A Chalice of Wind (17 page)

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.

“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.

“Are you all right?” he asked, getting closer and putting his arm around my shoulders. “I practically felt my heart stop when I saw you duck down that alley. I’ve only been here two months, but even I know that you never go down a dark alley in New Orleans.”

A delayed reaction to the mugging suddenly came over me, and I shivered and scooted closer to him. “I know,” I said. “ We weren’t thinking—we were teasing Della about something and she just pointed to the alley and we went down it without paying attention. And I’ve taken that shortcut a million times—just not at night.”

Andre pressed a kiss into my hair. “How did you get away from him? I saw him drop, and then you started running.”

What would I say? Racey and I were witches and we zapped him with spells? I didn’t think so. “Della hit him with her purse,” I said, smiling at the memory. “He went down like an ox. She carries, like, lead weights in there.”

Andre laughed. “He’s sorry he messed with you, no doubt.”

I nodded, starting to feel smug about how we had dealt with that scumbag. “He’ll think twice before he picks on lone girls again.”

I looked into Andre’s eyes, and my smile faded. I could get lost in his eyes so quickly, so totally. I reached out and touched his lips softly. “I’m glad you got my message to meet us here,” I said. “I missed you yesterday.”