Elemental Magic: All-New Tales of the Elemental Masters

by Mercedes Lackey

  Since the fantasy had only just evaporated from her imagination, she eyed the gentleman as if he could be a prospective lover and husband. He stood a good foot taller than her petite height of five feet one inch. Aurelia tilted her head back against her lace collar to meet his eyes. Those were blue, but not the sea-blue of the Gauls—rather a gray that seemed diluted from India ink almost to colorlessness. His blond hair was, alas, from a bottle, not from nature. His skin—well, he wore cosmetics. Not an unfamiliar conceit among the fashionable gentlemen of Paris, particularly if one had been so unfortunate as to suffer the pox as a child, or catastrophic acne in adolescence. Otherwise, she found him quite handsome, though it seemed almost to her as if he wore a mask. His face was not his face, so to speak. He also wore a heavy eau de cologne, and not a becoming one. When he came closer, she became aware that he stank. The cologne was to hide his personal odor. The combination was nauseating, to be honest. She opened her mouth to offer some advice to him as to better scents to try, but he stopped her from speaking with a sharp look in his very pale blue eyes. A masterful man, then, and one aware of his rank. Perhaps he would not like a shop assistant for a wife.

  “Your employer is on the premises, mademoiselle?” he inquired. His tenor voice had music in it. Most appealing, Aurelia thought.

  “No, sir. He is away. May I serve? I am Mlle. Degard, M. Rupier’s assistant parfumiere.”

  “I hope you may. You are experienced at formulations and potions?”

  “Perfumes, lotions, eaux de toilettes, creams, powders, and sachets,” Aurelia said promptly.

  “I want a present for my dear friend,” he said. The chere amie was politeness, Aurelia knew. His lover, then. “Something special. You may have noticed that I wear a perfume of my own.”

  “I . . . admit that I did, sir.”

  Her lowered eyes evinced a bitter laugh from him.

  “It is because, well, to put it indelicately, I do not have a good smell of my own, and I want her to breathe in only good airs while I am with her.”

  “I can advise you,” she said, eagerly. “I know many scents that can mask one’s personal aroma. Most discreetly, of course.”

  He shook his head, almost sadly.

  “Nothing has ever helped me,” he said, his hands turned palm up. Well, what can one do? they seemed to ask.

  “How may I serve, then?”

  He removed a kidskin billfold from his inside breast pocket and extracted a slip of paper.

  “I have consulted an expert, who has analyzed my . . . situation. These ingredients will mask my natural scent and also give my dear friend much pleasure. If you can concoct a perfume using them, then I can give her a gift that will make me the perfect beau, one whom she will want to keep near her all her life.”

  It was then Aurelia noticed that the gentleman’s gloves were a trifle worn around the percussion side of the palm and under the fingertips. Not as new as they looked. And the coat, though of a fashionable color, was not of the most fashionable cut.

  Aurelia examined the list he proffered her, and frowned over some of the items.

  “It can be done, sir, but I fear that it will be a most expensive preparation, if you require all of these ingredients. The musk alone is several livres per gill.”

  His breath seemed to catch. She looked up at those ice-colored eyes. The pupils swelled for a moment, immersing the iris in black, then shrank again to a normal size. He smiled.

  “All, if you please. I wish to win her heart for my own, mine alone. She has many admirers, as one might guess. At present I stand out, but not in a good way.”

  A rich lady, then, Aurelia guessed, since he did not mention her beauty. His chere amie was one whose financial gifts he hoped to realize, not just the favors of her person. The situation was not an uncommon one at all. There were as many impecunious gentlemen in Paris as there were destitute young ladies. She did not turn her nose up at them, knowing her own good fortune.

  “I will do my best,” she promised. “Has she a favorite flower or spice that I may use as the middle note for this gift? It is not a musical term,” she explained as he looked puzzled. “It is the scent noticed, after the top note, which is usually something light and bright. This is the scent that will last the longest, giving her the most pleasure. The others listed here will work underneath it like servants, making all well behind the scenes.”

  “Ah, I understand,” he said. “Tuberoses. She is partial to those. Any of the fragrant roses. I have brought her armloads for her pleasure. And she has asked for lilies.”

  “I see,” she said. No doubt Madame wanted very strongly scented flowers to counteract the stench that pervaded this man’s person. “Will you give me a week, sir? I wish to consult several of my employer’s books for the best way to achieve the goal you require.”

  “But it is a surprise,” he said, bringing his gloved finger to his lips. “No one outside this room must know of the gift.”

  Aurelia nodded grandly.

  “Your consultation and purchase are confidential. It is the policy of M. Rupier, Parfumier, never to discuss the business of our clientele.”

  “Promise!”

  “I promise,” Aurelia said, with a puzzled frown. He took her hand and shook it firmly. The wave of unpleasant smell surrounded her, almost attaining a physical presence. She gasped. He could not help but notice her reaction, but kept his eyes fixed on hers.

  “It is agreed, then. I go. Until we meet again, seven days from now.”

  “Until we meet again. Oh, sir, may I have a name to put in M. Rupier’s ledger?”

  He looked at her through those long, blond eyelashes. It was a wicked glance, and she saw how he could have attracted a wealthy patroness.

  “Call me M. Casanova.”

  Aurelia felt her cheeks flush with hot red blood. He bowed to her and departed. The jingling of the doorbells sent a tingle up her spine.

  “You should have asked for a partial payment,” Alfonse said, when the sound had stopped. Aurelia’s mouth fell open in dismay.

  “Oh, you are right! But such a disconcerting man,” she said. “So handsome, and yet . . .”

  “I did not like him,” Alfonse said, locking the door and turning the sign over to show that the shop was now “Ferme” instead of “Ouvert.”

  “Well, would you? You are not fond of men.”

  “I would not like him even if I did. He is a poseur. What is on the outside is not on the inside. How he smells, and that is very bad, speaks of his true nature to me. Did you like him?”

  “Ah, but that is not our business,” she said, with a sigh as she looked toward the closed door. “We create perfumes, airs of grace. He is a customer, and I will make up the gift for his lady friend. If she chooses to send him on his way, it will not be because she is displeased with a perfume from M. Rupier.”

  * * *

  Aurelia laid the list on the table in the workroom and began to accumulate the ingredients. She read through the great herbals and M. Poucher’s manuals, and compared them with the items in the inventory book. The mix of ingredients that M. Casanova wished combined would be dreadful and heavy by itself, but since it was meant to mask a very unpleasant human body odor, it had to be strong. At her order, Alfonse retrieved most of the items, but the rare musk was not to be found. She opened the safe. The rest of the musks were there beside the rose and jasmine attars, but not the one she needed. She threw up her hands.

  “It must be in his small room.”

  Alfonse regarded her with an air of astonishment.

  “You can see the door?”

  “Why, yes, of course! I have even seen beyond the threshold, though I have never gone inside.”

  Alfonse smiled.

  “You are the right apprentice,” he said. “You must be a magician. No one else can see it.”r />
  Aurelia clicked her tongue impatiently. The door was a door, like any other. She opened it and went in.

  What she had glimpsed over M. Rupier’s shoulder did not have the impact of stepping inside. The small room looked like a drawing by M. Aubrey Beardsley. Silvery tracings on the walls and carpet seemed to frame her in an Art Nouveau forest. On one wall were shelved many books. Where some were tied with ribbons, others had chains around them. One, curiously, was immersed in an enormous jar of water. Bubbles rose from between its pages. The rest of the walls were filled with shelves of stoppered flasks and bottles, some sealed with wax, others with leather or wood or other materials she could not identify. The bottles themselves were made of cut glass, rock crystal, wood of every color including blue and green, beeswax and bakelite.

  She had to hunt for the musk. M. Rupier had it tucked into a drawer at the side of the enormous desk. The jar was exquisitely beautiful. It had been cut from a piece of quartz that had veins of color running through it like ribbons or a folded rainbow, like pieces in the shop windows of the cristalleries Saint-Louis and Baccarat, but those were made of glass. Aurelia knew this was a natural piece. It must have been worth a fortune, but the musk inside was far more valuable. M. Rupier always cautioned her that enough to fill the tiny arc underneath her little fingernail would be twenty livres. This recipe called for almost that much. And rightly, too; it smelled wonderful.

  She opened the jar to breathe the heady aroma.

  A puff of blue steam whooshed out of the container.

  In shock, Aurelia dropped the jar. She scrabbled for it, but another hand caught it before it hit the ground, one of translucent blue. A manlike figure arose behind it. Aurelia screamed and raced for the door.

  The figure swooped around her and headed her off. She fell to her knees and put her palms together in supplication.

  “Oh, dear Mother Marie, protect your child,” she prayed, her voice trembling. “Bless me and keep me from demons!”

  The figure coalesced into the shape of a preadolescent child, naked, of supernal beauty, more perfect than an alabaster statue.

  “Fear me not, Sister,” he said. His voice thrilled like a harp glissando. Aurelia covered her face with her hands.

  “God, take this apparition away from me, lest it steal my soul!”

  The strings of the harp tingled in an unmistakable laugh.

  “I am not a threat, magician. What is your will?”

  “I am not a magician!” she cried. “I mix perfumes. Oh, spare me, demon!”

  “I am not a demon!” he said peevishly. “And you will bring the neighborhood down upon us, or at least Alfonse.”

  Aurelia looked up from her hands.

  “What are you talking about—does he know of you?”

  The spirit flitted impatiently about her.

  “Yes, of course! We are acquainted, though he is dull, like all those of Earth. You, though,” he said, flying down to hover before her. His enormous eyes fixed upon hers with a bright expression of curiosity. “You are different. I believe—yes—you are one like me.”

  “I am not like you! I am a good Christian girl!”

  He clicked his tongue, much as she had a moment before.

  “You have all the power of the element of Air—but you are untrained. By Mother Nature, what a jape!”

  He tittered with laughter. Stung, Aurelia summoned up all her courage.

  “What are you?”

  “A sylph,” he said proudly. “A spirit of Air. I am Hyr. M. Rupier never told you about me?”

  “No. And what are you doing in this jar of musk! It costs a fortune!”

  “And delicious it is, too,” Hyr said, his eyes twinkling.

  “You are eating it?” she demanded in outrage. “This jar costs more than a year’s pay!”

  Hyr shook his head. “Not the substance, the scent. I am nourished by such as this. It is my pay for assisting M. Rupier. It is quite marvelous. Breathe it.”

  “Not now,” she said, seizing the jar from Hyr’s hands. “I must make up a perfume that uses this.”

  Hyr twisted his slender body and flew up to circle the electric light on the ceiling.

  “But this is marvelous! I shall help you with your spell!”

  She found herself growing impatient with this laughing sprite. However magical, he was exasperating!

  “I don’t know how to do spells!”

  “But M. Rupier does. Where is he?”

  Aurelia did not want to believe her ears, but her eyes showed her an impossibility, so she had to lend some measure of credence.

  “He is a magician? An Air Magician?”

  “No, he is a Water Master—how is it you work for him and do not know this?”

  Overwhelmed by the strange concepts, not to mention conversing with a spirit, Aurelia burst into tears.

  “I don’t know any of this! He went away to the Levant and told me nothing!”

  Hyr zipped to her side. She felt a gentle breeze touch her cheeks, drying the tears away.

  “It is simple, mistress. It is the energies of Air and Water together that make up great perfumes. They incorporate notes from Earth and Fire as well. A good perfume is like a good spell. It calls up gentle powers to create an effect that is magical. Do you not feel that way?”

  That Aurelia understood, to her very bones. The concept helped to assuage her terror.

  “Oh, I do!”

  “Good!” Hyr exclaimed. “Come, then, and I will mix the airs for you so you need not waste your ingredients working out the proportions to use.”

  Alfonse did not blink at the translucent blue child hovering beside Aurelia as they emerged from the small office.

  “You found the musk, then,” he said, with a cheerful smile.

  “Yes, I did,” Aurelia said crossly, “and this fellow beside! And how long would it have been before the three of you saw fit to explain the witches’ coven into which I have wandered?”

  “Not long. M. Rupier thought of doing so before he departed, but he realized he would have more to explain and to teach you than time permitted. It was to occur once he returned. But you have surprised his secret. I have sent him a message by way of an Earth Elemental. He should have it by now.”

  Aurelia frowned.

  “How . . . ? I shouldn’t even ask. I can only hope my soul is not imperiled by associating with all of you.”

  “Only if you do evil,” Hyr said, blithely, whisking toward the worktable. “Come! I am impatient to smell this new concoction!”

  * * *

  With Alfonse standing by, Aurelia and Hyr went over the ingredients. As he promised, the sylph seemed to be able to draw the aromas together in a small crystal bowl from which Aurelia could inhale the scents. Instead of being invisible, the aromas were wisps of color that danced around like dust devils.

  “Put your nose to that, magician-who-isn’t,” he said. “Not your nose as such, but your sense of balance.”

  “I don’t know what you mean!” Aurelia protested. She sat on the tall, wooden stool with the erect posture of a schoolgirl, her heels hooked through the bottom rung.

  “Let me guide you,” Hyr said, flitting around her like a housefly. “Feel the scent. It is not substantial to you as it is to me, but you know when they fit together, like a puzzle. Close your eyes. Find the way to make them work in harmony.”

  Aurelia dipped her head toward the bowl. Aromas warred with one another. It was an unpleasant combination, all too earthy. Too much of the myrrh essence made her choke. It argued with the licorice root, ginger, and calamus oils. She cringed as the cedar and bergamot entered the fray. The musk threatened to overwhelm all the other ingredients. But if she used only a tiny bit of it, and pulled in the flavor of jasmine—yes, jasmine!—for the heart note, she could m
ake a scent that was not only pleasant, but appealing, even serene. The top note must be flowery and a trifle spicy.

  “I need a light floral scent,” she said, almost to herself, beginning to get down from her perch.

  “I will fetch some!” Hyr said, whisking away. Ten small glass bottles floated in the air toward her.

  “Thank you,” Aurelia said, watching the flight in wonder. “I did not mean to make you do the work.”

  The Sylph laughed, a tinkly sound like ringing crystal.

  “You command me, not the other way around. Now, what do you require?”

  Clover—yes, that would be delightful. It was a humble flower, but one could not fault its delicate aroma.

  “Clover,” she said. At once, the stopper flew off, and a wisp of pinky whiteness rose to join the rest of the tinted airs in the bowl. Yes, that was the last element to make the whole harmonious. She sat back with a sigh of pleasure.

  How marvelous to be able to work so effortlessly! It was a miracle! Shyly, she looked up at Hyr, who let out another of his bright chuckles. She returned to her musing. She would only do good with these wonders, please God.

  “This reminds me of something,” the sylph said, circling around the bowl like a goldfish. “I can’t think of what it is. But it was a very long time ago. And perhaps it wasn’t even I who smelled it, but one of my kind.”

  Aurelia groaned. She was becoming impatient with his breezy memory.

  “He forgets a lot of things,” Alfonse said, laughing. That is why he cannot be trusted to carry messages.”

  “He has done good service for us today,” Aurelia said. “For us and M. Rupier.”

  Hyr exploded in a burst of blueness from sheer pleasure. Aurelia smiled indulgently.

  * * *

  Aurelia sat in a cab, straightening her skirt nervously. M. Casanova had not come in himself, for which she was grateful, but he had sent a message with his payment. Would Mlle. Degard kindly deliver the perfume herself to the lady? There was enough money included for a taxi for both the outward and return trips. Aurelia was impressed by his generosity. She could rarely afford to ride in cabs. This one had good springs and a good horse. She clutched on her lap the cranberry-red carton marked in gold with the name ‘Rupier,’ which contained the perfume bottle.