Hidden Huntress
Page 24

“You gave my friend Sabine a potion. One intended to make a person fall out of love and into logic.” I watched her expectantly, but she turned away.
“I deal with herbs, girl, and medicines. What you’re talking of smacks of witchcraft, the practice of which sees a woman burned at the stake.” She looked over her shoulder at me. “People fall out of love every day without the help of magic. Half the time they fall back in love in a matter of days.”
“Not that quickly and not for no reason,” I snapped, feeling my temper rising for no reason other than she was thwarting me, standing between me and my goal. “She told me it was you who made it for her, so you can quit playing coy.”
The corner of her mouth turned up. “I’m many things, but coy isn’t one of them.”
“I need your help,” I said, trying another tactic. “I’ve nowhere else to go.”
She laughed. “I doubt that. Ladies with fancy clothes and clean fingernails don’t need anything from the poor folk of Pigalle. Go back to your parties and gossip.”
“Please, hear me out.” Far more force went into my words then I intended, a breeze rising and drifting around the shop, the flame of the lamp flaring bright.
Her eyes glazed, but only for a second. “Well, well, well,” she said, realizing what I had done. “Apparently there is more to you than meets the eye.”
The sound of horses outside caught everyone’s attention. Boots thudded against the frozen ground, accompanied by the jangle of steel.
“The city guard!” she hissed.
In one swift motion, Chris reached over and turned the bolt on the door, locking the men out.
And us in.
“La Voisin!” One of the men pounded on the door. “Open up.”
“What do they want?” Chris whispered.
I didn’t need to ask. There was only one reason for the city guard to be banging at a witch’s door. “Is there another way out?”
She shook her head. “They’ll be watching the back.” Closing her eyes for a heartbeat, she inhaled deeply, pressing a hand to her chest. “This way.”
On silent feet, we followed her through the clutter-filled shop into a small living space in the rear. There was another exit, but just as the witch had suspected, there was motion outside that door as well. Pushing aside a threadbare rug, her slender fingers caught hold of a notch in the wood, which she tugged on to reveal a trapdoor. “Down,” she whispered, pointing at the cellar below. “Stay silent. It’s me they’re here for.”
The trapdoor closed above us.
At first, I could do nothing more than stare at the bits of light filtering through the gaps in the floorboards, my attention all for the sharp thuds of the woman – the witch – striding toward the front door. What did they want from her? More to the point, what would they do to her? My heart was loud in my ears, and I wished there was a way to still it so that I could better hear the voices of the guards drifting through the thin floor. “Accusations… witchcraft… warning… the flames.” My stomach twisted, and even though my palms were clammy, I took hold of Chris’s hand.
Boots thumped across the shop, each one sending a spike of ice down my spine. What if they searched the place? What if they found us down here? I glanced around the dark cellar space, and my heart sank. The shelves were lined with oddities that made those upstairs look tame, the table held a silver basin and a ball of crystal, but most damning of all, I was certain, was the stack of books on the table. It wouldn’t matter what explanations we gave if they caught us; our complicity was ensured.
The guard stopped right over the trapdoor, the thin rug concealing whatever small glimpses we might have had of him. “No one back here,” he announced loudly. “Let’s go. It smells like dog piss.”
There was a commotion at the front of the shop, and I heard La Voisin shriek, her heels drumming against the floor as they dragged her. She was keeping us safe, and I didn’t even know her real name. My heart tried to hammer its way out of my chest, and I all but swore I could smell smoke, hear the crackle of flames. That’s what they’d do – they’d burn her at a stake. All because of a hunt the trolls started, and that I hadn’t managed to finish. I had to help her.
“Be bold, Cécile,” I whispered to myself, trying to ignore the shake in my hands. “Be brave.”
“What?” There was alarm in Chris’s voice.
I held a finger up to my lips. Pushing by him, I went up the first few rungs of the ladder and cautiously lifted the trapdoor an inch. The only sight I could see was the woman’s dog cowering under a chair. La Voisin was still shouting away out front, drowning out any noise I might make. And with any luck, the guard who had been out back would have gone round to assist. Lifting the trapdoor the rest of the way, I climbed out, holding it open for Chris. “This way,” I mouthed, pointing at the back door.
Luck was with us when I peeked out, as the tiny yard was devoid of life. We swiftly exited, and Chris grabbed hold of my wrist, dragging me toward the stone fence dividing the yard from the adjoining properties. “No,” I whispered, tugging free. “You can go, if you want. But I’m helping her.”
He swore quietly under his breath, but didn’t try to stop me as I squeezed through the narrow space between the witch’s shop and the boardinghouse next to it. The night was black as pitch; Pigalle was not graced with gas lamps to light its streets as the rest of Trianon was. I prayed it would be enough to hide me as I emerged from between the buildings. There were shockingly few onlookers on the street – no one was willing to fall afoul of the law – but I could see faces looking out from windows and entranceways.