The Glamourist (The Vine Witch #2)(6)
“Mademoiselle, I see from your expression you recognize this rather crude weapon as one belonging to Yvette Lenoir. It might interest you to know that it was recovered from the cellar where I believe you were last taken into custody.”
Before she could reply, Jean-Paul put a cautioning hand on her arm and asked, “What is it you’re after exactly, Minister?”
“Mortals. Always so eager to get to the point. Very well.” Durant leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “In short, mademoiselle, I’ve been given the authority to overturn the revocation of your position as a vine witch in exchange for information.”
“What information?”
“You must reveal whatever knowledge you have of the whereabouts of Mademoiselle Lenoir. She is known to have been in your presence moments before your recapture. It stretches credulity to believe you had no part in her further escape.”
Elena gaped at him. “But I have no idea where she is. I already told Inspector Nettles I haven’t a clue what happened to her after she disappeared.”
“You cannot hold her responsible for the law’s incompetence,” Jean-Paul insisted. “This is coercion. The law is willing to take away her livelihood simply because it wasn’t resourceful enough to apprehend the young woman when it had the chance.”
“A young witch, monsieur. And may I remind you she is a murderer who has proven herself both dangerous and elusive after so many weeks on the run. If your fiancée knows anything about her present location, I suggest she tell this office at once or I’m afraid the law will have no choice but to permanently enforce the forfeiture of her status as a vine witch.”
The pins in Elena’s hair scratched, her shoes pinched, and her corset seemed to squeeze even tighter around her ribs. She stood, unable to sit with the uncomfortable news. “How can I tell you something I don’t know?”
“The burden is yours to bear out, mademoiselle. I suggest you use your particular talents to find Mademoiselle Lenoir, if you wish to return to your vineyard in your former capacity. In the meantime, here is my business card. Send a dove, or a telegram if you find mortal communication more to your taste,” he said with an eye toward Jean-Paul. “When you’re ready to talk, your status will be reinstated.”
“The law is an ass,” she said.
“Regrettably for you, that is often how the law functions,” Durant said, then took his rubber stamp, plunged it against the ink pad, and stamped her vine witch registration as REVOKED.
CHAPTER TWO
The couple emerged onto the street outside the minister’s office as dazed as if they’d been shell-shocked by mortar fire. Jean-Paul paced the sidewalk, slapping the brim of his hat against his trouser leg before securing it atop his head again with a squeeze of his hand. Elena dug her heel against the pavement and folded her arms around her middle to keep her hands from casting spellfire at the two-story apartment building across the street with the wrought-iron flower boxes. And still she fumed, the faint aura of burnt cinders radiating off her as strong as any char girl selling roasted hazelnuts in the street.
Blast that man, blast the court, and blast everyone who ever lied to her about her past.
“I nearly lost the vineyard once before. I cannot be on the verge of losing everything again,” she said.
“You’re not going to lose the vineyard. Or me. I promise you.” Jean-Paul squared his shoulders and buttoned his coat as if affixing the last strap of armor. “What an insufferable man, that Durant. Their ultimatum cannot be allowed to stand. It’s legal blackmail. And did you hear the way he used the word ‘mortal’? As if it were a disease he was trying to avoid.”
“There must be some lawyer trick you can do.”
A man in a bowler hat and three-piece black suit strode toward them, checking his pocket watch. He had the scent of authority about him, but it was the mortal kind, full of self-importance. They held their conversation until he passed by, acknowledging him with a nod of their heads, and then watched as he continued past the blue door completely unaware of the idiotic supernatural bureaucracy it contained.
“Do? I don’t even understand the context of the question anymore.” Jean-Paul stared at the surrounding street in bewilderment. “I lived and studied in this city my entire life growing up. To think all the while there was a secret society of witches living beside me and, just like that man, I hadn’t a clue. You have your own rules, your own laws”—he waved his hand at the inconspicuous office they’d exited—“your own damn buildings, for God’s sake. He might be a bureaucratic bastard, but Durant is right, Elena. I studied mortal law. I have no idea of where or even how to establish your basic right to protest their preposterous terms, given the scope of laws he referred to in there.”
She listened to his uncomfortable confession, adding it to the pains already building from the discomfort of her city clothing. “We’re not a secret society,” she said, tugging at her too-tight sleeve. “Witches have always lived in the open, especially in the city.”
Jean-Paul checked that the man had walked sufficiently far enough away. “You should keep your voice down.”
“Mortals simply function better if they’re allowed the freedom to not notice us,” she said, raising a brow at him. “Ignoring our existence makes it easier for you to accept your own limitations.” He gave her that stern-eyed look that suggested she’d verged on insulting his intelligence, so she added in a whisper, “I meant as a species. Not you specifically, my love.”