A Chalice of Wind

  “Tell me about yourself,” he said, still gazing at the thicket of oak leaves overhead. The growing darkness made it even more private. “Who do you live with?”

  I laughed. “What kind of a question is that? You don’t think I live with my parents?”

  He looked at me curiously. “Oh. And do you?” Maybe he’d been hoping I had a roommate, my own place, and I suddenly felt stupid, childish.

  “Actually, no,” I said. “I live with my grandmother. I always have.”

  “It’s very sad to lose your parents so young,” he said, turning on his side to face me. He took my hand and held it in his own against his chest. I could feel his heart beating. I wondered why he’d assumed that I had actually lost my parents—they could have been divorced, or in prison, or maybe just one of them was dead.

  I shook my head. I’d told him I’d always lived with my grandmother—of course it sounded like I’d never had any parents.

  “What about you?” I asked.“Where’s your family from?”

  “My parents died a long time ago too,” he said. “But some of my extended family still lives in France—a little town called St. Malo.”

  “I would love to go to France,” I said dreamily. Hint, hint. “My family was originally from there, a couple hundred years ago. I’d love to go visit.”

  “You’ve never been there?”

  “No.” I looked into his dark blue eyes. “I bet it’s so beautiful there. Bet it has good food.”

  Andre smiled easily and tapped my lip with one gentle finger. “Yes. Very good food. Who knows? Maybe one day we’ll see France together.”

  Yes! “I’d like that,” I said, and put my hand on his neck, beneath the collar of his shirt. I drew his head toward me and kissed him again. “I can see us doing lots of things together,” I whispered.

  He kissed me back, pressing my shoulders into the soft ground. His dark head blotted out the day’s final bit of light, and I closed my eyes. Andre kissed my eyelids, my forehead, my cheeks, my birthmark, my chin, and I lay quietly, smiling, soaking it all up. I was filled with happiness and felt the rush of love and light and power swell inside me. I so wished I could make real magick, a proper spell, right there—I knew I’d be more powerful than ever before. I would try to hold on to this feeling when I went home. Nan would be impressed. The power of love.

  Someday I would be able to show Andre who and what I was. If he loved me as deeply as I loved him, then magick would be just another experience for us to share, another aspect of my life I would open to him.

  His hand moved slowly from my waist over my camisole, and my muscles went taut as it brushed lightly over my breast. I shuddered, eyes closed, holding him tightly, feeling his knee press between mine.

  “Come home with me.” The words were barely whispered against my temple.

  Everything in me said yes. I pictured us alone and private. I saw his skin against mine, us joining completely, how magickal it would be. All it would take was for me to stand up, take his hand, and go to his apartment. Then we could be together.

  I didn’t want to open my eyes. If I kept my eyes shut, I could still imagine us together, see how it would be.

  “Clio?”

  I sighed and opened my eyes. It was dark out. Cicadas were thrumming rhythmically around us.

  “Clio. Come.” Andre stroked wisps of my hair back against my temple. I felt my heartbeat echo everywhere he touched.

  “I can’t.”

  His dark eyebrows raised, and the phrase handsome as the devil popped into my mind. “What?” He looked taken aback, and I felt angry at reality, resentful, and . . . bound to obey Nan.

  I licked my lips. “I’m sorry, Andre. Tonight I can’t. Another time? Any other time, practically. But—”

  “I’ve pushed you.” He looked regretful.

  “No! It isn’t that at all,” I said.“I’ve pushed you as much as you’ve pushed me.” I swallowed hard, my blood still running strong and hot with longing. “It’s so stupid. But tomorrow is the first day of school. Believe it or not. And even though everything in me wants to just be with you—still, my grandmother would absolutely kill me if I came home really late on the night before school started.”

  I felt my face flush even more, if possible. I, Clio Martin, felt so incredibly uncool, for perhaps the first time in my life. Ninety-eight percent of me said to blow Nan off, to go with Andre, to seize life, etc. But the other two percent held powerful sway: I loved Nan, and I hated disappointing her or making her angry.

  Andre was expressionless, propped up on one elbow, looking down at me. For a few moments I felt so acutely horrible that I was absolutely ready to jump up and grab Andre’s hand and say I was just kidding.

  I sat up fast. “Actually, I—” I began, just as Andre said, “I understand.”

  “What?” I stared at him, his face with its strong bones.

  “I understand,” he repeated. He smiled ruefully. “Of course you need to get home. I wasn’t thinking—I’m sorry. I was listening to my heart and not my head.”

  I blinked, astonished to feel the beginnings of tears in my eyes. Could Andre be more perfect? He was everything wild and dangerous and sexy that I could ever hope for, and he was also caring, unselfish, and considerate.

  I took his strong tan hand and kissed it. He smiled and looked boyishly pleased.

  “Come,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”

  I hesitated. Something in me didn’t want Nan to meet him just yet. She always asked questions about the guys I dated, and I wanted to know Andre a little better before I went through the inquisition. Besides, she’d have plenty of time to get used to him as her future grandson-in-law.

  I shook my head. “I can walk from here. It’s perfectly safe.” Since I could zap a freezing spell on any jerk who messed with me.

  He frowned.“No, Clio, please—let me see you home.”

  I shook my head and stood up, brushing the leaves off my clothes. “I get out of school at three,” I told him. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

  He laughed and pulled me to him. “You can see me anytime you want.”

  Thais

  I lay in bed, wondering what I should do first: cry or throw up. It seemed pointless to “wake up,” since I’d been staring at my ceiling, sleepless, pretty much all night. Today was my first day of school in a new place. The first day of school in my whole life that my dad wouldn’t be there to take me, holding my hand when I was little, waving goodbye when I got older. I felt intensely alone, waking up in this strange apartment, everything so foreign around me.

  My eyelids felt like sandpaper. I rolled over in bed, hugging my pillow. Ever since my nightmare, I’d been hating falling asleep. Axelle insisted I keep the door to my room open, and on the one hand, I actually appreciated her being able to hear me if I cried out. On the other hand, I sorely missed my privacy and the implied safety of a locked door. Especially when Jules and Daedalus stayed over, which they did every once in a while.

  I sleepwalked to the bathroom and got under the shower. In New Orleans, the cold water was never actually cold, like in Connecticut. Back home, the C on the faucet meant business. Here the C meant “tepid”—I never even bothered with hot water.

  And another thing: back home, the first day of school always meant new school clothes, autumny clothes. School starts: autumn’s on the way. The forecast for today was a high of ninety-six, one hundred percent humidity. I wore a short skirt and a sleeveless top, both gray with pink athletic stripes. I guessed I would soon find out what was considered cool to wear here.

  I spritzed my hair and bunched it up to make the layers stand out. I started crying. I put drops in my eyes and tried to put on mascara. I started crying again. I quit with the makeup and headed out to the kitchen. So now only throwing up was left.

  In the main room, I found Axelle, Jules, and Daedalus sitting around the table, wearing the same clothes from last night. The ashtray was full of cigarettes. Empty soda cans and bottles of water c
ircled the table. They had clearly been up all night, and I was amazed they hadn’t been louder.

  “Hey,” I said unenthusiastically, and they looked up.

  “You’re up early,” Axelle said, glancing at the antique clock on the mantel.

  “School,” I said, trying to eat a plain piece of bread.

  Axelle let out a breath, giving Jules and Daedalus a meaningful look. I was so zany and unpredictable, wanting to go to school.

  “You were serious about that,” she muttered. Then, “What time will you be home?”

  “School gets out at three,” I said, chewing, struggling to swallow. “I guess around three thirty? I don’t know how long the streetcar will take.”

  “Give her a cell phone,” Daedalus told Axelle, and I stopped chewing in surprise.

  She looked at him, her black eyes thoughtful. Then she stood, fished around in her huge black leather purse, and pulled out a cell phone. For a moment she stood looking at it, tracing her fingers over it as if, like, memorizing it, saying goodbye. To a cell phone. Jeez.

  Finally she brought it over to me. I couldn’t believe it.

  “Let us know if you’re going to be late,” she said.

  O-kaaay. And you’ll have cookies hot from the oven ready for me, right?

  I had bought myself a backpack and stocked it with a few first-day supplies. I zipped the phone into a little pocket.

  “Thais, come here,” Jules said, and I walked over. Now what?

  The three of them were hunched over all kinds of old maps and new maps and books and what looked like geographical surveys.

  “Have you ever seen anything like this before?” Axelle asked. Though she’d been up all night, she didn’t look beat. Her skin was clear, her eyes bright—even her makeup looked okay.

  “Maps? Yeah—I’ve seen maps before.” I had no idea what she meant.

  “No, more—maps like this,” she said, pulling one out. It looked like an olde-timey reproduction on fake parchment, the edges tattered. I expected to see a big black X somewhere, where the treasure was buried.

  I shook my head. “Like a pirate map? Not any real ones.”

  Jules snorted with laughter, and Axelle looked irritated.

  “Not a pirate map,” she said. “Old maps. Real old maps. Did your father have anything like this among his things? Did you ever see anything else like this when you were little?”

  Well, that ranked right up there as being one of the weirder questions I’d ever been asked. “No.” I shook my head again and started moving toward the door. “Dad didn’t have anything like that. See you later.”

  I slipped out the door into the lush, damp courtyard. It was early—I’d allowed plenty of time to get to school by public transportation—but already incredibly, jungle-style hot. Before I’d even reached the side gate, I felt damp and limp. Great. I swallowed the last of my bread, feeling it stick in my throat. Somehow, this morning, I missed my dad even more than yesterday.

  Clio

  “You ready?” I glanced over at Racey, who held up one finger and sucked down the last of her coffee.

  “I guess so.” She leaned down and grabbed her retro plaid backpack, then leaned back against the car seat and closed her eyes. “I’m not ready,” she moaned.

  I leaned back and closed my eyes too. I’d already shut off the Camry’s engine, so it was going to get hot in here in about two seconds, but we needed to take a moment. “Yeah,” I said. “Where did the summer go?”

  “We got to the beach, what, once?” Racey complained.

  I thought back to the long, hot summer days and the long, hot summer nights. “Still, we had some fun,” I pointed out. “And I met Andre.”

  “Yeah.” Racey opened her eyes and looked out the window. Some of our other friends were already gathered around the cement bench in front of the “Friendship Tree.” Racey and I were the only witches in our group, but it wasn’t a secret. There have always been witches in New Orleans, so it wasn’t a big deal. Witches, Catholics, voodoo, Santeria, Jews—there was a lot of latitude about acceptable religions. Our friends thought it was kind of a hobby rather than a whole system of power. I didn’t correct them.

  Racey looked down at her nails, which were painted black with little white lightning bolts on them.

  “Your nails match your hair,” I realized.

  She grinned at me. “I know I’ve got kind of a skunk thing going, but I like it.” She took a deep breath and let it out, then unlocked her door. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go rock this joint.”

  Laughing, I got out and unsuccessfully tugged my tank top down so it would meet my board shorts. Surely the school couldn’t enforce their quaint “dress code” ideas today, not in this heat.

  “Yo!” called Eugenie LaFaye, holding up a hand in greeting.

  “So you got home all right that Saturday?” Della asked with a smirk. The last time I’d seen her, I’d been trying to remember where the hell I’d left my car in a mall parking lot. That day felt like ages and ages ago—it was hard to believe I’d known Andre for such a short time. He’d changed my life so much, it was like his appearance had separated my history into two parts: before him and after him.

  “Oh, sure,” I said airily. “How many blue, 1998 Toyota Camrys could there possibly be in a mall parking lot? Like, two thousand?”

  “Yeah, and she found hers after only one thousand, three hundred and seventy-eight,” Racey said, and they all laughed.

  “So we got lucky,” I said brightly.

  “We’ve been checking out the talent,” said Nicole, nodding at a bunch of guys over by the basketball hoops. Racey’s little brother, Trey, was among them.

  I looked over but without a lot of interest. Ordinarily, of course, my antennae would be quivering—gauging the guys, obsessing over what I was wearing, seeing who was checking me out, enjoying being able to stun guys with a look, a word. Now even the most studly senior guys looked like second graders. Realizing I was already feeling clammy at eight forty-five in the morning, I twisted my hair into a knot, fished a chopstick out of my backpack, and stuck it through. “Voilà,” I said. “Chic yet simple.”

  “Goofy yet messy,” Eugenie said in the same tone.

  “Ladies,” said a voice, and I turned to see Kris Edwards stroll up.

  “Hey, girl,” I said, giving her a hug. “And how were the Swiss Alps?” Kris’s family was stinking rich, and she’d spent the summer in Europe.

  “Swissy,” she said, hugging Racey next. “Alpy.”

  “And the Swiss lads?” Nicole asked. “Your IMs left much to the imagination.”

  “For which we’re thankful,” I said, and Kris laughed.

  “The Swiss talent was very . . . talented,” she said, smirking, and Della slapped her a high five. “And you?” she asked me. “Racey IM’ed that you’d met someone tall, dark, and dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” I looked at Racey, who shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “Well, he’s tall, dark, and fabulous, but he’s not dangerous. His name is Andre,” I said, trying unsuccessfully not to look too smug.

  “Ooh, Andre,” said Nicole, just as the first morning bell rang.

  “He’s French,” I said. “With a real French accent. He could read the phone book and I’d be drooling.” We started moving toward the side doors, following the stream of other students. As usual, the freshmen looked like they should be in sixth grade. I was sure we’d never looked that young.

  “I love French accents,” Della said enviously.

  “He is incredibly good-looking,” Racey said loyally, and I smiled at her.

  “Okay, let’s see who we’ve got for homerooms,” Kris said, and we headed for the senior lists on the walls.

  I looked, but my mind wasn’t on it. I kept thinking about lying with Andre beneath the tree and how sure I was that we were meant to be together. It was a completely different feeling than I’d ever had, and it changed everything—school, friends, my whole world. I felt older somehow. Two weeks a
go I’d been another seventeen-year-old about to start senior year. Now senior year was just a stepping-stone to the rest of my life and the person I wanted to spend it with. It was weird: I felt somehow calmer and more sure than I’d ever felt but also more excited and full of anticipation than I’d ever felt. Two weeks ago I’d been just like all my friends. Now I had this huge relationship, and they didn’t. And it made me different from them forever.

  Thais

  The streetcar stopped right across the street from École Bernardin. I’d been practically hanging out the open window, totally nervous that I would somehow miss it. I felt more alone than I ever had in my whole life, even when a bunch of other kids got off the streetcar with me, obviously going to the same school.

  I know it’s always hard being the new kid—I mean, I’d read about it. But I’d never been the new kid before. And from the looks I was getting, this school didn’t seem to get too many new kids. Some people glanced at me and gave me casual waves or smiles, but others stared at me like I was an alien—edging me closer to nervous-breakdown-dom.

  The school building looked like it had been built back in the sixties, painted garish shades of blue and orange. Inside, one of the first doors I saw said GIRLS, and I ducked in there fast. Three sinks sat below three mirrors, and I looked at myself to see if I had toothpaste on my face or had grown horns or something.

  I was still trying to figure it out when a girl emerged from a cubicle and stood next to me to wash her hands. She glanced casually at me in the mirror and said, “Oh, hey—” Then she stopped and actually did a double take.

  “What?” I asked, my nerves about to snap. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Uh . . .” The girl looked totally taken aback. “Uh, who are you? Are you new here?”

  “Yes,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Do you guys never get new people? Everyone’s looking at me like I have two heads. What is it?” I swallowed hard, praying that I wouldn’t start crying.