Elementary

by Mercedes Lackey

  And he had kept his word. Wherever a lesson would fit into her busy day, he offered it. Aurelia absorbed every word, wondering how it was she had gone unaware of magic for her first sixteen years of life.

  There was so much to know! A lifetime would not suffice for her education. She ought to have been detected years earlier, M. Rupier had informed her. Her talents could not have gone unnoticed if there had been even one other Master in her district. But how could she know? All she could do was work her hardest at both her crafts, one not only public but famous, and the other secret, never to be revealed to any but a fellow magician. But she was ambitious and hard working. M. Rupier had told Alfonse that she should become the parfumeuse after he retired. For that, she would work her fingers to the bone.

  For her lessons in magic, she learned how to harness the unseen energies that abounded across the world. Her natural predilection was for the element of Air. M. Rupier was a Water Master, so he did not control the wisps and breaths of her milieu, and could only persuade them to comply with his wishes. She learned from him what she would before have called charms and spells, and all worked in glorious harmony with the skills needed for the making of perfumes.

  The labor itself was not physically demanding, but it required infinite care. Formulating perfumes, lotions, powders, bath oils, and other scented products made use of talents she already possessed: a natural flair for combining delicious fragrances in many layers, called notes; a facility for reading formulae from both classic sources and her master’s own formulary; and that most precious and irreplaceable gift, a nose. That tip-tilted and unloved feature on her narrow oval of a face had proved the key to her fortune and her future.

  She inhaled from the top of the work bowl and checked the notebook beside her. All the ingredients were present, but something was missing. She closed her eyes and imagined what would fill in the deficit.

  The Sylph Hyr, a spirit of Air and therefore her willing servant, flew around her as if he would wrap her in a veil of blue.

  “Shoo!” Aurelia said crossly.

  “But what are you doing, mistress?” Hyr asked. He stopped to hover above her head and took a deep breath from her work bowl. “What a tasty mix! Shall I bring you frankincense?”

  “No, you wretched thing, that will make it far too heavy!” Aurelia said. “Bring me calendula.”

  “You have but to command.” Hyr flicked to the high shelves, filled top to bottom with jars, phials, bottles, bags, boxes, and tins. His hand seemed too insubstantial to lift the weighty cream stone jar, but it floated toward Aurelia like a top-heavy white cloud. She lifted the lid and breathed the refreshing scent.

  The soft, fugitive fragrance would underpin the heavier oils and temper them. Normally used as a top note, it would be treated here as a middle note. Ten drops, that was all! She counted them as they fell from the pipette into the shimmering golden liquid in the work bowl. Below, the low notes contained frangipani, myrrh, copal, lavender, and a tiny drop of clove oil. It was heady and luxurious, but so was the marvelous customer who had ordered it. Aurelia swirled the bowl to make certain it was right. It was.

  “That is perfect, mistress!” Hyr said, gleefully. “Oh, I shall eat all of it!”

  “Don’t you dare!” Aurelia warned him. Truthfully, he only consumed the scent, not the liquid, but he was such a nuisance sometimes!

  M. Rupier, seated at his rosewood desk in the chestnut leather chair in the inner room behind the showroom, chuckled.

  Aurelia jumped down from her stool to go attend him.

  “Is there something I am doing wrong, master?” she asked, her hands folded nervously against the apron that shielded her dress of black bombazine from splashes.

  He smiled at her. His eyes and mustache looked even more catlike because of the expression, but a cat full of cream before the fire, not one on the hunt.

  “Not at all,” he said. “Your passion reminds me of myself as a youth. Is the preparation complete?”

  “I believe so, M. Rupier.”

  He closed the heavy leather-covered ledger and rose. “Then let me sample it.”

  Aurelia hovered nervously as he whisked air toward his nose over the globe-shaped bowl. Many parfumeurs and scent makers used tall, conical glasses for their mixing, but her master preferred one that would contain all the scents as if in a bubble.

  “It is delightful, master!” Hyr cried, whisking overhead. “As spicy as the lady herself!”

  “Hush, you bold thing,” M. Rupier said, but his smile was indulgent. Hyr laughed and turned somersaults. Aurelia could have stuffed the Air spirit into a bottle. Sometimes he was so annoying. “Yes, indeed, it is ready. Decant it. We have new cut-crystal atomizer bottles from Les Cristalleries Baccarat that will be perfect. You know where they are.”

  “I will fetch one, monsieur,” Aurelia said. She hustled into the storeroom. The heavy wooden case in question stood by the rear door. These were the largest bottles that they used, meant to hold ten ounces of scent. Only the wealthy could afford the contents, so the container must be duly impressive. M. Rupier had these made to order for his most select clients. Aurelia chose a bottle made from plum-colored glass overlaid with a sheen of gold flecks. Holding it in both hands so as not to drop it, she returned to the workroom. Suddenly, she heard Alfonse cry out.

  “A visitor!” She peered around the door to see. The stocky redheaded boy ran to the door, even though the bell had not yet rung. He knew every inch of the shop and the street beyond, as though he were its special protector. “She is here!”

  Three tiny silver bells hanging from a bronze Arts Décoratifs fairy above the door tinkled musically. Alfonse pulled open the portal and bowed deeply. “Welcome, Madame Goltier!”

  The woman who entered was like a fabulous beast, wild and untamed, wrapped in exotic furs, one of them a spotted pelt like nothing that Aurelia had ever seen. Her black hair was dressed high on her head, but thick curls tickled her ears as if telling her secrets. The dress she wore was of the most expensive silks and caressed her lush curves. Under a priceless, filmy lace fichu, the décolletage was daringly low, presenting a tantalizing arc of the full upper curve of her bosom without dipping all the way into indecency. Her wrists jangled with bracelets, and rings crusted her fingers, but her eyes, wide, long-lashed and the most astonishing shade of green, needed no paint to make those who beheld them forget all the rest.

  Mme. Goltier was famous throughout Paris and, therefore, the world. She sang with the voice of an angel, though she was notorious in other ways. The ladies of the stage had an air of respectable disrespectability that added a frisson to those who met them. Rumor had it that she was the chère amie of a highly placed Russian nobleman who frequently visited Paris. It was undoubted that she lived in an appartement mueblé in the very best neighborhood. She had all the confidence in the world but was at the same time was most womanly. Aurelia felt quite shy peering at her from behind the workroom door.

  M. Rupier and Mme. Goltier exchanged compliments and fell into companionable chat. Aurelia was not surprised that her employer knew such a famous person—indeed, nobility from many nations wore the scents of the House of Rupier!—but she was not accustomed to conversing with them like old friends.

  “. . . not at all, it was my new apprentice, Mlle. Degard. Aurelia!” M. Rupier called.

  Mme. Goltier’s face broke into an enchanted smile as Aurelia tiptoed cautiously into the room.

  “A female apprentice!” she exclaimed. Even her speaking voice was musical.

  “Not my first, but my best and last,” M. Rupier said.

  “You embarrass me, monsieur,” Aurelia said, keeping her eyes low.

  Mme. Goltier reached across the counter and chucked Aurelia’s chin high with a cocked finger. The vivid green eyes stared into Aurelia’s hazel ones.

  “I am all too glad to have you formulate my scent, my child. You
shall add a touch of feminine mystery and wiles to my bottle. We understand subtlety better than these rough men.”

  “She has already added a new flavor to your perfume, one that I would not have thought of myself,” M. Rupier said. “I believe it is better. You shall test it and judge.”

  Aurelia realized that the perfume was still waiting to be decanted. She fled from the showroom and back to the table where the bowl reposed. It was filled with a haze of blue.

  “Get out of there!” she hissed at Hyr.

  “I was keeping it safe for you, mistress!” the Air sprite said, entirely unrepentant, flowing upward to hover beside her. But he saw to it that not a drop went astray. Aurelia inserted a funnel into the clean atomizer and tipped the globe-shaped bowl above it. All the precious amber fluid flowed neatly into the jar.

  She screwed on the top with its gold mesh bulb and carried the jar in both hands out to the waiting client. “Here you are, madame.”

  Mme. Goltier aimed the nozzle at her wrist and squeezed the bulb. A fine mist of droplets spread across her golden skin. All three of them inhaled deeply. Aurelia frowned, analyzing the aroma before and after it touched flesh. She waited until it warmed slightly, then sniffed again. Yes, it performed as she intended. The heady scents created a mental state of the exotic realm of the jungle, yet draped with an impression of thick, patterned silks that caressed the senses. She relaxed.

  “It is indeed better than before,” Mme. Goltier said, delighted. “Your little apprentice is already a master!”

  M. Rupier bowed to her. “She will surpass me one day, wait and see.”

  “I do not doubt it,” the lady said. Aurelia felt her cheeks turn red. Mme. Goltier touched one of the glowing apples of her face. “Never be ashamed to honor what God gave you, my little bird.”

  M. Rupier gave one of his catlike smiles. “It is what I have been telling her, madame.”

  Mme. Goltier peered over her shoulder toward the door, where Alfonse stood guard. “And that other matter that we discussed?”

  M. Rupier reached into his waistcoat pocket and brought therefrom a tiny vial half the length of Aurelia’s smallest finger. “Be cautious, madame, and be sparing of its use.”

  An expression that Aurelia never thought to see on the face of the grand diva appeared there: fear. “I will, my friend. And thank you.”

  She tucked the small bottle in the wrist of her glove. “You will send my perfume to my flat?”

  “Of course,” M. Rupier said. “It will be delivered within the hour.”

  With many bows and compliments, he saw her out.

  At her departure, Aurelia felt as though the room had enlarged once again. She exhaled. Her master turned his smile on her.

  “Mme. Goltier is an intense experience, whether in concert or conversation,” he said. “I suspect you are in need of some fresh air. I have a few errands for you to run. First, of course, take the lady’s parcel to her apartments. Then, I wish you to inquire as to the progress of our next order of bottles from the Cristalleries. It will be good for you to get to know the staff of the glassworks, so in future years you will know which master or journeyman to ask for when you have a special request.”

  “Yes, monsieur,” Aurelia said, enormously relieved. With more haste than was probably necessary, she fled to the cloakroom to retrieve her summer hat.

  • • •

  If the Parisian summer was hot out-of-doors, Aurelia was stunned at the heat generated within the confines of the Cristalleries Baccarat. Though the kilns and ovens were in the rear of the building, their fire could be felt everywhere. While she sat in the showroom, waiting for one of the staff to serve her, tendrils of hair escaped from her severe coiffure and curled on her cheeks and forehead. She dabbed her face with a handkerchief.

  A young man seated in another of the high-backed seats against the white-painted walls leaned over and sniffed.

  Offended, Aurelia drew her back more erect than ever. “How dare you, monsieur!” she exclaimed.

  “I could not help it, mademoiselle,” the youth said. He was very tall and thin, with a shock of black hair that resisted brilliantine as well as the comb. “I could not help but detect an exotic aroma. That is Mme. Goltier’s scent, is it not? I apologize. I work for the House of Bourjois, and we are all trained to notice perfumes of distinction.”

  Aurelia realized that the sample Mme. Goltier had sprayed had touched all of them, and she must smell of musk and calendula. Since the lady was so very famous, Aurelia couldn’t help but preen. She put a hand to her modest bosom.

  “Yes, indeed. She is a client of the House of Rupier. I am M. Rupier’s apprentice. Mme. Goltier was in this very morning.”

  The young man’s sea-blue eyes widened with admiration.

  • • •

  When she returned with good news of their order, she also told her master of the encounter with the apprentice from the rival house. “He was very impressed,” Aurelia said proudly.

  Instead of being pleased, M. Rupier’s eyes flashed like green fire.

  “Are you a common flower seller? Never talk about our customers with anyone else!”

  Aurelia was deeply taken aback. She bent her narrow body into the very shape of atonement. “But it helps to shine the star of your repute, sir. Others know that you have retained these very famous clients and they cannot steal them.”

  M. Rupier threw up his hands. “Oh, they can. And they do.”

  Aurelia lowered her face so she looked up at him through her eyelashes. “How could they compete with your wares? Do any of them do magic?”

  M. Rupier smiled his cat smile, his temper assuaged. “No. But let our wares and the words of our devotees speak for themselves. Be above such petty things as gossip and publicity.”

  With advertisements in every newspaper, and journalists from the social papers stopping by all the time to see who was where, that was a self-defeating policy in Aurelia’s eyes. But she was willing to admit that she had been wrong. She kept her head bowed. “I apologize, monsieur. I am yet very young and inexperienced.”

  He patted her on the wrist. “You will learn, my child. You will learn.”

  • • •

  The local church bells tolled five of the clock. Alfonse turned the sign on the shop door from “Ouverte” to “Fermée.” Mindful of the scolding she had received, Aurelia had removed herself from M. Rupier’s presence for the remainder of the day, and concentrated on tidying the shop and putting away all the ingredients that had been used. For his part, M. Rupier had secreted himself in the workroom that was hidden to all eyes but those who were touched by the Elemental Magic. But she needed his permission to depart. Summoning all her courage, she peered in the door.

  “All is in order, monsieur,” she said. “May I go home now?”

  He glanced up from a large marble mortar in which he was grinding herbs. He smiled at her. “Of course, my child. I will see you on the morrow. You did good work today.”

  “You see?” Alfonse said, as he unlocked the door to let her out. “All is forgiven. Nothing has been done that cannot be undone.”

  Aurelia heard the door shut behind her, then felt the protections necessary to conceal what was within slide closed like a pair of heavy curtains. She had plenty of time to walk to the Cathedral de Sainte-Chapelle for evensong.

  • • •

  It was her habit to compose her mind from the pressures of the day as she went to church. She rolled over in her mind the blessings she had received, thanks to the Good Mother Marie, and counted the small transgressions for which she would ask forgiveness.

  The Rue du Faubourg Sainte-Honoré, the small and very chic shopping precinct on which the House of Rupier stood, was filled with people leaving their places of business. Many women, some with children in tow, departed from the elegant stores, leaving behind bowing shop assistants, t
he men in old-fashioned tailcoats and the women in modest but good dresses like hers. The August sun was still high in the sky. Aurelia was delighted that she would have hours of sunlight after the service.

  She walked southeast along the Rue des Halles, enjoying the mild weather. As she turned onto the Pont au Change that led to the bridge over the north branch of the River Seine, a whirlwind of fabulous fabrics and scents bore down upon her and grabbed her by the arm. It was Madame Goltier.

  “For the love of God, my child, hide me! He is sniffing for me! He knows what I did!”

  “Madame!” Aurelia exclaimed. Her surprise vanished in a moment, replaced by sympathy for a fellow being in trouble. “There is only one haven none will violate. Come with me!” She seized the lady’s hand and pulled her the rest of the way over the bridge. They all but ran, their heels tapping impatiently on the paving stones. Looking this way and that for what may have been the hounds of hell, she opened the cathedral door and pushed Madame Goltier into the companionable darkness therein.

  The boom of the great doors shut the wider world away from them. In the embrace of the church, Aurelia felt a confidence she did not have in the shop. The blessed saints would not allow anything to befall her or anyone who sought sanctuary within those walls.

  “What is wrong, madame?” she whispered as she guided the distraught Mme. Goltier up the stairs to the chapel. Instead of entering the holy chambers, they remained beside the door, out of the way of other worshipers entering for evensong. “Who is pursuing you?”

  The lady gave her a curious look. “Did your master not explain my mission?”

  “Mission?” asked Aurelia, her heart beating faster than a bird’s wing. “No.”

  Mme. Goltier produced the small bottle Aurelia had seen her put in her glove. She uncorked it. The air filled with a strong aroma. Aurelia instantly identified rosemary, myrrh, and a dozen other scents, the likes of which she had never known to be combined.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Aide de mémoire,” Mme. Goltier said, with a meaningful look at her. “It is a charm for strong memories. Your master formulated it for me.”