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.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” Apparently mollified, Jean-Paul slipped his arm around hers and led them down the street. “I am sorry, Elena. I wish there was something I could have said or done back there. I was simply outmaneuvered by my own ignorance.” He veered them toward the main avenue, where the noise of city life galloped at them on a wave of sound. Horse carts and omnibuses, taxis and bicyclettes all vied for the road, creating a cacophony of honking horns and shouts of warning. The exhaust from the automobiles hanging in the air was new since her last visit to the city, though not the overpowering stench from the pissoirs situated on every other corner for the men to relieve themselves. The combination of foul scents carried the whiff of a bad omen.
The unnatural bustle of the city at full throttle worked like friction to heat Elena’s already agitated aura. She was more accustomed to the hum of bees in the vineyard than the drone of cars and buses on the street, and the noise weighed on her mood. She thought it best to do a quick calming spell, lest she attract every charlatan selling a healing charm within a three-block radius. She reached in her purse to pull out a sprig of sage she’d tucked inside for precisely this sort of occasion. It had crumbled slightly, leaving bits of leaf in the bottom of the bag to mingle with the loose rose hips. Honestly, how did witches in the city cope without large pockets to store their herbs separately? She motioned for Jean-Paul to stop beside a lamppost, explaining her need.
“Here? Now?” He looked around. “On the public street?”
“It will only take a moment. No one will be the wiser.”
“Yes, of course.” He nodded even as his eyes watched for any onlookers. But they were in the heart of the city. No one had time or inclination to notice anyone but themselves, which is how witches had survived in the open for so long among the busy streets and booming population in the first place. She doubted Jean-Paul had even thought twice about the woman drinking from the tin cup at the quatre femmes water fountain they’d passed. An obvious water witch paying homage as she splashed water on the ground to encourage the cycle.
Elena dabbed the sage over the blue veins running under the skin at her wrists, invoking a moment of calm. This couldn’t be happening again. Why did the All Knowing insist on making her fight for every last scrap of serenity? Then she caught Jean-Paul’s eye and was reminded of the worth of remaining engaged in the struggle.
“There are some who think we ought to be more assertive with mortals,” she said, feeling her agitation and disappointment yield to clearer thinking. The minister’s words still prickled like a nettle in her shoe, but she felt better able to bear the bad news after her blood carried the sage’s healing properties through her veins.
“More assertive than conducting magic in the middle of the street?” he asked.
She took his arm so they might stroll as the newly engaged couple in love that they were. The warmth of his body next to hers created its own calming spell. “I meant politically. Our status might be that of the minority because of our population, but we’re a rather potent faction when we wish to unite. I suspect Durant feels quite emphatic in that direction. You noticed his ring, no doubt.”
“In fact, I did not.” He guided them toward the interior pathway running through a grassy park with raised garden beds as a horse and automobile jockeyed violently for the eastbound lane of traffic in the road beside them.
“A clear Magus Society supporter, judging by the pentagram he wears on his pinkie finger. Doesn’t approve of mixed marriages, would be my guess.”
“Mixed marriages?”
Elena plucked a narrow leaf off a chestnut tree and passed it under her nose, inhaling. “Yes, you and I. Mortal and witch. You must be aware there are some who think it unnatural.”
“I hadn’t considered . . . there are witches who don’t approve?”
Had he thought only mortals judged those who were different? Of course, there’d always been mortals who disapproved of magic—Jean-Paul had been one himself when they first met—but there were a growing number of witches, too, who believed the mingling of mortal and witch blood somehow diminished the connection with the All Knowing. She hadn’t revisited the city for nearly ten years, but even a decade earlier there had been small protests, propaganda, pamphlets, and salon chatter calling for stronger rights for magical folk, given the general weakness of mortals, both morally and magically. It was mostly nonsense, but not all. At times she thought the Magus supporters had a point. The law’s insistence that she register as a venefica despite her obvious talent with wine was certainly proof that mortal fears could be taken too far.