shop in a fury of raw energy.

  “It’s her,” Elena said, scrambling to protect the paltry items on her altar. Around them barrels splintered, saws and iron tongs stabbed the ground, and the window glass shattered before the energy spun out and dissipated in a small gust that billowed their hair off their necks. “She knows we’re here. We must finish. Quickly now.”

  Fear was no longer a luxury. Elena planted her feet, centered her thoughts, and rubbed the base of her palms together. There was heat but no fire. She closed her eyes and opened her mind until she felt the prickly sting of fire against her fingers. She opened her eyes, and soon an orange ball of flame bloomed to life like a poppy in her hands. With more than a little relief she set it down atop the incense, then watched as the frankincense began to glow. Maintaining her focus, she aligned her thoughts toward her purpose and held the cooper’s knife over the rising smoke. Asking the All Knowing for its blessing, she purified the crude athame by passing it through the sweet incense three times. The metal shimmered as if coated in oil, and she began her ritual.