A Chalice of Wind

  “Ouida.” Daedalus came forward, holding out his hands. They kissed formally on both cheeks and looked at each other. We always do this, Ouida thought. When we see other members of the Treize, we examine them like medical curiosities.

  “How nice to see you, my dear,” Daedalus said. “Come in, make yourself comfortable.”

  Ouida sank onto a delicate love seat. It had been hectic and difficult to arrange to come here. Fortunately, her research project could be put on hold, at least for a while. The chromosome samples weren’t going anywhere. Daedalus had never summoned her like this, and she was curious.

  “What’s going on, Daedalus?” she asked as he handed her a tall, cold drink.

  “You won’t believe it,” he said with a smile, sitting down opposite her. Jules sat down also. He didn’t look nearly as cheerful as Daedalus did.

  Ouida waited. Daedalus had always been a show-man. Now he leaned forward, his blue eyes bright, energetic. “ We can do the rite. We have a full Treize once more.”

  “Wh . . .” Ouida began, but her voice failed her. She looked quickly from Daedalus to Jules, and Jules nodded in confirmation. The breath had left her lungs, and now she tried to get enough air to speak. “What do you mean? Surely Melita—”

  Daedalus waved his hand impatiently. “God, no. I have no idea where Melita is. As far as anyone can tell, she was swallowed up by the earth right after she left. But now, at last, we have a full thirteen. Thirteen witches of the famille to perform the rite.”

  “How? Who?” Ouida asked. Emotions she hadn’t felt in years flooded her brain. Memories, yearnings, things that happened so long ago it was as if they’d happened to a completely different person.

  “ Twins,” said Daedalus with great satisfaction. “From Cerise’s line. Identical female twins.”

  “Twins? Where are they?” Ouida asked, so taken aback her head was swimming.

  “Here, in New Orleans,” said Jules. “It turns out Petra’s had one for the last seventeen years. And then last summer, Daedalus and I found the other. Quite by chance.”

  Ouida frowned, thinking. “I saw Clio when she was a little girl. But she wasn’t a twin.”

  “ Turns out she was,” Jules said. “Petra had divided them and hidden one.”

  “To prevent this from happening.” Ouida understood immediately.

  “Yes,” Daedalus admitted. “But it isn’t only Petra’s decision. It affects all of us. It’s something we’ve always wanted.”

  “Ouida.”

  Ouida turned to see the voice’s owner. Her eyes met Richard’s intensely, and for a moment everything was quiet. Then she rose and went to him. Ouida was barely five-foot two, and her head fit neatly into Richard’s shoulder. They hugged for a long time until Richard drew back and smiled at her. “How was your flight?”

  “It sucked,” she said, smiling back. He knew she hated flying. She looked at his pierced eyebrow—that was new. He could get away with something like that, where it would look ridiculous on Jules or Daedalus. “You look very . . . young,” she said, and he laughed.

  “Love you, babe,” he said, and went to pour himself a drink.

  “So, these twins theoretically complete the thirteen,” Ouida said, sitting back down. “But what about the actual rest of the Treize?”

  “Petra is here, of course,” said Daedalus, his eyes on Richard as he went to sit next to Ouida. “We haven’t hashed out all the details—and I for one feel that she owes us a serious accounting of why she took matters into her own hands. Not telling us? Hiding a twin? She’s done us all a great disservice. At best. But she’s still one of us in the end, and I assume she won’t let us down. Sophie and Manon are arriving tomorrow, I believe. Everyone is coming.”

  Ouida looked at Daedalus knowingly. He was assuming a lot, and not only about Petra. “Everyone?” she questioned.

  Daedalus shrugged. “We might have a few hitches. But everyone will be here soon.”

  Richard put his head back and tossed a pecan in the air, catching it expertly in his mouth. “Yeah. A few hitches. That’s one way to put it.”

  “Claire?” Ouida asked, and Daedalus’s face gave her the answer. “And . . . Marcel?”

  Daedalus made an impatient gesture. “They will come.”

  Richard met Ouida’s eye. Clearly he was skeptical that Daedalus could get the last two members here. Ouida suddenly felt very tired. She leaned back against the heavy silk upholstery. “It isn’t just the Treize,” she said. “ There are so many other factors.”

  “All of which we’ve been working on,” Daedalus said smoothly. “Everything is well under control. It could even happen by Recolte. But more likely by Monvoile.”

  Ouida found this all so hard to believe. After all this time, was this even what they wanted? Clearly Daedalus did. And Jules. But Richard? She looked at his young face. He looked back at her, and she found it hard to read his expression.

  Abruptly she got up and put her glass on the table. “Well, this was certainly unexpected,” she said. “It’s a lot to think about. Right now I’m going to my B & B and sleep for a day.”

  Daedalus’s eyes followed her. “Certainly, my dear. Rest. I know this is a lot to take in. Jules and I have had several months to absorb its implications. I know we’ll be able to count on you when the time comes.”

  Ouida looked at him and didn’t reply. She picked up her purse and walked to the door. “I’ll be in touch.” She let herself out, feeling three pairs of speculative eyes on her back.

  Salvation Being Snatched Away

  Sleep eluded him. Marcel turned restlessly on his pallet, its straw rustling with every movement. In truth, he dreaded sleep. In his sleep he was prey to dreams. Awake, he was prey to Daedalus. Today he had served as an acolyte at mass. As he’d lit the tall altar candle, young Sean, sent up from the village to assist here and there, had turned to him and said, “Come to New Orleans.” Startled, Marcel had almost dropped his tall taper. He’d seen the blankness in Sean’s eyes and realized the boy had no memory of having spoken.

  So waking hours were unbearably tense. And sleep—the dreams that twisted through his mind, making him wake sobbing, tears running down his face . . .

  Death would be such a sweet release.

  If only, if only . . .

  The small cell he’d occupied for the last five years had become such a refuge for him. He’d almost become hopeful, as his days blended into one another, the seasons flowing through his hands like rain. He worked hard, studied hard, prayed with the fervor of the converted. And now, after everything, it was being taken away from him. His hope, his peace, his possible salvation, all being snatched away by Daedalus. And for what?

  Marcel turned again, his face to the stone wall. From a foot away he felt the chill wafting off the stones and he closed his eyes. His single candle had guttered and gone out hours ago. Soon it would be time for matins, and he would have passed the brief night with no sleep. Through the one small, high window, he had seen the sliver of moon arc across the sky and disappear from view.

  Then it was there with no warning: Marcel was once again standing in a circle before the huge cypress tree. Melita was beginning the incantation. He could see everyone’s faces: Daedalus, watchful, intrigued; Jules, frightened, unable to move; Ouida, curious; Manon, excited, like the child she was. Himself. Curious, eager, yet with a dark weight on his chest: fear.

  The storm, the crack of lightning. The white glow on everyone’s faces, sending their features into sharp relief, like a frieze. He saw Cerise, her face young and open, her belly heavy and round. The child not due for almost two months. Then the blast of power, striking them all like a fist. His mind clasping the energy like a snake, writhing within him. The exaltation . . . the unbelievable power, the fierce, proud hunger they all felt, tasting that power. The gurgling spring, bubbling up from the ground, dark, like blood. Then the lightning flashed and they saw it was blood, and Cerise was holding her belly, her face twisting in pain. The blood around
her ankles, Petra springing to her side, Richard’s face so young and white . . .

  Marcel hadn’t moved, had watched everything in a stupor, still drunk with the power that flowed through him.

  Cerise had died as everyone crowded around her. Everyone except him and Melita. Melita had also been reveling in the power, had glanced across at him with a supremely victorious expression. The power lit her in glory, and she felt only an exquisite joy so sharp it bordered on pain. He saw that, saw Melita’s face, as her younger sister died in childbirth on the ground.

  Petra had held up the bloody, wriggling infant, small and weak, but mewling, alive.

  “Whose child is this?” she had called, her voice barely audible over the pouring rain that was already washing Cerise’s body clean. “Whose child is this?”

  No one had answered. Cerise had died without revealing the name of her child’s father.

  But Marcel had known.

  Now, in his cell, he was jarred by the deep, pealing sound of the bells announcing matins, calling the faithful to morning prayer. It was still dark outside. Automatically, Marcel rose and walked to the chipped metal basin that stood on a rough table. He splashed icy water on his face. The water mingled with his tears and left his face flushed and tingling.

  Moving as if drawn by invisible thread, Marcel plodded silently down the dark stone hall. Time to pray for his soul once again. To beg for mercy from the all-merciful Father.

  It would do no good.

  Clio

  “I can’t believe Petra let you out,” Racey said under her breath. Of all my friends, Racey was the only one I’d told about the whole curse-of-the-twins thing. Everyone else just thought that Nan had somehow, tragically, lost track of Thais and her dad until now. Now we were going to be one big happy and so on.

  Ahead of us, Eugenie and Della were laughing, their high-heeled slides tapping against the sidewalk. We’d left Racey’s mom’s car down on Rue Burgundy—parking close to Amadeo’s was impossible. It was only a few blocks, anyway.

  “I’m in a group,” I pointed out, giving Racey the same rationale I’d given Nan. “And I have to be back by eleven.”

  Racey grimaced, and I nodded glumly. “I told her I needed to go out and have a good time, not worry about anything,” I said. “ This whole thing has totally freaked me out. I can’t think about it right now. But I have to be really careful, stay with you guys, yada yada yada.”

  Racey sighed sympathetically. “Did you get ahold of Andre?”

  “I left a message—hope he gets it,” I said. “I’m dying to see him.” To put it mildly. It felt like a year since we had lain together under the oak tree in the park. That had been the last time I’d felt normal or at ease, and I was desperate to feel that way again, desperate to see the one person who made me forget about everything else that was happening.

  “So Della’s hot for Collier Collier,” Eugenie called back over her shoulder, and Della whapped her on the shoulder.

  My eyebrows rose. “ The sophomore?”

  Della looked embarrassed as Racey and I caught up with them. “He’s a really hot sophomore,” she defended herself. As if to change the subject, she gestured at a shortcut, a small alley that would let us skip two tourist-clogged blocks. We turned down it.

  I thought about Collier Collier. “Yeah, in a young, contributing-to-the-delinquency-of-a-minor kind of way,” I said. “He’s what, fifteen? And you’re going to be eighteen, when? Next week?” This alley was narrow and unlit, but I could already see the light and noise of Royal Street ahead of us.

  “He’s almost sixteen, and I won’t be eighteen till next April,” Della said. “There’s not that huge a difference. And I mean, God. He’s gorgeous.”

  Actually, he was gorgeous, which was the only reason I knew the name of a sophomore.

  “I noticed him last year,” Della admitted. “Remember? He was almost pretty. But over the summer, he grew, like, five inches—”

  “Let’s hope in the right place,” Eugenie murmured, and I laughed out loud.

  Della whapped her again on the arm. “And he’s just really, really hot.”

  “Plus, he’s a lowly sophomore, and you’re a hot senior babe, and he’s going to follow you around like a puppy,” Racey said dryly.

  “He has been very agreeable,” Della said innocently.

  “And pathetically grateful?” I asked.

  “Don’t know yet,” Della said with a wicked smile. “But I assume so.”

  I was laughing again, but it suddenly choked off. Alarm flashed through me, but from what? I looked at Racey quickly, and she frowned. Then her eyes widened and she looked around—

  “Gimme your wallets!” He stepped out of the shadows so fast that Eugenie squeaked and tottered on her heels. The guy had a knife and looked rough, unshaven, with torn clothes and a wild expression in his eyes. I cast my senses out—he wasn’t a witch, which was why I hadn’t picked up on him till it was too late.

  I held up my hands. “Okay, okay,” I said tensely. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I felt jittery with fear.

  “Shut up! Gimme your wallet, bitch!” he snarled again, looking at me, and my throat closed even as my brain kicked into high gear.

  We all fumbled for our purses. Eugenie was visibly shaking and accidentally tipped hers out so everything spilled to the ground.

  “Damn it!” she hissed, sounding near tears.

  “It’s okay,” I said again, trying to sound calm. “Just pick your stuff up, Eu. Look, I’m taking out my wallet. . . .”

  Everything happened so fast after that. For no reason, the guy suddenly freaked out and tried to backhand me across the face. I managed to jump back in time, and I saw Racey make a quick motion. The guy blinked, confused for a second, and I snapped my hand out and shot a bolt of fourjet at him.

  He reeled as if he’d been punched on the shoulder, but then his crazed, bloodshot eyes fastened on me again, and he lunged at me with his knife. The blade whipped close enough for me to feel its swish, but I leaped to one side and sent another bolt of fourjet at his knees, which promptly buckled.

  Looking surprised, he dropped to his knees, and then Della snarled in rage and swung her purse at his head as hard as she could. Della carries everything in her purse—I’d picked it up once and said, “What do you have in here? Bricks?”

  It cracked against the mugger’s head just as I whispered a sortilège d’attacher—a binding spell—feeling grateful that Nan had made me practice them until I wept with fatigue. The mugger went over sideways, looking stunned. I flicked my wrist and knocked his knife away, then shot it over and down a drain I saw out of the corner of my eye. Racey stood over him, silently adding her spells to mine to hold him in place.

  He started howling, swearing, calling us names as he struggled futilely against the invisible bonds. Racey made a tiny gesture and then even his voice went mute. His eyes bugged out of his head in fear, and the four of us started backing away.

  “What did you do, Della?” Eugenie cried.

  “Maybe he’s epileptic,” Della said, sounding scared.

  At that moment I saw a tall, dark figure enter the alley and start running toward us.

  “Guys, run!” I cried, grabbing Eugenie’s arm. “He had a partner!” We turned and raced for the other end of the alley, which would take us out into the crowded light of Royal Street. We were almost out when I heard my name being called.

  “Clio! Clio, wait!”

  I screeched to a halt. “It’s Andre!” I whirled and peered down the dark alley.

  Andre ran right past the mugger, barely glancing down at him. We waited at the end of the alley, in clear view of everyone passing on the street. Andre caught up to us and grabbed my arms. “Are you okay? I was half a block behind you. Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

  “No,” I said, looking past him. The mugger was still lying on the ground. I could feel his helpless rage from here. “ That guy tried to mug us!”

  Andre swore under
his breath, looking angry. Della and Eugenie hadn’t met him yet, and despite the shaky aftermath of almost being mugged, they were looking at him, impressed.

  “I tried to catch up to you,” Andre said. “ That alley was not a good idea.”

  I saw a beat policeman strolling down the street, and I ran to catch up to him. “Um, a guy fell down in that alley back there,” I said, pointing. “Maybe he’s having an epileptic fit.” The cop started walking quickly toward the alley, reaching for his walkietalkie. I debated telling him that the guy had tried to mug us, but the cop was going to have a hard time dealing with the binding spells as it was. I didn’t want to give an official statement or have to explain anything.

  “That cop is going to go check on him,” I told everyone.

  “Should we report what he did?” Della asked. “If I do and my parents find out—”

  “Me too,” said Eugenie. “Goodbye, Quarter.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said. “ The cop will take care of it. I just want to sit down.”

  We had walked quickly down half a block before I remembered to introduce Della and Eugenie to Andre. He smiled at them, and I could see his magic working on them. Not real magick, of course—just his own personal attraction.

  We turned into Amadeo’s, where it was blessedly dark after the overlit street. The bouncer let Andre in but wanted to card us. I sent him a “we’re of age, don’t worry about it” thought, and he waved us through, looking bored.

  “Friend of yours?” Andre said, nodding at the bouncer. He knew I was still in high school.

  I shrugged. “Something like that. Hey, what about you? You’re what, nineteen?”

  Andre grinned, looking dark and mysterious. “Fake ID.”

  We got drinks and went to the back room. A live band was going to start soon since it was Friday, but we found a small empty couch and pulled some chairs over to it. Again I felt that Racey was watching Andre, as if trying to figure him out. Then she seemed to shake off the feeling and put a smile on her face. I saw her make eye contact with a guy sitting at another table, and soon they had a flirtation going. Within minutes Della and Eugenie had drifted off to check out guys, leaving Andre and me alone.