A Chalice of Wind (9 page)

“Y
ou’re late.” I gave Andre the full force of my “peeved” look, which made lesser guys quake. Andre just grinned and swooped in to kiss my neck, which pretty much shorted out all rational thought.

“So we’re even, then,” he said, with such an unrepentant, wicked expression on his face that I laughed and couldn’t hold it against him. Instead I pushed against his chest, barely moving him, and then walked ahead, trying to get my fluttering nerves under control. My palms tingled where I’d touched him.

“You’re lucky I waited,” I tossed over my shoulder.

Andre caught up to me, matching his steps with mine. It was dusk, the sun just beginning to set over the bend of the Mississippi River. It was a magickal time. I mean, literally magickal, when the force of the sun was yielding to the force of the moon. Some rites used this time on purpose to harness the effects of both.

“This is a pretty park,” he said.

I looked around. The small golf course had been molded with weensy, artificial hills. Huge live oaks towered over us, spreading shade beneath their branches. It was so familiar to me that I barely noticed anymore. “I like how green New Orleans is,” I said. “My grandmother and I went to Arizona a couple of years ago, and it was awful. I mean, actually, it was pretty, in a really dry, dusty way. But I felt parched somehow. I like being surrounded by green.”

I pressed my lips together.
Déesse,
I sounded like a freaking idiot. Or a travel guide. What was wrong with me? Why did he throw me off balance? I took a deep breath, momentarily closed my eyes.
Center. Center myself.

“Come this way,” I said, holding out my hand.

Andre took it, his skin warm against mine. “Where are you leading me?”

Everything he said seemed to have two meanings. He could make anything sound sexy or forbidden.

I smiled back at him, pulling him along. Years ago, Racey and I had found a place we called our clubhouse. Really, it was just a dip in the ground, between the massive roots of three live oaks. If you lay flat, no one could see you until they were right on top of you. We used to lie there for hours, talking, practicing little baby spells, giggling to ourselves when we heard passing golfers swear and throw down their clubs.

Now, standing at the entrance, I suddenly remembered my horrible vision—the one where blood had bubbled up from between a tree’s roots. But that had been a cypress tree. I swallowed hard and forced myself to step over the large roots. It had just been a dumb vision—you could see all kinds of freaky stuff when you let your magick rip. I wasn’t going to think about it.

I sat down, tucking my skirt under me. It was lavender and tiered, almost reaching my ankles, long and flowing. Guys loved stuff like that. On top I wore a little white cotton camisole that buttoned up the back and had embroidered lavender butterflies. I’d worn my hair in two braids to get it off my neck.

I kicked off my sandals and patted the ground next to me.

“You should feel honored. You’re the first non-blood sister to see this place,” I said teasingly, tapping his knee with a long piece of centipede grass.

He looked at me quickly. “Blood sister?”

I nodded solemnly. “My best friend, Racey, and I are blood sisters—we did a rite when we were ten. I think I still have the scar.” I looked at my thumb, but the tiny cut where I had shared my blood with Racey’s had long become invisible.

“She was with you at Botanika,” Andre said, leaning back on his elbows. He was wearing a blue oxford shirt that looked incredibly soft and worn. The sleeves were rolled halfway up to his elbows. Like his shirt, his khaki cargo shorts were well broken in, the fabric velvety.

“Yes.” I looked up to find him smiling knowingly at me. Without even really thinking about it, the words sprang into my mind:
I am the woman you desire, my will is strong, my passion’s fire. I will give myself to you, once you prove that you are true.

It wasn’t a proper spell, not really. There was no real intent in my mind, I had no tools, and I wasn’t even trying to achieve any specific thing. It was more . . . opening his mind to the idea. Allowing him to see me as his true love. Sort of moving things along, in a way.

He blinked once, quickly, and looked at me, almost as if he’d heard my thought, which was impossible. But that’s how finely we were already attuned to each other, that he could somehow sense something, some strong emotion flowing from me.

“How are you liking the local scenery?” he asked, echoing my words to him the first time we met.

I swallowed, feeling shivery and excited. “I’m liking it,” I said, and my voice sounded a little rough, a little unsure. Perfect.

“Come here,” he said, his face intent, his slight French accent making his
h
almost silent.

Moments later, it was just like at Amadeo’s. We fit together perfectly, and for the first time in my life, I felt actually overwhelmed. Before, no matter who I was with, part of my brain was always doing an imaginary manicure, or going over a lesson with Nan, or thinking about clothes I wanted to buy. This time all my senses were focused on Andre, the way he felt, tasted, the scent of his skin, the heat in his hands as he held me.
This is the one,
I thought.
I’m only seventeen, and I’ve found my one perfect love.
It was amazing and also a tiny bit scary. All my emotions made perfect sense to me, but there was a tiny part of me that was still marveling at how strongly I felt about him so quickly. But I couldn’t stop it—I was caught on this swift ride of emotion, and there was no way to slow it down. I didn’t even want to.

I couldn’t help smiling against his lips with happiness, and he pulled back to look at me.

“What’s funny?” he asked, looking at me.

“Not funny,” I said, pressing my hips against him. “Happy.”

“Happy?”

I laughed at his confused expression. “Yes,
happy.
” I raised my eyebrows. “Or are you not happy to be here with me?”

“No.” He smiled. “I’m happy.” He traced my eyebrow with one finger, letting it trail down my cheek. “Happy to be here with you.” He leaned back so he was lying next to me and looked up at the sky. Never in my life had any boy ever stopped kissing me
himself.
It wasn’t all physical with Andre—he wanted to be with me for more than just that. He was so much
deeper
than anyone else I’d ever known, and my heart swelled. I looked at his beautiful profile, like a classical statue’s, and felt like the luckiest person in the world.

“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.”

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.