The Vine Witch - Luanne G. Smith Page 0,15

her upper lip. “Don’t know how I’m going to counter that one yet, especially with the reverse curse complicating everything. If it is her, she’s better than good.”

“Her name is Gerda. She showed up not long after you . . .” Grand-Mère pursed her lips hard, as if forcing herself to swallow the words she might have spoken next. “We’ve been introduced once or twice. You’d know her on first sight. A blonde like the rest of them.”

“Yes, I’ve seen her.”

“Seen her? When?”

Elena began digging a shallow hole between two of the oldest vines on the property as she explained how her curiosity had gotten the better of her—not the first time she’d slipped into the shadow world for less than honorable reasons. There were days when she’d been so consumed with lust or distrust that she had to see Bastien, even when he was far away. During the year she thought she was in love with him, she’d felt as if she were under a spell herself. As if she’d been given a potion that seeped into her veins, crept into her heart, and set off a poisonous time bomb that later shattered her dreams of love. Before she was cursed, the shadow world had become an obsession, a distraction, a means to an end that had nothing to do with the grace of the All Knowing. And then it had become a trap.

“That was a dangerous and foolish thing to do. What if she’s the one Bastien asked to curse you? You have a reckless side. You always did.”

Elena planted the bottle in the ground, poured an offering of wine on top, and uttered the protection spell. When she stood, she considered what Grand-Mère said and then brushed her hands off. “I don’t think it was her.”

Grand-Mère tapped the toe of her shoe on the soil over the buried bottle to pack it down. “How can you be so certain?”

“If this is her spellwork,” she said, pointing to the tiered magic, “she’s too good at what she does to be playing with old-fashioned transmogrification curses. And certainly not one as ordinary as turning someone into a toad.”

The old woman narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t seem like such a mundane curse when you showed up two days ago looking like wolf kill.” Elena flinched. Grand-Mère had always wielded a sharp tongue when provoked. “You should be more careful. Even if she didn’t catch you watching her in the shadow world, there are Bureau spies everywhere keeping an eye out for transgressions.” To prove her point, she snapped her fingers and a tawny-haired rabbit jumped out from between a vine row as if its tail had been lit on fire. “See what I mean?”

“Come, rabbit.” Elena pointed her finger at the ground, and the rabbit obeyed, humbly hopping toward her until its nose twitched at her side. She picked up the animal and studied its eyes. Not a hint of shadow in them. The old woman was being unusually paranoid. But perhaps she had a point. “Jean-Paul knows I’m hiding from someone. He’s agreed to keep my presence here a secret. I should be fine as long as I keep a low profile.”

“Even if you’re able to stay hidden, your efforts won’t. A witch with her talents will sniff out your magic eventually. She’ll know the spells are being dismantled. And when she figures out who you are, she’ll tell Bastien. And then what?”

Elena set the rabbit down and shooed it on its way. “Then he’ll know he didn’t get rid of me as easily as he might have thought.”

“Could you defend yourself against her if you had to?”

“My quarrel isn’t with her.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Grand-Mère watched the rabbit dart away to a safe distance, then turned back around. “I didn’t know how to tell you earlier, but she isn’t just his vine witch. They’re married. His fight is her fight now. Maybe it would be better if you just let the past go. Start over fresh. Forget any of it ever happened.”

Married?

Elena slumped on the ground. He’d found affection when she’d tasted nothing but bitter loneliness for seven years trapped in that creature’s skin? He’d enjoyed love’s warmth while she sat in mud so cold it chilled her blood until her heart barely beat at a normal rhythm again?

To avoid Grand-Mère’s scrutiny, she plucked at the rabbit hairs left behind on her skirt and tucked them in her pocket. “Her part doesn’t matter.”

“Depends on what you intend to

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