A Feather of Stone #3 (11 page)

He forced himself to sit quietly, to release his mild irritation at Jules not being home, his disapproval that Axelle had stayed out all night, his disappointment that so few of the Treize had lived up to his hopes or expectations. One by one he set these thoughts free, like balloons floating away into the atmosphere.

His gaze shifted out of focus as he became aware of his connection to magick. It was there; it was always there for the taking. As usual, it caused an unstoppable flood of joy within him, almost embarrassing in its strength and the eagerness with which he embraced it.

Unseeing, tracing the symbols by memory in the air before him, Daedalus wrote the runes
ôte
, for birthright, inheritance;
deige
, for clarity, awakening;
is
, for obstacle, something frozen or delayed. Then he wrote the sigil for things revealed, veils dropped, and another sigil to enhance the sensitivity of his vision.

Then he waited.
Inhale, exhale.
The beating of his heart.
Don’t search; let it be revealed.

The smoke formed a thin, hazy curtain in front of him. He watched, trying to divorce himself from want, trying to just be, with no expectations. Which was almost impossible for him, even after two centuries’ practice.

But there—there. In the smoke, the haze, an image was forming. A face. Black eyes, straight nose, generous mouth. A woman, not a girl. She was laughing.

Is this what I need to see?
The image seemed to realize he was there. Its expression froze, looking surprised. Then it was gone, as if a wind had swept it away.

Daedalus blinked and shook his head.

He’d done that spell what—thirty times? Fifty? Seventy? He’d never gotten an image before. He wasn’t great at scrying—he found it hard to believe stories people told about seeing this, that, and the other thing. Only a few times had he received useful or pertinent information. So this was hard to take at face value.

Melita’s face, that was.

If he believed it, then she truly was nearby, after all this time. She wasn’t dead. He’d been searching for her for so long—could this be real?
Was
she nearby? Was she aware of what he was doing?

Lost in thought, Daedalus automatically cleaned up evidence of his spell. He hadn’t heard Axelle come home, but he cast his senses to make sure. No—no one was here but him. He put away the incense, the chalk, the stones.

Melita. If she were back, it would be either truly remarkable or truly, truly disastrous.

She Can’t Hide It

The woman behind the counter looked at Luc, then down at the collection of ingredients he was buying.

“Dove feathers, honey, dried foxglove,” she murmured. Her squarish brown hand turned a small green glass bottle so she could read its label. “Dried snakeskin.”

Luc kept his face impassive.

She met his gaze, as if weighing the light and the dark within him. He tried not to breathe a sigh of relief as she rang up the items and put them in a small paper bag. He paid and slipped the bag into his leather sack.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Do you—” the clerk said, making him pause. “Are you sure you be wantin’ these things, now?” Her voice was warm, her brown eyes knowing. She had a slight, singsongy Jamaican accent.

“Yes,” Luc said briefly.

“Do you be careful, then, man,” she said solemnly.

“Yes,” he said again, and left.

 

It seemed like decades ago that Clio had taken him here. Luc leaned against the broad trunk of the live-oak tree, looking down into the cradle formed by its thick roots. He and Clio had lain together in this hollow, hidden from passersby.

Now he stepped over the roots and set his small leather sack on the ground. He wished he were in . . . Africa. Or somewhere far away. Where he wouldn’t have to deal with Daedalus or any of the Treize.

Then Daedalus would just summon him by force. He grimaced. Claire was doing a burn, no doubt about it. She’d spent most of last night fantasizing about ways to kill Daedalus. It had been pretty funny. But goddess, her and Richard together—they were both so bitter and hard. It got to be too much after a while. Of course they all had cause to be that way. But after hours of eating and drinking with those two, Luc had felt like he’d been dipped in acid and rubbed with sandpaper. It had been a relief to leave them.

Luc heard voices. Probably students from Loyola or Tulane. He lay down, sinking onto the warm, dry earth. Someone would have to be practically on top of him to see him now. On his back, he looked up through the leaves at jigsaw pieces of cloudy sky.

Clio. Clio and Thais. As usual, the thought of Thais made his jaw clench and his gut ache. Her sweetness, her acceptance. He was dully surprised that she was still so angry, so hard against him. At Récolte, she’d been cold and unyielding—at least, until they were in the middle of that awful circle, their emotions being ripped out of them and used as fodder. He’d felt her then. Felt the deep and powerful love she had for him. He’d felt her anguish, her anger. And her love. She was much stronger than he would have thought possible.

Now she was seeing that boy, that stupid boy, kissing him, wrapping her arms around him. If Luc were dark, really, truly dark, no holds barred—that boy would have had a car wreck by now.

Good thing he wasn’t that dark.

Sitting up, Luc unpacked his supplies. With a stick he drew a circle in the dirt around him and set four stones at the four compass points. This was dark enough. This was sinking to new lows, even for him. Already he was going further than he’d thought he’d have to. Ten years ago—five—none of this would have bothered him. But there was something about the twins—a vulnerability coupled with an incredibly compelling strength. He hadn’t felt so strongly about anyone in—ever? He frowned, trying to remember. He’d loved Ouida, in his way. He’d loved other women over the years, the centuries. But who had
gotten
to him this way? Who had ever caused this deep hunger in him? Had anyone? He couldn’t recall.

It was almost sunset. Luc sat in the middle of his circle, closed his eyes, and let himself sink into a trance.
Leaf of tree, cloud of sky, come to me and know not why. I draw you here, with blood and bone. I know you’re near, Clio, my own.

There. He sent it out into the world, feeling it leave him, aiming straight and true toward the one he called. Similar to what Daedalus had done but on a much smaller scale: if Clio were even fifty miles away, she wouldn’t feel it. Daedalus’s call had reached to the other side of the world. Also, Clio could resist this one if she wanted to, if she was strong enough. Not by just shrugging it off—she’d have to work a little. But she could do it. He wondered if she would.

The sun had almost completely set by the time he had his answer.

He felt her before he heard or saw her, felt her angry energy. But she had come.

When she was close, he opened his eyes. She was striding toward him, her face set in a grim expression.

“How dare you!” she practically spit at him when she was close enough. He had the sudden thought that if he’d been standing up, she would have punched him. As it was, she swung her woven straw purse and smacked him on the head.

“Ow!” It hurt but was so unexpected he almost laughed.

“You used a
spell
on me!” she snapped furiously. “A week ago, you punched Daedalus out for doing the same thing to you! You hypocrite!” She actually kicked him, but she was wearing soft-soled beaded ballet slippers, so it probably hurt her more than him.

He stood quickly, holding up his hands. “Yes, yes,” he said, speaking softly. “I’m sorry. You’re right, it was a terrible thing to do—”

“
Another
terrible thing to do,” she said, her green eyes narrowed. “You just seem to keep coming out with them, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” Luc said again. “I was desperate—I had to see you, talk to you. I’m sorry I used a spell, but I didn’t know what else to do. Clio, please, please, just sit and talk to me for a minute. Please.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, pressing her breasts upward against her olive green camisole top. A couple of circuits in Luc’s brain threatened to short out, but he ruthlessly damped them down.

“You have one minute,” Clio said, her voice like an arctic wind.

“Okay, all right.” Luc ran one hand through his hair. He’d rehearsed this speech so many times, but as usual, seeing Clio in person made all his thoughts go haywire. “I . . . miss you.”

Clio’s perfect upper lip curled in a sneer.

“Clio—I screwed up. I’m sorry. I hurt you and Thais both, and I can’t ask for forgiveness. It was inexcusable.”

She didn’t contradict him.

“But I miss you,” he said, forcing the words out. Not that they weren’t true—they were. But he hated feeling so exposed. “I’m not . . . a bad person. I’m just someone who’s been around too long, seen too much, done too much.” He shook his head, feeling bleak. “You made me feel new again. Like . . . everything was new. New and exciting because I was sharing it with you. You brought life into my world. And I destroyed it.”

Clio waited.

“For the last two hundred and fifty years, I just wanted time to speed by, to hurry up in case I could finally have a chance to die. When Daedalus approached me, he said I could use the power of the rite any way I wanted. I could get more power, change the course of my magick—or die. I wanted to die, to end this pointless, endless existence.” He looked up. Clio’s face was calmer, and she was watching him with alert interest. He felt the slightest stirring of hope.

“Then I met you. You changed my world, changed how I felt. Stupidly, I destroyed it. When I met Thais, it was like . . . she was the part of you that you were holding back. And you were the part of her that she doesn’t let go. I wasn’t thinking, wasn’t using my head. It was just, my heart told me to try to have every aspect of you.”

Those green eyes narrowed. Not good.

He shrugged, hopeless again. “I’m sorry. I’ve said it was stupid, and it was. I was overwhelmed, I was out of my league, and I made a huge, hurtful mistake. You’ve told me what you think of me, that you never want to see me again. And if it were anyone but you, Clio, I would take you at your word and leave. Not bother you anymore.”

He wished she would sit down. He wished he could touch her.

“But you’re too important,” he went on. “In more than two hundred years, you’re the one who stands out, who my heart yearns for. You’ve had too much of an impact on me. Anyone who’s reached me the way you have—I have to pursue. Don’t you see?
Letting
you go would be an even bigger mistake than making you want to go in the first place.”

They were standing within a triangle of three enormous live oaks. It was almost completely dark; minutes had passed since Luc had been aware of anyone passing by. Clio was leaning against a tree trunk, arms still crossed over her chest. She didn’t say anything, and her face was closed, not giving away her thoughts.

“I’m not asking you to love me again,” he said, with a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not asking you to even
like
me. I’m asking you to let me love
you
, even if from a distance. Let me care about you. Let me try to make it up to you. I
can
be loyal. I
can
be true. I
can
make you happy. Please let me.”

Now he saw indecision flicker in her eyes.

“And where does this leave Thais?” she said coolly, her tone not matching her expression. “Out in the rain? She was stupid enough to care about you—I think
she
actually loved you.” The words were snide, meant to hurt, and they did. But he couldn’t let himself think about Thais now. If he did, everything would be lost.

Luc bit the inside of his lip and nodded, determined to take whatever she dished out.

“Thais has recovered, it seems,” he said stiffly.

Clio scoffed. “Kevin? God, you’re an idiot.”

Luc met her eyes. “I care about Thais,” he said honestly. “I’m appalled and horrified at how I hurt her—and you. I met you first, Clio.”

Several emotions passed across her eyes as she looked at him. Then she pushed off from her tree. “I have to go,” she said flatly.

In a split second, Luc reached out and took one of her hands, pulling her gently back. She would kill him if he tried to kiss her mouth, but instead he pressed his lips against her warm, soft palm. A flare of passion seared him, almost making him pull back in surprise. Clio wasn’t as aloof as she seemed. There was still strong feeling between them.

He stood up, searching her face. She looked upset, still angry, but also torn with longing.

Pulling her hand away from him, she strode away over the dark grass, not looking back.

Clio

Thank the goddess I hadn’t driven, I thought as I slammed through our front gate. I would have wrecked the car, I was so furious. I’d thought I was losing my mind earlier—one minute I was standing in the kitchen, washing dishes, and the next I was practically shrieking with the need to see Luc immediately. Then I’d had the image of him waiting in the park, just a few blocks away.

I’d almost gasped with shock.
He’d put a spell on me.

And the truth was, I still loved him. Still longed for him. It had taken everything I had to resist him. Here’s the sick part: I almost wished he had put a spell on me to make me give in, so I could just do it and not blame myself for being stupid and weak and betraying Thais. I was pathetic.

Opening the front door, I was greeted by air only slightly cooler than outside. Nan hated air-conditioning, and even when she ran it to dry the house out so we wouldn’t have mold and mildew everywhere, it still wasn’t the frigid blast I wanted. I headed upstairs, deciding to stand under a cold shower for a long time. I heard Nan’s radio playing in the kitchen and figured she and Thais were still cleaning up after dinner. Thais had a date with the Kevster.