The Vine Witch - Luanne G. Smith Page 0,18

on the envelope. “Hold on. I believe I have a letter for you as well. It arrived a few days ago. Yes, here it is,” said the clerk after sorting through several slots on the wall behind him.

He accepted the letter, noted the return address and formal handwriting, and retreated to the farthest corner of the post office lobby to read it. He knew before opening the envelope that it was from his mother. The correspondence began well enough, greeting him with the usual pleasantries about the weather, her arguments on the righteousness of the Union for Women’s Suffrage, and complaining about the ghastly condition of the city’s underground transit system as if it were a black-sheep relative gone astray yet again. He nearly smiled at the familiar news from home.

Then he read the next paragraph. The real reason his mother had written.

Your uncle sends his regards. He wishes to inquire when you think this wine business of yours will be concluded so he can make future plans. He’s had his eye on the Eichman building for years now, and it has finally become available for lease. There are, apparently, two corner offices, one of which he’d gladly provide to his nephew and law partner if he were here. Given the circumstances, he’s been quite generous overall with this folly of yours, but he deserves a partner dedicated to the law and serving the practice your father created.

In other news, I thought you might be interested to know that Madeleine has remarried. She’s expecting a child in May. So you see, there is no reason to avoid returning to the city any longer.

As always,

Mother

Jean-Paul crumpled the letter and shoved it in his pocket.

“Bad news?” asked the clerk.

“Merely an expected disappointment,” he replied and slipped his flat cap on.

The clerk scratched at his nose and shared instead his own interesting tidbit of information. “They’ve found another cat,” he said while sorting a stack of letters into their proper slots. “Head and tail gone like the others. Up on the county road above the Le Deux estate this time.”

“Another one?” He recalled the other grisly finds reported over the years. More than a dozen since he’d moved to the valley three years ago. Sometimes a rabbit, sometimes a small dog, but most often a cat. Everyone speculated who might be behind the deplorable acts, and yet no one ever seemed to state the obvious. “Tell me, why doesn’t anyone ever confront the locals at the vineyards who claim to be witches about this?”

The clerk turned around, his forehead creased. “The vine witches? Why would they have anything to do with butchered animals?”

“Because they profess to be witches? Who are known to deal in the occult?” He’d overemphasized his words, speaking slowly, though his answer did little to convince the clerk, who returned a blank stare.

“Is that what they teach you in the city? Truth is, we’ve barely had a whiff of trouble with malevolent witches around here since the 1745 Covenants were signed. Why, my own grandmother was a vine witch and wouldn’t have harmed a soul. You want to know who I think is behind it? Those university boys who ride out here on the weekends to raise hell with the local girls. Them with their séances and Ouija boards. Who knows what mischief they get up to after dark.”

Jean-Paul let the issue rest. He always underestimated the sharp distinction the villagers drew between the so-called vine witches and the wicked witches who haunted his childhood dreams—the old hags who wouldn’t think twice about wearing a dead cat around their necks if it pleased them. The witches his nanny had warned him about quenched their thirst with human blood, stirred crow’s beaks and frog’s eyes into deadly potions, and stole babies out of cribs to roast over the fire for their evening supper. Naturally, he wished as a grown man the world could be rid of such superstition. They were living in the age of technology—automobiles, the cinéma magnifique, electric lights that turned on at the flip of a switch. A man had just flown across the Channel in an airplane for the first time, for God’s sake. Now there was some real magic to behold!

Not wishing to alienate himself further from skeptical locals who already viewed him as an outsider, he nodded as though the idea of college students killing cats for fun on the weekend had merit. He wished the man a good day and left.

Outside, the street bustled