The Conjured Woman

by Anne Groß

  THE CONJURED WOMAN

  A NØVEL

  BY

  ANNE GROSS

  Copyright © 2016 by Anne Gross

  FIRST EDITION

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except in cases of a reviewer quoting brief passages in a review.

  The Quiet Woman is a work of fiction. Places, incidents portrayed, and names, while at times based on historical figures, are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual locales, events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available upon request

  For inquiries about orders, please contact:

  Beaufort Books

  27 West 20th Street, 11th Floor

  New York, NY 10011

  Published in the United States by Beaufort Books

  www.beaufortbooks.com

  Distributed by Midpoint Trade Books

  www.midpointtrade.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Gross, Anne

  The Conjured Woman

  ISBN:

  Paperback: 9780825307980

  eBook: 9780825307515

  Design by Michael Short

  Dédié à la memoire de ma grandmère, Marie-Jeanne Laurier “Naninou”

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  I THE FORTUNE

  II THE SEDUCTION

  III THE RITUAL

  IV THE THEFT

  V AWAKENINGS

  VI ESCAPE

  VII THE QUIET WOMAN

  VIII WHAT TIME IS IT?

  IX THE BLACK QUEEN

  X THE RELUCTANT MAID

  XI BURDENSOME STRAYS

  XII THE BEER ENGINE

  XIII ABDUCTED AGAIN

  XIV USELESS

  XV LA PRISON DES FLEURS

  XVI TAKING CONTROL

  XVII CONVERGING FORCES

  XVIII CHORES

  XIX WHERE IS IT?

  XX THE WISDOM OF ONIONS

  XXI WHICH ONE?

  XXII THE BEGINNING OF THE END OF IT ALL

  XXIII THE CHASE

  XXIV THE END OF THE END OF IT ALL, WHICH IS REALLY JUST THE BEGINNING

  PREVIEW

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  THE FORTUNE

  A light wind blew through the open French doors and lifted the diaphanous curtains, revealing a riot of blooming rosebushes surrounded by low boxwood hedges. Feeling the breeze on the back of her neck, Adelaide quickly placed her hands over the tableau of colorful cards spread carefully on the table. It wouldn’t do to have them scatter. “This card here,” she began when the curtains fell back to the floor, “in the Western cardinal position, represents the consultant. In this case, you.”

  “I know who I am, I do not need you to tell me.” Napoleon Bonaparte squinted at the cards on the delicate table, seemingly unable to resist the urge to see if something in the illustrated symbols revealed a characteristic about him that he hadn’t known, or a confirmation of what he already knew to be true. “The king of diamonds,” he noted out loud.

  The strongest men always bucked against her talent, Adelaide thought to herself. Wanting to assert their power, yet powerless to know their future without help, they pointed out the obvious and waited to be congratulated for their discovery. “Yes, I am not surprised that showed up for your reading.” Adelaide gave him a conciliating smile while she considered her next move. If she ignored his thinly veiled boast of self-knowledge and continued reading the card, he would insist he already knew what she was telling him and force her to move on to the next cardinal point. She knew that skipping the King of Diamonds would help to move the reading forward, and that would be a relief, but she also feared that if she did so, he would later berate her for having given an incomplete reading. She sighed, either way was failure for her—interpret the card and be accused of pedantic lecturing, or skip forward as his tone suggested she do and be accused of skimming. She decided to call his bluff. “Let us move to the next card, since His Imperial Majesty knows his own strengths and failures.”

  As she expected, Bonaparte drew himself up in the chair with an affronted breath of air. “Mademoiselle Lenormand, I would expect that you interpret all the cards you pull. To do less is to steal from France herself.”

  Adelaide placed an affected hand on her breast, “Your Majesty, I beseech you, please pardon me for any unintentional affront I may have caused. I merely wish to humbly serve you.” She made a florid gesture over the table. “Shall I then read the card?”

  “By all means.”

  Adelaide closed her eyes to fight back her growing apprehension and trusted she looked merely meditative. The constant tightrope a person such as herself was forced to walk in order to maintain control of the cards was at odds with the modest servility her clients demanded. Although her power in reading the cards was great, it was no match for the power of the society in which she worked. It was worse when she read for men who either misinterpreted the intimacy of the situation, or chafed at the reversal of gender roles. Reading for Bonaparte added even more layers of murk.

  “The King of Diamonds, a man with strong character who is very successful in his business affairs.” Adelaide opened her eyes when she heard her client snort derisively. Bonaparte had flung himself backwards deep into his chair and was now looking at the ceiling. “Yes,” agreed Adelaide, “it does seem obvious, but please consider that this card was randomly chosen from a fifty-four-card deck. The fact that it should fit you so perfectly aligns with what you have heard of my reputation, no?”

  “Josephine tells me you developed these cards yourself.”

  “I did. I spent my entire life studying mythology, numerology, astrology, the fundamentals of alchemy, and, of course, cartomancy before I developed the images you see on the cards in front of you.”

  Bonaparte huffed once through pursed lips, which was all the acknowledgement of Adelaide’s accomplishment that he would deign to give. “Go on,” he ordered with a flick of his hand.

  “The King of Diamonds is but one symbol on this card, and a small one at that. I included the images from the standard playing cards in each left corner mostly to add organization and familiarity to the deck. The main scene, as you can see, is of Cadmus bringing an offering to Athena and informing her of the slain serpent. You know the story, do you not?”

  “Of course I do. Cadmus slew the serpent and was instructed by Athena to bury the teeth. After the Spartoi were born from those teeth, they warred amongst themselves until there were only five left alive. Those last Spartoi helped Cadmus build the city of Thebes.” Bonaparte paused in his narrative and smiled. “Are you comparing me to Cadmus?”

  “I assume, Your Majesty, you understand the consequences of slaying your enemy.”

  “The consequences of victory, you mean.”

  Adelaide looked at the Emperor and saw how his eyes glinted. She knew she must tread carefully. “From the serpent’s teeth the five noblest families of Thebes were born. Cadmus, with the blessings of Athena, ruled them all. Yet the story does not end well.”

  “No,” Bonaparte allowed, “the serpent was a favorite of Ares who was angry to lose his pet. Cadmus was beset with ill-fortune for killing the serpent and eventually was himself turned into a serpent.”

  Adelaide nodded. “A great soldier, a founder of cities, and in the end, a monster.” She had his full attention now. He sat forward and caught her gaze with such self-confidence that she couldn’t help but avert her eyes. He then bent over the tabl
e and looked just as intently at the card as if to force out its meaning.

  “There are other scenes here,” he said.

  Adelaide exhaled. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. “Yes, the rook dropping fruit that the hog gobbles up; the lady holding a scarab beetle on her finger. The cards reveal their stories in their own time. I cannot know what all the pictures mean immediately upon looking at them, they must be interpreted not only by their images, but also in relation to where they are placed in the spread and who is sitting across from me. Some scenes have no meaning on their own, but are merely revealed for the purpose of adding clarity to the card adjacent to it.”

  “How do you know when an image is to be interpreted only for another card?”

  “No single card can be read alone, each one influences the others, just as in life there will never be any single event to define a person, but a series of events, one after the other, each adding or detracting so that in the end a person’s wisdom and character is marked by multitudes of experiences layered, not linear.” Adelaide paused before taking another tack, “The Empress convinced you to seek my counsel, did she not?”

  “I agreed to meet with you; she would not let the matter drop otherwise.”

  “Do you trust her?”

  “She is my wife,” Bonaparte’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I would trust her with my life.”

  “Just your life? You do not trust her judgment as well? You seem very skeptical of my talents. The Empress is not. I had hoped her opinion of me would sway you.”

  “Josephine is a remarkable strategist amongst the court and has a keen wit to suit her own purpose, but all her purposes are fickle. She is a woman, after all.” The Emperor waved his hand dismissively and smiled, “Go on with your reading. I will behave.”

  Referring to himself as like a child who needed to behave served to remind Adelaide of her feminine duty to placate and soothe, despite the irritation she felt on Josephine’s behalf. She doubted it was an intentional maneuver, but it was nonetheless effective. She continued the reading. “This card also speaks of receiving aid, as the rook aids the hog and the Lady aids the scarab. A person who is in a position inferior to yourself will come to you when you need help. I see that you wear a beautiful scarab as your talisman. The card’s veracity is all the more strengthened by this.”

  The jewel was impossible to miss. The enormous emerald, cut in the form of the traditional Egyptian amulet and set against golden wings, had slipped forward on its chain from behind the Emperor’s cravat when he leaned forward to examine the cards and Adelaide struggled to keep from staring. Her observation caused him to quickly drop it back down his shirt. “Merely a coincidence,” he said dismissively. “I wear it to remind me of the great victory I led in Egypt.”

  “A coincidence? I don’t believe in coincidences. I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so, but I doubt you do either. It’s common knowledge that you think yourself to be living under a lucky star.”

  “A figure of speech. My successes are due to my skills in diplomacy and governance,” the Emperor corrected.

  “Of course. But even a hero like Cadmus sought help from the gods. I caution you that your star, your gods, will be no help to you in the coming months. You will soon be under a great burden.”

  Bonaparte laughed. “You must be joking. I do not need to have my cards read to know that I have no end of burdens.” He paused to glare into Adelaide’s eyes. Again, she averted her gaze. “Talleyrand is tired of entertaining those royal Spanish idiots I’ve imprisoned in his home, and burdens me with his endless complaints. Spain herself burdens me with its insolent militias that prick me like irritating mosquitos. Fouché reminds me at every turn of my burden to produce an heir. This very hour with you is a burden my wife placed upon me. And now you are burdening me with vague and useless portents couched in mythology.” He sat back in his chair again, shaking his head. The candlelight played on his features, darkening his eyes, deepening the lines around his mouth. Adelaide let him brood on his exhaustion so that her next words would be fully felt.

  “That is what I’m trying to tell you—you have need for an aide fixed to you with loyalty beyond that of a valet, or a wife, or even a mother.”

  “A person like that does not exist.”

  “No, not a person.” Adelaide felt her cheeks flush as she paused. She knew her next suggestion was radical and she feared the Emperor’s reaction. “A golem, created for the sole purpose of carrying out your wishes; to protect France.”

  “A golem.” Bonaparte echoed with a smile. He didn’t even bother to sit back up in his chair at the suggestion. He casually looked at his nails and picked at them as he thought. Adelaide felt a trickle of sweat roll down her neck while she waited. “I think, Mademoiselle,” he continued, “you would be much more entertaining to me if you would take off your clothes. You have strayed from telling my fortune to an even more ludicrous path so I am fairly certain disrobing would not sully your professional integrity. You may start by pulling the sleeves of your gown off your shoulders.”

  Adelaide stared at Bonaparte in shock and considered her options. Then she loosened the drawstring of her chemise. The cloth slipped open at her neck and she pushed it over her pale shoulders. She had no other option. “I was given the instructions for the ceremony when I was still quite young and have been studying those sacred words ever since. I can call it for you.”

  “Vous êtes toujours une petite fille, Mademoiselle.” Bonaparte leaned forward and lightly drew the backs of his fingers down the length of her neck from behind her ear to the end of her sloped shoulder. He smiled when he saw her shudder. “A little girl who still believes in fairies.”

  “You do not think I could do it?” She was a woman in her early thirties, certainly not a little girl. It annoyed her that she was flattered by the comparison.

  “There is no such thing as magic,” he responded. “You could no more call forth a golem as you could shit a nosegay of dewy violets.”

  “If you do not believe in the supernatural, why wear that Egyptian jewel?” Adelaide challenged.

  Napoleon reflexively put his hand to his neck and fingered the scarab under his collar. His face took on a distant expression and Adelaide wondered if he was remembering his ill-fated journey to Egypt, but he composed himself quickly and said merely, “It is just a trifle. It accents my waistcoat.”

  “It accents nothing if you wear it under your collar.” replied Adelaide, wishing she could see it again. “I am sure it is powerful. You must take care.”

  “Bof.” Bonaparte waved his left hand dismissively. “It is no more powerful than this ring on my finger. A man wears the jewel; the jewel does not wear the man.”

  His cavalier attitude towards the power in his wedding band made Adelaide gasp. She looked down at the forgotten cards and blushed for the Emperor’s sake. “I would like to help you,” she said quietly, without looking up. “If you would allow it, I will call forth a golem for you.”

  “And why would you do such a thing for me?” Bonaparte laughed. He seemed to be enjoying himself much more.

  “You can make France the greatest country in the world, but not alone. The cards tell me you need an aide.”

  Bonaparte smiled slyly and reached over the table to finger a lock of her black hair. “Why not you?”

  “No, not me, your Majesty. I am corruptible. You need someone bound to you by something stronger than the ties of human loyalty. I can, however, provide that aide.” Adelaide examined Bonaparte’s relaxed pose and his crinkled smirk. He was barely containing his derision. Another breeze came through the doors, carrying the heady smell of Josephine’s favored roses. Poor Josephine, thought Adelaide as she glanced at an adjacent card whose meaning was incontrovertible. There would be a divorce. She wondered how the roses at Malmaison would fare without their mistress. Adelaide hoped that Josephine would be allowed to stay for the sake of her beloved garden. The card blew off the table and landed on the parquet f
loor. Neither of them bothered to bend over to retrieve it. “Perhaps we should continue another time,” she suggested.

  “Tell me more about this golem first,” the Emperor said indulgently. “Where is it now? Where would you call it from?” He resumed stroking her shoulder, pushing her gown just a little further down on her round white arm.

  Adelaide braced her palms against her thighs as the sensation of his teasing touch coursed down her spine. She struggled to answer his question. “I have no idea where it is. Where do infants reside before they are born?” she replied.

  Bonaparte stood suddenly and gripped her elbow to pull her from her chair. The light table tipped and the cards fell all about like flower petals before a bride as she was led to the divan. “That is a good question,” he said, “and one I am sure I can help you answer.”

  As the Emperor dipped his head to taste her skin at that tender spot just behind her jaw and under her ear, Adelaide’s last coherent thought was that her question had been meant to be answered philosophically, not probed for literally.

  THE SEDUGTIOH

  It was the combination of a pounding headache and the sound of some idiot honking in the street that woke Elise that morning. She lay on her side in the bed and squinted at the room, trying to clear her vision and locate her car keys in the swirl of abandoned clothes and empty bottles that littered the floor. A man’s hot breath was steaming up the back of her neck and the sweat of him made her back slick as he curled closer against her. Her mouth felt like someone had pasted it shut with the contents of a soggy ashtray. She blinked hard to clear the film from her corneas and finally spotted her keys on the floor where she had dropped them as she came in.

  Carefully so as to not awaken her companion, Elise removed the muscular arm that was draped over her side and untangled her feet from the sheet bunched at the bottom of the bed. Tentatively, she stretched her legs off the mattress and slid onto the floor where she fought a surge of nausea that accompanied her move to her knees. She paused to clamp her head in her hands and watched the dust bunnies float across the Saltillo tile under the bed.