A Chalice of Wind (16 page)

“W
hat?” I whispered.

Sylvie gave an embarrassed smile and propped her workbook up so the study hall monitor wouldn’t see us talking. “Sorry. I don’t mean to stare. It’s just—I’ve known Clio for three years, and now I know you, and you guys are so different. I mean, I was never good friends with Clio or anything. But still, you
look
so much alike, but you’re really nothing alike.”

“We dress differently,” I said. Being back at school after my X-Files morning was weird, but school felt safer and more familiar than the rest of my life.

“It’s more than that,” Sylvie said. “You’re just really
nice.
”

I winced. “Ouch.”

She grinned. “Not goody-goody nice. But not a user, you know? I’m not saying Clio’s mean, exactly. She’s never been mean to me. But she’s always been one of the really popular girls. Girls want to be her, and guys want to date her, and she knows it. And she gets into it.” Sylvie stopped, as if she’d just realized she was talking about my sister and didn’t want to hurt my feelings.

I thought about my life back in Welsford. I had been one of the popular girls, and guys had asked me out. I knew people had thought I was pretty. In a way, I hadn’t known how pretty I was until I had seen Clio. I saw her and how people reacted to her, and I realized they would react to me that way too. Was that what Luc saw? I thought again of his kiss for the nine-millionth time that day. Even at Petra’s, hearing about my family’s unbelievable past, I had thought of him again and again. What would happen the next time I saw him? Was I ready for it?

“What are you thinking about?” Sylvie asked behind her hand.

“Oh—just, back home, you know,” I said, putting Luc out of my mind before I blushed. “It was so different than it is here. My school was really small, and we’d all started together in kindergarten, and no one was all that much better or worse than anyone else. So being pretty or popular didn’t really get you anywhere.” École Bernardin was about ten times bigger than my last school had been, and even on my second day I could see clear tiers of social strata. Clio and her friends were at the top.

I wondered where I would end up.

 

Axelle was waiting for me at the door of the apartment, pacing and smoking. I came in and our eyes met, a world of knowledge passing between us.

“Petra called me,” she said.

I walked past her and dumped my backpack in my room, then came out into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of seltzer. Finally, practically trembling, I faced her. Despite what Petra had said, I had to ask Axelle myself.

“Did you kill my father?” My voice was like ice. I’d never heard it sound like that.

“No.” Axelle frowned. “I didn’t even know him.”

“ Then how did I end up with you?” I yelled, taking us both by surprise.

Axelle looked defensive. “We . . . kept in touch with your father because of Clémence,” she said. “When he died . . . unexpectedly, we thought it would be best if you came here, where you have people in your
famille.
I admit I pulled a few strings after your father died. It was important that I get you here. And really, don’t you agree it’s in your best interest? Aren’t you glad you met your sister? And your . . . grandmother?”

“Of course,” I said with gritted teeth. “But you did all this behind my back. And if I hadn’t run into Clio at school, I still wouldn’t know about my sister and grandmother. When were you planning to tell me?”

Axelle took a moment. I could practically see the mental gears turning. “The less you know, the safer it is for you,” she said. “Of course I would have told you—when the time was right. You just found out a little sooner is all. Eventually, everything will be clear.”

“So you’re a witch too?”

“Of course,” said Axelle. “Just as you are.”

I ignored that. “You’re part of the same
famille
as Petra?” I tried to pronounce the French word as I’d heard Petra say it.

Axelle looked at me consideringly, her black eyes thoughtful. “Yes. The same as you.”

“What about Jules and Daedalus?”

“Yes.”

“Even that kid Richard, the goth guy? He’s a witch?”

“Yes.”

“Petra knows all of you?”

Axelle nodded.

“And you’ve always known Clio?”

“No. I saw her once, from a distance. But none of us know her, and she doesn’t actually know any of us.”

“So what’s going to happen now?” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at her.

Axelle’s face seemed to close, and it was like I could actually see emotions shutting down. “Nothing. Business as usual. No huge fireworks or anything. Listen, I’m going upstairs for a while. Later we’ll order in Chinese.” She turned on her spiked heel and went into the main room. I heard the door open and then the click of her sandals on the wooden steps. She didn’t know I’d been up there. I had my secrets too.

An image of Luc flitted through my thoughts, and I got up to go to the garden. But just as I opened the front door, a thunderstorm blew in from out of nowhere. I’d gotten used to this happening almost every day, sometimes twice a day. One minute it was sunny, the next it would be literally black outside, with rain falling so hard and thick that you literally couldn’t see through it. Not even Connecticut nor’easters came close to a regular New Orleans summer storm.

Inside the apartment it was dark and cool. Outside it was pouring, with lightning and thunder. I sighed. We’d probably lose power soon. Since I’d lived here, we’d lost power maybe five times already. Just for a few minutes or an hour, but it was still disconcerting to have everything suddenly shut down.

An instantaneous
boom!
of thunder and a blinding flash of lightning that made the courtyard glow made up my mind for me. I closed the door. Back in my room I lay on my bed, listening to the buckets of rain drumming on the low roof over me. It was oddly soothing, comforting, and despite thunder that reverberated inside my chest and lightning that made the world go white, I actually fell asleep.

O
uida Jeffers parked her small rental car in a pay lot and walked the last two blocks to Daedalus’s rented apartment. The heavy rain had stopped, and now thin curtains of steam rose from the cobbled streets. She didn’t know how he could stand the French Quarter. It was always loud, always crowded, and there was no place to park. Years ago it had been lovely, much less touristy, more charming and authentic. But that had been a long time ago.

Ouida double-checked the apartment number and rang the bell.

“Yes?” a voice called from the upstairs balcony, and Ouida backed up into the street so he could see her. “Ouida!” said Jules, pleasure lighting his face. “I’ll buzz you up!”

Ouida pushed the door when it buzzed and walked up the beautiful, floating staircase that curved around the courtyard to the second story. Jules had looked strained, she thought. He often did. He put so much pressure on himself.

As Ouida reached the landing, a tall wooden door opened, and Jules came out to hug her.

“Long time, old friend,” he said, and she nodded into his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“What’s going on?” Ouida said in a low voice, but Jules didn’t answer, just led her into the front parlor. Ouida looked around. Daedalus had always had impeccable taste. This apartment’s balconies overlooked Chartres Street, with huge Boston ferns shielding the view a bit. Inside, graceful Empire furniture created an elegant, old-fashioned ambience. The whole effect was light, airy, and whispered old money.

“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.

S
leep 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?