“That’s what I always believed, too. At least, until Damon opened my eyes to the magical possibilities hidden in the shadows for anyone to find if they know the way.”
A shiver went down my spine. She sounded so certain. This wasn’t just a pipe dream. This was serious.
“Those must be some amazing shoes,” I said.
“Oh, you have no idea how amazing they are,” she said with a knowing smile.
I had to admit, I was a bit confused. But I still felt like I was on the right track here to uncover some useful information.
Thierry believed this boyfriend could be a true threat against the Ring. It sounded like he might be using Alicia—the wife of a Ring elder—to get closer to his ultimate goal, whatever that might be. Clearly, to me, at least, this alleged cobbler had ulterior motives for his relationship with Alicia, which she might know nothing about.
And he’d lured her in with false promises of power and magic.
Super shady.
“Sounds like you’ve been doing your research about magic,” I said. “I guess that’s why you’re here hanging around all these witches.”
“I came here to see the Baba Yaga specifically,” she said. “But she’s not the easiest person to come face to face with, especially if you’re a vampire.”
“She seemed perfectly happy to be face to face with Thierry,” I reminded her.
“Well, Thierry is a powerful man, and a very attractive man, which is definitely the Baba Yaga’s type. The fact that he’s also a vampire seems to be beside the point.” Alicia grinned wide enough to show off the tips of her fangs. “He sure made for a fantastic distraction. Even better than I thought.”
I cocked my head, confused. “What do you mean?”
Alicia’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m trying to decide if I can trust you, Sarah.”
Not even slightly, I thought.
I mean, I was usually trustworthy. Iron-clad. But I’d only just met this woman, and everything she said knocked me off balance as I tried to figure out if she was an innocent bystander or a legitimate threat to vampirekind.
But, hey, if Mrs. My-Dream-is-Magic wanted to start a fast-and-furious friendship with me, one in which she would confide all sorts of useful information that could stop some potentially evil shoe-lovin’ boyfriend from causing chaos, who was I to complain?
“You can trust me,” I said. “With gossip, with an old family recipe. With your new kitten while you’re away on vacation. With whatever you want to get off your chest. I’m super trustworthy.”
“That’s very good to hear. Because I desperately need to share this with somebody.” Alicia dropped something on the table between us.
I squinted at it. “Are those…blonde hairs?”
“They certainly are.”
“Yours?”
“No.”
There was only one other person with that hair color who’d crossed my path today. I rose my widening eyes from the hairs up to Alicia. “They’re the Baba Yaga’s?”
Her grin widened further. “You got it.”
“That super awkward hug…”
Alicia spread her hands. “I took my opportunity when it presented itself. She didn’t feel a thing.”
I leaned back in my seat, confused, regarding Alicia as she unfastened the chain around her neck, which held a large silver heart-shaped locket.
“Since this isn’t an episode of CSI: Assjacket,” I said, feeling myself tense up. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say that this is some sort of a spell.”
“Not a spell so much as a test.” Alicia opened the locket. “Damon wanted me to prove that I’m worthy to help him with a very big problem he has, one that will show him how much I care about him. And it’s taken me a bit of time and a whole lot of effort to gather all the ingredients I needed.”
There was a tiny tangle of hairs already in the locket that Alicia gingerly extracted so she could wrap the Baba Yaga’s blond hairs around it.
“What are those?” I asked, my throat tight.
“A couple master vampire's hairs—my husband’s, from the last time I saw him; a bit of fur from a feline familiar, hair from a werewolf both in wolf and human form, and the pièce de résistance…the Baba Yaga’s magic-infused follicles.” Alicia snapped the locket closed and put the necklace back on, letting the pendant fall to her chest between her ample cleavage.
“I hate to be the party pooper here,” I said. “But this is a friendly reminder that you are a vampire, not a witch. We can be cursed or bespelled, but we can’t exactly cast the curses or bespellings.”
“Usually, you’d be right,” Alicia said with a nod. “There is a type of magic in us that makes us what we are, Sarah, but it’s not something we can channel at will. That’s why I have this to help both contain and channel the magic.” She tapped the locket.
“It’s cute,” I allowed.
“It’s a gift from Damon.”
“The shoemaker you said can make your dreams come true.”
“The one and only.” She slipped the locket under her shirt. “So, since you’re free for a few hours, do you feel like going shopping with me?”
The change in subject was so abrupt that I felt a wave of dizziness. I tried to rally since I knew I had to keep up my façade of being Alicia’s brand new bestie until I got the real dirt.
If that meant I had to go shopping with her, which, let’s face it, was one of my favorite pastimes, then I would just have to make that sacrifice.
“I’d love to,” I said. “Although, judging from the drive here, I didn’t see that many stores.”
“Oh, no. Not here. I’m going to take you to my absolute favorite place for shopping.”
I didn’t know West Virginia or the surrounding towns, so I’d have to take her word for it. “All right, sure. Let’s go. Although, Thierry has the car keys with him, so I’m hoping you have wheels?”
Alicia stood up from the table, hoisting her handbag over her shoulder, and I followed her lead. I eyed her very mischievous grin with both amusement and a bit of trepidation.
“Oh, Sarah,” she said. “Thanks to the Baba Yaga’s unknowing generosity, I may never need to drive anywhere ever again.”
She grasped my wrist, and I looked down with a frown.
“What are you—?” I began.
But I couldn’t get the whole sentence out before a thick ribbon of glittering rainbow-colored smoke surrounded us, and the diner disappeared completely.
4
One moment we were in Assjacket, West Virginia.
The next, we were in…
“Welcome to Paris, Sarah,” Alicia said as she spun happily around in a circle, her arms stretched out at her sides.
I looked up with shock to see the Eiffel Tower a hundred yards in front of me. If I’d been clinging to denial about what just happened, I would be dealing with a very slippery slope.
We were in Paris.
As in France.
As in Europe.
As in four thousand miles away from where I’d been standing mere moments ago.
“You poofed us,” I whispered hoarsely.
“Transported,” Alicia corrected with a laugh. “Are you shocked?”
“That’s definitely a word,” I managed. “One word of many to describe how I’m feeling right now.”
“You know, they say all you need to do is believe something is possible in order to make it real. That’s the law of attraction. You and I may be the first vampires to ever magically transport like this without the direct presence of a witch or warlock, all thanks to this” She tapped her locket and turned her radiant smile toward me, which then wavered a little. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“No, no,” I managed, as I tried to prevent myself from passing out completely. “Not me. I’m fine. This sort of thing—totally normal. Not freaking out at all.”
“Take a moment and soak in the scenery,” she advised. “This is where I’m from, originally. I mean, i
t’s changed quite a bit over the last century. But it still feels like home.”
Scenery, right. I needed to mentally photograph everything that was happening to me right now so I could remember the details when I got back to Thierry.
But all I could really do was stare at the Eiffel Tower, something I’d only ever seen in photos and paintings. We were surrounded by tons of tourists who were taking selfies while speaking dozens of different languages.
“Come on, Sarah,” Alicia hooked her arm through mine. “Damon won’t be expecting me yet, so we have time for a coffee at my absolute favorite café in the whole world.”
She led me through a lush park and along the side of a wide, sparkling river populated with boats and arched, stone bridges…
Oh, my God. It was the Seine River.
Because of course it was.
I was in freaking Paris.
It had always been a dream of mine to come here, but one that had been pushed far down on the list recently due to a laundry list of other obligations. Thierry’s job had taken us all over the United States, and my home was in Canada, so North America, and a couple trips to Mexico, was as far as I’d ventured so far.
Paris.
One thing I knew about Paris was that Thierry had spent a great deal of time here in his many years of existence. He was originally from a small village a hundred miles south of the City of Lights.
“Is this where you met Thierry?” I asked, grappling for anything to talk about that might solidify the fact that this was my current reality.
Alicia raised a brow. “It is, actually.”
“How long ago?”
“It was just after I was sired during the Exposition Universelle of 1900.” We reached a café. Alicia selected a small outdoor table and ordered us something in French from the waiter before she continued. “I worked at the Moulin Rouge.”
“Wait, you worked at the Moulin Rouge? The Moulin Rouge?”
Alicia nodded. “You’ve been there?”
“No, but I…uh, I saw the movie a couple of times.” Actually, it was twenty-six times. I’d literally worn out the DVD, and I still knew all of the songs by heart. “Let me guess, you were one of the can-can dancers?”
“I was. And an extremely sought-after courtesan, if I may say so myself.”
This woman was full of surprises. I seriously couldn’t keep up. “A courtesan.”
She shrugged. “It was a chapter of my life, one I don’t regret at all. It taught me so many useful things.”
“I just bet it did.” I grimaced, not really wanting to know the answer to my next question. “Is that how you met Thierry?”
Alicia studied me for a moment before she laughed lightly. “Thierry de Bennicoeur was not one of my clients if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Worried, me? No, not at all,” I lied. “What happens at the Moulin Rouge stays at the Moulin Rouge.”
Still, I couldn’t exactly picture Thierry partying at the infamous cabaret, drinking champagne, surrounded by beautiful ladies of the night, and rubbing elbows with artists like Toulouse-Lautrec. It seemed like the opposite of what my sexy-but-stoic husband would enjoy.
But, hey, you never know.
The waiter returned with our order—two delicious-smelling espressos in tiny golden cups. I sipped mine with growing enthusiasm, the full-bodied taste helping to ground me in my utterly unexpected surroundings.
Now that definitely beat the corner coffee shop any day of the week. And I didn’t think there was anything magical about it.
Hopefully, anyway.
“It was a client who bit me,” Alicia explained when the waiter moved to another table, her expression turning serious. “And it was entirely without my consent and utterly unwelcome. His thirst for my blood nearly killed me. He only stopped when my silver dagger found his heart.”
“Oh, my God.” I shuddered at the picture she painted, and not a fraction of my horror was for her predatory client. “I’m so sorry you went through that. While it’s not nearly as violent as what you experienced, I was sired without my consent too. But I didn’t kill him, even though I wanted to. Some hunters took care of that for me.”
“Men,” Alicia muttered, shaking her head. “They take whatever they want if they’re given a chance. Seems we have that in common, as well as who came to our rescue.”
“Thierry,” I said.
“Yes. While I did manage to end my attacker’s life before he stole my own, the damage had been done. Thierry escorted me to a secret location where I could obtain enough blood to survive the transition to vampire. He did the same for you?”
Well…not exactly. Thierry gave me his own blood, super-strong master vampire blood that—while I was still technically only a fledgling vampire—had ramped up my strength in record time, made my own blood master-vampire powerful…and the surprise gifts-with-purchase: occasional prophetic visions, and the ability to communicate with spirits.
“Pretty much,” I said with a nod.
“I didn’t see Thierry again for several years when he returned to the city with Veronique for a visit. After they had a disagreement about something, Thierry stopped in at the cabaret to check on me.”
“It’s okay,” I said with a cringe, holding up my hand. “I don’t really need any more details than that.”
Alicia took my hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to give you more details. You have a wonderful man, Sarah. And, if you’re worried at all, please know that I wasn’t in love with him then, nor am I in love with him now. I’m madly in love with Damon and can’t wait to spend the rest of eternity with him.”
She seemed so sincere when she talked about this mysterious cobbler, the one responsible for the magic transportation locket.
“Thierry is a wonderful man,” I agreed. “But I have to say—I’m not sure he’d be thrilled to know you poofed us across the Atlantic Ocean without his knowledge.”
Alicia grimaced. “You’re probably right.”
“I really should send him a message, so he doesn’t worry…” I fished my phone out of my bag and tapped the dark screen, but nothing happened. “I swear I charged it this morning.”
“It’s not the batteries,” Alicia said. “Magical transportation can mess with electronic gadgets. But don’t worry, Thierry won’t even know we’ve been gone. He’s occupied with the Baba Yaga for a couple more hours, and we’ll be back by the time he finishes.”
Swallowing down my uncertainty, I slipped the phone back into my bag. “There are worse things than spending an afternoon in Paris. And, I mean, we did avoid being trapped on an airplane for hours. I hate flying.”
“Me too,” she said, and touched the heart-shaped locket again. “This is really a dream come true, Sarah. And I know we just met, but I’m so happy to have someone to share this with.”
“Glad to be here,” I replied.
I was definitely earning my birthday present today. Thierry was going to freak when I told him all about this later.
Miss Moulin Rouge chatted about her happy Paris memories for another ten minutes while I downed two more delicious espressos before she glanced down at her wristwatch, and a smile spread across her beautiful face.
“Ready to shop?” she asked.
Somehow, that innocent-sounding suggestion felt far more ominous now.
“Born ready,” I agreed.
“You’re going to love Damon. His shop is absolutely divine.”
Highly debatable, I thought. “Will it be okay that you brought a friend on this little shopping trip?”
“He won’t mind at all. He loves to meet new friends.”
That particular F-word might not be the best to describe what this shoemaker would think of me when I exposed his evil plan, whatever it might be. Then again, maybe this was nothing more than a long-distance love affair with a sprinkle of witchy magic and a whole lot of empty promises.
I was really hoping that was the case.
“Then, great,�
�� I said as enthusiastically as I could. “Since you know Paris better than I do, please lead the way.”
A half an hour later, we got out of a taxi on a cobblestone street lined with quaint, old-fashioned buildings that looked like something yanked straight out of a picture postcard. There was even a random accordion player strolling down the sidewalk playing “La Vie en Rose.”
I mean, not that I’m an expert, but it really didn’t get much more Parisian than this.
I followed Alicia to the front of a charming-looking stone building, nestled along a line of charming-looking stone buildings that seemed old enough to have been here when Thierry roamed these very streets. Weirdly, it made me feel more connected to him, like reaching through time, hundreds of years before I was born.
“This is it,” Alicia said with a grin.
I looked up at the sign, appropriately vintage-looking but elegant. Gold painted letters stood out clearly on the black background.
“Des Chiffons à la Richesse.” I said it aloud, butchering the accent, I was sure. “What does that mean?”
“Essentially…it translates to the English idiom ‘from rags to riches,’” she said. “Damon was very poor when he came to Paris with a dream, and since then, he has made a name for himself and a small fortune from his talent. He painted that sign himself when he first opened the shop.”
“He sounds like a real inspiration,” I said.
“He is,” she agreed, her smile widening as she pushed through the front door.
I took a deep breath before I followed her into the interior of the store.
I wasn’t sure what I expected from a Parisian cobbler who dabbled in magic and sleeping with other men’s wives. Maybe a small, dusty workshop that smelled of old leather, sweat, and cheap champagne.
But that wasn’t what was behind the doors of Rags to Riches.
Instead, I found myself thrust into a surprisingly large fashion boutique, one that buzzed with customers and salespeople. There were row upon row of wooden shelves holding sleek-looking shoes—high heels, sandals, loafers, boots in a rainbow of colors. Racks of clothing, from cashmere sweaters to silk kimonos and elegant dresses and skirts. A section to my left displayed handbags: large and small, handheld and crossbody, totes, and evening bags.
From Rags to Witches Page 4
