CHAPTER Six THE MADAME
Sixt woke during the night. It was a three-quarter moon, enough light to be startled by a figure sitting in the Bergere chair by the bed. The feeling was disconcerting and foreign because witches don’t tend to startle easily. If anything, it was even more disturbing that the figure did not move, but appeared to simply watch her fumble for the curved brass handle of the candleholder that sat on the bedside table.
With shaking fingers she accomplished the lighting and held the small flame aloft for a better look at who was sitting in her bed chamber in the dark watching her sleep. Within the blink of an eye Sixt recognized that a strange and wonderful blessing had come to call in the night.
And she knew who it was.
The woman in the chair, legs curled beneath her, was bare of both clothing and hair except for the straight midnight black locks that grew to an inch from her scalp. It was unnerving, at that point in time, to see a woman with hair so short, but no less unnerving than the large almond-shaped, yellow-green eyes that slowly blinked open to reveal vertical pupils.
By all other appearances the nocturnal visitor was a comely young woman, but Sixt knew she was not a woman at all. She was a shape-shifter.
Sixt could hardly believe her good fortune. A witch chosen by such a rare and magical creature was a gift beyond compare.
“Ashes?” She whispered the question even though she knew the answer.
At that the visitor’s human features dissolved before her very eyes. In a matter of seconds the creature’s body shrank until she was once again a sleek and handsome cat who bounded gracefully to the bed, curled into a ball on top of the satin coverlet, and closed her eyes, purring as she went to sleep.
When the steady hum of Ashes’ purring ceased, Sixt blew out the candle and settled back against her pillow. Her mind raced with all the possibilities of what it could mean to be paired with a shape-shifting familiar. She was engrossed in those thoughts when sleep overtook her conscious mind.
On waking to light pouring in through the window, Sixt immediately remembered what had happened the night before and looked for the cat. She was gone, but by the time Sixt had dressed for the day, the cat sashayed in and meowed once before rubbing herself, repeatedly, against Sixt’s legs.
“I suppose this means you’re hungry, does it not?”
A meow seemed to give confirmation.
The day before Sixt had been thinking that talking to the cat was more or less to keep herself company; the fact that the cat seemed to give appropriate responses had been purely coincidental. But after the night’s revelation, she knew the cat understood her quite literally.
“I think perhaps you understand German, Ashes. Do you want fish this morning?” she asked in German. The cat trotted to the standing cabinet that contained a burlap bag of dried herring and batted at the door. “Good. You speak German. How about French?”
The cat sat on her haunches and looked at Sixt as if she was waiting for a test. “Would you like cheese to go with that?” she asked in French.
Ashes leapt to the counter where a block of cheese sat on a wooden tray under a small glass dome and rubbed her cheek on the glass.
Sixt laughed and reached out to run her hand along the silky fur crowning the cat’s back. In response Ashes bowed her back to press into the witch’s affectionate gesture.
Tapping a finger on her chin, Sixt said, “I wonder what magical adventures we’ll have together.”
Ashes flopped on her side next to the cheese and spread her toes while watching the witch closely.
After giving the cat a dish of fish pieces and cheese, Sixt gathered her own breakfast of fruit, bread, and cheese while talking to the cat as if they’d been lifelong companions. When she left to go downstairs to work for the day, she was careful to open the door to the little balcony.
“I’ll leave the balcony door open, but if you go out, please be very, very careful and don’t wander about aimlessly. In all the world there may be only one cat as special as you. If you must go out, perhaps I can accompany you.” She chuckled. “Like your personal guard. After dark, of course.”
Ashes responded by jumping onto the spotlighted patch of sun on the velvet settee where she stretched out forelegs from where she rested on haunches like a sphinx and began kneading the cushion. Sixt was satisfied that the cat appeared to be content where she was, at least for the time being.
She tripped down the stairs humming, not knowing what the future had in store, but knowing that Ashes was a sign that it would be marvelous. Whatever it was.
Perhaps it was providential that Monsieur Debussy did not come to work that morning. Whether providential or not, the fact remained that he was not there when it was time to change the sign to “open” and invite customers to browse the fare for the day.
Sixt had no choice but to leave her two apprentices working in the back of the store with a stern admonishment. “Neither of you is nearly ready to proceed without supervision, but fate has interfered with business as usual. Someone must see to the customers. Since it certainly cannot be you, that means I am the logical choice. Thankfully the chocolate is finished so you need only finish the eclairs and the petit fours. Any fool can make eclairs and I have certainly given you enough practice so that you should be able to stumble through a presentable showing of petit fours. Do not disappoint me.”
The two young men were quick to reassure her that all would be well. So she pulled the thick white toque away from her head, smoothed her hair, removed her apron and straightened her shoulders as she walked proudly to the front of the store and opened the door to find customers already waiting.
For the first couple of hours customers were put off to find that not only was Monsieur Debussy missing, but there was a woman in his place. Given the choice to do business with Sixt or go to another shop, most found that they could live with the idea of a feminine shop clerk.
As the day went on, Sixt found that she rather liked interacting with customers, getting firsthand information about which things they preferred and why. Not to mention that she was able to hear the praise Parisians heaped upon her chocolate masterpieces.
In the early afternoon a middle-aged woman in fine high fashion arrived flanked by a bevy of matrons who, apparently, spent their time vying for her approval. They were largely ignored.
The woman had a large nose, a small mouth, and eyes that showed whites all the way around her gray irises. She wasn’t attractive, but neither did her face seem unkind. She cocked an eyebrow when she spotted Sixt behind the counter.
“Who is this?” She was looking at Sixt so, although the question was not direct by its wording, Sixt answered.
“Mademoiselle Guerre des Fees. And you are?”
The woman’s look of surprise at Sixt’s forthright manner quickly changed to amusement even though her companions continued to titter with disapproval behind her.
Raising her chin slightly, she said, “Madame Marie-Catherine Le Jumel de Barneville, Countess d'Aulnoy.”
Sixt curtsied. “Honored to have you patronize my humble store, Countess.”
“Your store?”
Sixt hadn’t intended to use a personal pronoun rather than the demonstrative ‘this’. But intended or not, the truth was out there and she would not recant. “Yes. My store.”
Madame d’Aulnoy indulged herself in a laugh fit for a tavern wench. “Well, Mademoiselle, you are as full of surprises as your chocolates.”
Sixt wasn’t sure how to respond to that so she changed the subject. “Would you like a sample of the day’s offerings?”
“No. That won’t be necessary. Close the shop.”
As the Countess waved her hand dismissively Sixt felt a wave of anxiety. She wasn’t sure what she might have done or said to offend, except for being a woman, that was.
“Have everything ready to go,” the Countess continued, “and my people will be by at four to collect and pay the bill.”
“Four?” Sixt said stupidly.
“Four in the afternoon? You have heard of it?” the Countess said.
“Forgive me, am I to understand that you’re buying everything… here?”
The Countess turned to her audience. “Did I not make myself clear?” She turned back to Sixt. “Yes. Everything here.”
Sixt nodded. “Thank you.”
When the Countess reached the door she stopped and turned back. “You must know how to read. Would you like to join a circle of friends who enjoy stories?”
“Stories?” Sixt blinked several times as she tried to make sure that she was experiencing reality and not one of those pesky dimensional intrusions. “I… would, Madame.”
“Come for supper at six.” She smiled. “You’ll meet some other unusual women.”
“I look forward to it. Where…?”
“I’ll send a carriage along with written credentials so that you’ll not be stopped at the door.”
Sixt smiled, thinking it could not hurt to have powerful friends, the sort who could intervene with witch hunters. For that matter, it would be a nice change to have friends of any sort. Since the Lichterketten family had survived by believing it best to keep to itself, friends had been an unavailable luxury for Sixt.
Social interaction with humans would be different, a rare diversion to say the least.
Promptly at four a well-dressed footman arrived at the shop and knocked on the door. Sixt handed the man a bill.
He glanced at the paper, but didn’t take it. “How much?” he asked. Surmising that he couldn’t read, Sixt gave the total verbally. He withdrew a pouch and placed the correct number of coins on the counter in a row. “That will do?” he asked.
“Yes. Nicely,” said Sixt.
He signaled to two other men to carry the sweets away in narrow slat wood boxes lined with linen cloths.
The footman bowed slightly before closing the door behind him and left Sixt thinking, for the first time, about her clothing. Would she look shabby at the house of a Countess where women told stories? Without magic, undoubtedly she would.
Even ready-made dresses could not be fitted in so short a time.
She had less than two hours to remedy her lack of finery, but she had two things going for her. Talent. And a familiar. So up the stairs she raced.
“Ashes! I’m going out tonight to mingle with noblewomen. I have to create a flawless glamour.” The cat appeared at the threshold to the bedroom, sat down, and yawned. Sixt laughed. “Wake up, sleepy. I’m going to pull lightning through your tail.” She stopped abruptly and focused her full attention on the cat. “I knew you were good fortune on four legs, sometimes two, but you brought me something beyond my dreams on the very first day.”
“Meow.”
Sixt took a carved chest from its hiding place in the back of a cupboard as the cat watched with mild curiosity. After setting the chest on the kitchen table and opening the lid, Sixt rummaged through her tools and withdrew a small bronze hammer, a cup of rock salt, a tiny gem-encrusted dagger, and a cobalt blue glass vial of something liquid.
After laying the tools on the table, Sixt lit a candle and began to hum. As a child she’d discovered that humming certain made-up melodies helped her rearrange little tidbits of reality to be more to her liking. She could change the color of her bed clothes or attract a raven to light on her windowsill. She could even conjure honey candy.
She’d never done a glamour spell before, but she’d heard her parents tell some of the stories about legendary incidents when witches had successfully beguiled those who saw them so that they were taken for kings or war lords or even popes and changed the course of history. Sixt wasn’t about to attempt anything so grand. She was simply going to make her clothes appear nicer than they were.
If the experience was enjoyable and, if she was invited to return, she’d seek out a dressmaker on the morrow and use some of the profits she’d earned to make herself presentable to noblewomen without trickery.
Ashes jumped up on the table and watched Sixt’s every move carefully, tail twitching. With a quill pen, Sixt wrote words of incantation on a piece of parchment then used the dagger to prick a couple of drops of blood from her inner arm. One drop was smeared onto the parchment, the other mingled with a drop of liquid from the vial. These were rubbed together into her right palm.
She drew a clockwise circle in the air above the parchment. The cat turned in a circle following the movement of her hand. Then Sixt reached out and drew her tingling palm from the cat’s head to the tip of her tail. Both received a tiny electric shock. Not enough to really hurt, but enough to make Ashes scold Sixt with a hiss for being clumsy.
“Sorry. I’ve never had a familiar before. Give me time.”
The cat sneezed in response, jumped down from the table landing without a sound, and returned to the bedroom as Sixt burned the parchment and put her box of tools away.
She dressed her naturally curly hair in the looking glass and donned her best dress. Snatching a dried cattail from a vase in the kitchen, she twirled it around her body as she turned and recited the incantation that had been sealed with her own blood and released to the witch gods, by burning.
Turning back to the looking glass, she said, “Show me what others will see.”
She let out a little gasp, partly satisfaction, partly awe. “Oh, my, Ashes. You are a most wonderful cat.”
The vision in the glass was more spectacular than Sixt expected or even hoped for. In fact she wondered if the spell might have gone too far. She wouldn’t want to cause covetousness over a costume when she was trying to please rather than aggravate.
She twirled the cattail again. “Make it just right. Not too fine. Not too common.” At that the dress changed its appearance. It was satin rather than brocade with fewer ribbons and braid. Grand, but not too grand. “Just right.”
Sixt turned to Ashes. “What do you think?” The cat rubbed a paw over her ears. “Don’t be angry, darling cat. I promise to work on sharing magic without uncomfortable pops.”
“Meow.”
“I hope that means you’ve forgiven me. I’ll leave the balcony door open, but if you go out, please be very, very careful. In all the world I’m sure there’s not another cat like you.”
She fed Ashes and poured a saucer of cream she’d brought from downstairs as a reward, then left to wait by the door. She hoped the invitation wasn’t the noblewoman’s idea of sport, amusement at the chocolate girl’s expense. But the thought was quickly put aside when she heard the carriage pull to a stop in front of her door.
Sixt had ridden in taxis for hire with her brother, Hans, but nothing nearly as fine as the one the Countess sent to pick her up. The dizzying effect of luxury and the feel of privilege engraved itself on her soul. The experience also began to reshape her world view when she came to a profound realization.
Of course families of witches who lived humble lives and used their gifts to help humans were vulnerable in the human world. But it was almost impossible to harm the very rich and powerful, regardless of species.
When the carriage came to a stop, the footman arrived within seconds to open the door and lower the step bar for her. The house was as impressive as she’d expected. Gathering her skirts while taking care of modesty and being certain not to show ankle, she passed through a wrought iron gate, ascended steps lit by oil lamps to the red door, and rapped the large fleur de lis-shaped brass knocker.
A butler opened the door and bowed, accepting her note of entrance and glanced at it without looking her in the eye.
“Good evening, mademoiselle. This way.”
He led the way through a foyer four times the size of her entire shop to a dining room that could easily seat twenty-four for dinner. The table was set for two at one end. When the butler withdrew without a word, she was uncertain what to do. So she simply waited.
The Countess didn’t keep her waiting for long. She swept in with all the flair her office afforded.
“Hello, my dear. Please sit down.” She motioned to the table setting that was to the right of the head. “So glad you could come.” Madame D’Aulnoy looked her up and down. “You look lovely.” As Sixt sat, she continued. “I thought it would be nice to get to know each other before salon convenes. A supper for two is intimate enough to learn about each other, don’t you think?”
“A wonderful idea. I’m eager to learn about you,” Sixt replied.
The Countess smiled. “You’re just the sort of person who makes my gatherings worthwhile. I can tell such things, almost on sight.”
Sixt chuckled. “How?”
As servants rushed to pour wine and serve a first course, the hostess said, “It’s a gift.” She took a sip of wine. “In a horrendous display of bad manners, I find I’ve invited you to dinner and stories without so much as asking your name. Do I detect a hint of accent?”
“I lived in Germany for a time as a child.”
“Ah. That’s it then. What are you called?”
“Sixt. My name was Lichterketten, but I changed it to Guerre des Fees after moving to Paris.”
“Oh? You changed your name from fairy lights to fairy war?” Sixt nodded. “I’m sure there’s a story.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “And I’m sure I will extract it from you, like it or not.”
Sixt laughed softly. “I may be inclined to surrender the tale without the need for torture. Your excellent and elegant dinner has pried open the box that holds my secrets.”
“Very well. How did the change of name come about?”
“Because of a change of heart. My parents were loving and peaceful. They were interested in helping others.”
“Ah. Christians.”
Sixt shook her head. “No. But servants of the light. I learned early that their point of view was misguided.”
“Something terrible altered your course. I knew it!”
Sixt cocked her head and studied the Countess. “How?”
“Because you are clearly both more intelligent and more worldly than your scant years might suggest. Would you care to share the event that steered you to identify with war?” Sixt shook her head. “Regardless, it seems you have an interest in the fairy world. That could be worth pursuing. I prize imagination above all else.”
Sixt surveyed the finery that surrounded them. “Do you?”
“Oh yes. As you shall see when everyone arrives.”
During dinner Sixt learned that Madame D’Aulnoy and her much older husband had once been falsely accused of treason and exiled. When the truth was revealed, the witnesses were executed and the Countess was invited to return to Paris. She had no love for her husband. It had been a marriage arranged to make her father wealthier and afford him more status and, at present, she lived alone in the city while her husband preferred the life of a recluse and a hunting lodge that was rustic by the Countess’s standards.
She had, in fact, insisted on separation of more than residence. After he’d squandered much of their joint fortune, she requested and received a ‘separation of belongings’.
Whenever the conversation turned toward Sixt and her background, Sixt masterfully redirected it back to the Countess. It wasn’t hard to do because people love to talk about themselves.
By the time guests were arriving and being shown into the salon, the Countess had declared lifelong friendship to Sixt and walked arm in arm with her to introduce her to Paris’s most creative, intellectual, and sometimes most outrageous women. She recognized none of them from earlier at the shop. The salon group was entirely different.
After introducing Sixt to the five other women in attendance, the Countess set about acquainting her with their purpose. “We’re storytellers,” she said.
Sixt looked around at the faces, one by one, for clues as to whether it was a joke or not. When she saw that they were serious, she said, “I… I’m not sure why I’ve been included in your gathering. I’m not a storyteller.”
“I disagree,” said Madame D’Aulnoy.
“She has an uncanny eye for talent, my dear,” said one of the attendees who was obviously wealthy and outspoken as well. The woman, Marie D’Urbanville, appeared to be not much older than Sixt.
“Perhaps it is uncanny,” said the Countess. “But I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you belong in this group.”
“Why?” asked Sixt. “What is it that you suppose I have to offer?”
“Well, let’s see. I will name a subject and we’ll see if we can build a story from it.”
Marie D’Urbanville set her dainty cup aside and clapped her hands. “Yes! What will it be?”
“Well, our newest member and I were just broaching the subject of fairies as we were talking a little earlier.”
Sixt raised an eyebrow because that was not how she would have characterized the brief reference to her name.
“Fairies?” Marie frowned and looked confused.
“Yes,” said the Countess. “Let’s each tell what we know on the subject. We’ll begin there.”
“I know they’re nasty creatures who steal beautiful highborn babies and leave monsters in their place.”
Sixt waited to see if it was some sort of joke. When she realized the young woman was serious, she laughed.
“Please share the source of your humor, Mademoiselle,” said the Countess.
Sixt quickly regained her composure when she realized she was the only one who found that amusing. “Well, it’s simply that… that is not my experience with fairies.”
Madame D’Aulnoy’s eyes brightened with interest as two of the group tittered.
“See?” said Marie with the smugness of a woman who loves to be proven right. “The Countess is never wrong.”
“I would not say never, Madame,” said the Countess, “but clearly our guest is both a delight and a rare find. I propose to make her a regular member of the salon.” She waved a handkerchief in the air as if to punctuate the sentence.
“Agree,” said Marie.
One by one each agreed to accept Sixt into the circle. It hadn’t escaped Sixt’s notice that the little company never considered that she might not want to be accepted. Since she did, it was inconsequential. So she smiled, nodded, and said, “I’d not dared to hope for such an honor and pledge to do my best to live up to your expectations.”
“Very well,” said the Countess. “Who has something to read?”
Sixt spent seven years as the star of Madame D’Aulnoy’s salon. Though gossip claimed they were lesbians who engaged in ‘shocking practices’, they were simply intelligent women in need of an outlet for intellectual gifts. Members thought she was a creative genius, a bottomless well of fantastical ideas. In truth Sixt simply referenced some of her experiences from living in the Black Forest as a child.
As an adult and a student of happenings considered paranormal by some, she realized that the Lichterketten family’s home must have been located near popular portals for coming and going between this world and others. Much of what she’d learned had been self-taught and she wondered from time to time if the gaps in her education were deliberate or simple oversights.
In any case she had reached maturity without understanding all the mechanics of how the magical world operated. One of the things she learned was that she was able to detect non-humans, sometimes by sight when they were invisible to humans, sometimes by sense when humans were oblivious to their presence. She filled the salon evenings with experiences that were true, but believed by the French noblewomen to be the most deliciously outlandish tales. Some were things she’d heard witches tell her parents. Others were memories of her own.
In any case Madame D’Aulnoy’s salon was the birthplace of stories about the intersection of everyday life with extranormal beings and events. The Countess called them fairy tales.
She loved life as a Paris chocolatier. She loved her salon friends and recognized how unusual it was for women to meet and debate the profound along with the puerile. In addition to works of fiction, they discussed politics, religion, philosophy, and the sexual inadequacies of husbands they’d been forced to marry to increase their family’s wealth or social stature.
Sixt knew she was leaving a marvelous experience that might not ever be duplicated, but the ladies of the salon who were still living after seven years had aged quite noticeably. It was only a matter of time before they would begin wondering why Sixt’s appearance was unchanged. The chocolate shop and the apartment above it were left to a young woman who’d once been without home or fortune. She’d been taken in by Sixt and allowed to sleep in the bakery / confectionary. Eventually she’d proven an admirable student both in the shop and with books.
With a last look back, Sixt left with Ashes stowed in a red velvet satchel and made her way to England and the Isle of Man where she bought a modest cottage with a portion of her profits. For a year she contented herself to walk, read, and garden. She might have stayed longer, but Ashes was increasingly restless and eager to be someplace with more activity.
She got no reaction when she asked the cat about Spain or Scandinavia, but there was definitely an interest in Italy.
“Italy, is it? What is there that is so very interesting?” Ashes stretched her neck and twitched her tail. “Many would think me mad, being bullied by a cat.”
But the cat knew what she was doing. Sixt spent decades adding and adapting some of the tools of La Vecchia Religione, the old religion, to her practice. Though she would have been stunningly beautiful anywhere, her coloring made her exotic in Italy. She was relentlessly pursued by suitors, but had little interest in lovers, much less marriage.