The Vine Witch
Page 25
Each morning she checked her star charts, consulted with the lacewings, the beetles, the moths, and he swore even a lizard once, as they went about their business in the canopy. And then she’d close her eyes and let her fingers trail along the vines. There was some secret communication in it all. A language only she spoke. On the days he felt brave he would ask her to let him listen too. Then she would take his hand in hers, and he would hear the rush of life surging through the vines, see the bright halo of gold and green hover above the rows, and watch the bees buzz through the air toward their ultraviolet destinations. And then he would let go. It was enough to know that other world existed and that she was watching over it.
In the weeks and months after Madame’s death, he’d had to return to his law books and the covenant decrees one last time. There was never any real threat of Elena returning to prison, but the law had to officially release its grip on her, which meant a formal hearing. Complicating things was the revelation of her family history. Because two people had died from a poison she’d formulated, she would have to register with the Covenants Regulation Bureau as a venefica so that any future concoctions might be monitored for malicious use. The decree required seven pages of official documents, but it was all just legalese, the secret language he spoke, and one he happily translated for Elena so she understood she was free to continue making wine.
Well, mostly free. The death of her mentor had, for a time, clamped a restraint on her confidence. The natural fallout of betrayal and loss. Afterward, she’d spent her mornings walking among the old vines Joseph had planted for Ariella, speaking to them when she thought he wasn’t near enough to hear. Whispering words another might reserve for the departed. Words of regret, confusion, guilt, and finally, he thought, acceptance. Until the day she was ready to say yes to his proposal.
He may not have asked to partner with witches when he bought the vineyards at Château Renard, but like the scientist with his microscope he’d discovered there was so much more to the world around him than what his eye alone could see. And more chambers of his heart than he’d ever known existed before he’d met this cat-eyed woman with her charms and spells and bewitching magic.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
You had to respect the grapes. That was the first lesson. Wine, after all, was a living, breathing thing. Each wine its own entity, each vintage as unique as the heart and mind of the witch who crafted it.
Jean-Paul opened the bottle and set it on the table to breathe. Though still young by some standards, the wine had aged for two years and already had the maturity of a grande dame in the prime of her life. It was time. He poured, and the wine filled the glass like liquid gemstones, catching the light in rubescent brilliance. Elena held it to her nose. Flint and fire, figs, spice, and tart cherries. More than any other, she’d wanted the full expression of the grapes to shine through in this vintage, though even a witch couldn’t be certain of which characteristics would be transfused through the roots and vines to settle in the fruit.
She sipped and tasted the complexity of fruit and smoke, earth and oak, as the legacy of the renowned Renard terroir came through. And then the subtle aftertaste hit as hoped with just a hint of melancholia in the finish. It was more memory than infusion, but it was there all the same to remind her. Like the scent of geraniums in winter.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As a writer I’ve always felt that storytelling was the last true form of magic left in the world. But I may be wrong. For there is also gratitude, which is no less powerful in the right moment. With that in mind, I wish to express my thanks to the many people who helped make the publication of this novel possible. First, a gracious nod to my agent, Marlene, who reads quickly and knows what she likes when she sees it. Thank you for being my advocate. To Adrienne, whose positivity and collaborative style made the work a joy, my sincerest thanks for believing in my story. There are also a number of people whose editorial input on the book made me look like a better writer than I am. To Clarence, Jon, Sarah, Karin, and the amazing team at 47North, many of whom I never had a chance to correspond with personally, I send a hearty thank-you for your expertise and professionalism. It’s been wonderful to work with so many dedicated and creative people. On a more personal note, I wish to thank Caitlin for her early reading and revision guidance. And lastly, to Rob, David, Autumn, Brett, Matt, and my parents, Jim and Carol, thank you for your endless support on this long and winding journey.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2018 bobcarmichael.com
Luanne G. Smith lives in Colorado at the base of the beautiful Rocky Mountains, where she enjoys hiking, gardening, and a glass of good wine at the end of the day. The Vine Witch is her debut novel. For more information, visit www.luannegsmith.com.