Chapter 26
Zina
I didn’t need to wait long for Agnès to contact me about a patron who had known my family and had agreed to meet me the very next day. But there was a catch.
“So first I will need to prove my identity?” I asked as we walked the kilometer or so down rue Richer from La Petite Librairie. Apparently, this patron didn’t believe I was me.
“Yes,” Agnès Bailly said around the cigarette dangling from her mouth.
Despite being the owner of that dusty old shop, she dressed remarkably smart, today wearing a black dress that fitted her lithe figure like a glove.
But black, I felt, was more appropriate for mourning, not for Parisian streets bright with rare April sunshine.
The aromas of freshly baked baguettes and croissants made my mouth water; the neat balconied buildings brought order to my mind.
It was a narrow street, filled with little shops and cafés yet also little traffic.
Still, morning Paris was a city in restless motion, shifting with the tide of deliveries and passersby.
“Your patron also owns a shop?” I was a little breathless. It was only a fifteen-minute walk, but I had come all the way from rue Daru before that. For once, I didn’t feel eyes on me. Maybe my spies were still asleep.
“Her shop is called Oracle,” Agnès replied as we turned onto rue de Trévise. “Twenty-nine rue de Trévise is where Lucien Chamuel’s Librairie du Merveilleux used to be.”
“The publisher?”
“Yes. But it was mostly a meeting and ritual place for occultists, and a shop for alchemical equipment. Those who wanted occult books and goods came to us. They still do. Anyway, my patron converted the Librairie into a consulting room for her lover.” Agnès’s eyes slid to me for a reaction.
When I said nothing, as Paris was full of lovers of all persuasions, she went on.
“The lover is an oracle. And they sell related literature.”
“There is literature on oracles?”
“Why, my dear, there is literature on everything in Paris—and, voilà! Here it is.”
I had hardly noticed we were now on an even narrower, quieter street, with some trees beginning to bloom green and a few small shops on the ground floors of the apartment buildings.
Oracle was painted entirely black but was neat and tidy, with window displays of books and posters of wheels and charts.
The inside was as neat and tidy as the outside.
Low, compact shelves of books, journals, and pamphlets filled the walls.
The rest was dotted with small tables of more posters of wheels and charts, as well as dice, dried flowers, and grain.
A large woman with a pert bun swirling black and silver stepped out of a back room, closing the door behind her firmly.
Like Agnès, she was attired all in black, though not as smart.
She reminded me of the chateau guests with their old-fashioned gowns, and I shivered.
“Coralie is with a client. We must be quiet.” The woman’s eyes cut to me, black and dour like her dress. “And quick. I have little time.” Like Agnès, she was French.
I looked about the empty shop, mystified at what she was so busy with.
Agnès nodded sympathetically. “You work yourself to the bone, dear one.”
“Indeed I do. She keeps me busy,” the woman said with a secret gleam.
Agnès hid a smile and turned to me. “This is the young lady I told you about, Zina Lenormand. Zina, my patron and friend Marie-Louise Durand.”
“Pleasure,” I said, even as I chafed under Marie-Louise’s unflinching stare, her eyes stern, her earthy-brown energy as hard as a walnut shell. As though she had met with adversity and learned from it.
“So you say you are Svetlana’s daughter. Do you tell fortunes?”
“I am her. And I do, but not well.” As with Agnès, I had decided on honesty. I reached into my trouser pocket and pulled out Mama’s cards.
Marie-Louise’s gaze snapped to them. “Where did you get those?”
“They were my mother’s. My grandmother gave them to me.”
Marie-Louise reached for the cards, and I placed the deck in her hand.
A flash! and I saw her without the silver in her hair, standing with Mama at this very counter, their heads bent close together.
I couldn’t hear their words, only their carefree laughter.
The image dissolved, and I was left staring at the much older Marie-Louise.
As she thumbed through the cards, her eyes became shiny, and she blinked rapidly. Her energy turned sweet, like the secret rich insides of the same walnut. “Yes, these were hers. Do you tell fortunes with them?”
“As I said, yes, though I am not very good.”
“Well, Zina Lenormand, what are you good at? Because if you are my friend’s daughter, you must be good at something.”
I wouldn’t let this woman bully me, so I told her.
“What is my aura?”
I told her this, too. Then: “In this moment, I feel your sorrow, your grief. You miss my mother. You were close to her. I just saw a vision of you laughing with her. You must know she is dead.”
A small nod. “Valentina told you about us?”
“Not in so many words, but she pointed me to Agnès’s shop, for guidance on spiritual mediumship.
And, well, my grandmother refuses to speak of the past, or of my mother.
I want to know more about what happened to her.
Now more than ever. The Grand Duke is infesting our shop, and we need to perform a spiritual expulsion. ”
Marie-Louise glanced at a quiet yet watchful Agnès, then back at me. “Forty rue de Paradis, tomorrow night, nine o’clock. You will prove your gift to us by summoning your mother. If you succeed, we will help you.”
“But—” I wasn’t just weak; I couldn’t reach Mama.
Marie-Louise put up a hand. “Either you show us what you can do, or you will get nothing.”
Agnès gave my hand a squeeze in warning. “We understand, dear. Until tomorrow. Give my best to Coralie and tell her not to overexert herself.”
Marie-Louise nodded. But her eyes stayed on me, and I realized this was all proving much more difficult than I had expected.