by Cate Tiernan
Luc shrugged. Putting a spell on Clio would probably make them laugh, but he didn’t want it getting around.
“So give me your take on the old crackpot’s scheme,” Claire said. She finished her drink and ordered another when the waiter brought Luc’s food.
Again Luc shrugged. “The problem is, he’s not a total crackpot. He wants power, and he knows how to get it. He’s willing to run us all down doing it.”
Claire nodded, mulling it over, and Luc saw the shrewd intelligence in her eyes. It was so easy to forget how smart she was, how sharp. “How many of us are on board with the rite?”
“Axelle, Jules,” said Richard. He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke upward. “Me, Manon. Possibly Ouida. Possibly Petra. Possibly Sophie.”
Claire looked at Luc. “Et tu?”
“On board,” he said, taking a bite of his enormous sandwich. Warm cheese, spicy salami, olive salad, Italian bread—it was damn near perfect.
“Interesting,” said Claire.
“What about you?” Richard asked.
“On board, I believe,” she said, sounding coy. “Trying to come up with a Christmas list.”
Richard laughed dryly. “Aren’t we all?”
“Tell me about these surprise twins of Petra’s.” Claire bummed one of Richard’s cigarettes and lit it, the smoke obscuring her face for a second.
There was silence, and Luc felt Richard’s dark eyes on him.
“They’re the latest in Cerise’s line,” he said slowly, pushing some olive salad back under the bread. “The thirteenth generation. Apparently Petra helped their mother have them, and when she saw it was twins, she took one and didn’t tell the father. So one grew up with the father, in Connecticut, and one of them grew up here, with Petra.”
“Petra wanted them apart,” Claire said. “Did she already suspect Daedalus of wanting a complete Treize?”
“Don’t know,” Luc said. “She just thought the two together wouldn’t be safe, for some reason. Then their dad died this summer.”
“We think Daedalus, and probably Jules and Axelle, killed him,” Richard put in matter-of-factly.
“Jules wouldn’t do that,” Claire said, somewhat sharply.
Richard raised his eyebrows. “Jules has followed Daedalus for years. And he might very well have plans of his own too. Together they wrangled it so Axelle got custody of the northern twin.”
“Thais,” Luc murmured, and felt Richard looking at him again.
Claire laughed. “Yeah, ’cause Axelle has always had maternal yearnings. That’s hysterical.”
Luc couldn’t help smiling, and so did Richard.
“Yeah,” Luc said. “So Axelle brought Thais here. Bizarrely, she and Clio ended up going to the same school, ran into each other, and figured everything out.”
“That’s the abbreviated version,” Richard said, taking a drink of his own scotch.
“Really,” Claire said, alert and interested. “What’s the long version?”
“Yes, Luc,” said Richard. “Tell Claire the long version.”
Luc shot him a look. “Not much to tell.”
Richard laughed and Luc narrowed his eyes at him, aware that Claire was following this exchange.
“And then at Récolte, Daedalus seized our power and summoned you and Marcel,” Luc went on, skipping several chapters. “And now we’re all waiting to see how it plays out.”
“Mm,” said Claire.
Luc could practically see the gears in her head turning.
“And while we’re all waiting, Petra has the twins.” Claire took the piece of pineapple out of her drink and bit into it. “And the rest of the Treize are fermenting in the cauldron of New Orleans, eh? No one’s worried about the twins? No one’s trying to keep them separate?”
“Worried? Well, Petra made everyone promise that they would leave the twins alone,” Luc said.
“Too late.” Richard smiled sardonically into his glass. He was really getting under Luc’s skin. He hoped this wouldn’t turn into a bar fight in the middle of the Napoleon House.
“Why would they be keeping them separate?” Luc asked, trying to keep his anger down. “I never understood why Petra separated them in the first place. I mean, the whole twin-power thing is just a myth, right?”
“Luc.” Claire’s eyes, green but nothing like the twins’, were quietly amused. “Of course it’s not a myth. I can’t believe Petra’s being so reckless, having them together. Thank God the northern one doesn’t know magick yet. The two of them doing magick together could blow you, me, and Daedalus right out of the water.”
“But . . . they wouldn’t,” Luc said, surprised. “They’re not . . . dark.”
“They don’t need to be,” Claire said. She held the head of a crawfish up to her bright red mouth and sucked the juices out of it. “They don’t need to be dark or light or to know what the hell they’re doing. They only have to be together. Did you sleep through this part of the famille histoire?”
“They’re dangerous?” Luc just couldn’t take it in. “How? Why?”
“Because they’re twins, they’re the thirteenth generation, they’re marked—I mean, hello. What part of ‘disastrous prophecy’ do you not understand?” Claire drained her latest drink and shook her magenta hair off her shoulders.
“What’s this prophecy say again?” Richard asked. He seemed weird, tightly wound, angry, worried—Luc couldn’t put a finger on it.
Claire slowly ran a finger around the top of her glass, making an annoying, high-pitched hum. “The marked girl brings you death,” she said. Then, laughing, she shrugged. “They will bring eternal life and also death. The Twin Angels. You know. The Twin Angels of Life and Death.”
“Angels, yeah,” Richard muttered. His eyes were glazed. Drunk off his ass, Luc thought. And in a weird mood. Time to get out of here. Richard drunk and in a bad mood meant that blood was going to be spilled. Luc wasn’t up for it. Let him and his pal Claire get into a screaming fight here, in front of the tourists.
The waiter brought him another scotch without being asked. All right, one more drink. They didn’t have any at home, after all. “I can’t believe you buy into all that crap, Claire. They’re just twins. They’re innocent. Neither one has much power. Don’t worry about it.”
“They have power,” Richard said in a low voice. He looked up at Luc, his eyes unreadable. “They have power over you, over . . . all of us.”
Luc shook his head impatiently. “Fairy tales. The famille probably made it all up to keep kids in line.”
Both Richard and Claire looked at him solemnly, identical glassy-eyed gazes not hiding their sharp intelligence, their experience. All of it hard-won.
He shook his head again and took a gulp of his drink. “You worry too much.”
Thais
“Uh-huh,” I said, not crossing the threshold.
Kevin looked at me innocently. “What?”
“No one else is home, and we’re going to go in and watch a movie. I’m using air quotes around ‘watch a movie.’ ”
He laughed and took my hand, gently pulling me through the back door of his enormous house. Inside it was dark and cool. A clock chimed somewhere—it was eight thirty.
“Who checked on the movie times?” he asked.
“Me,” I admitted. The web site had been wrong, and we’d missed the first twenty minutes of what we’d wanted to see. Kevin had said we could watch a movie at his house. But I had expected at least one of his parents to be home.
“Don’t you want to see Before the Day?”
“Yes, but—” The house stretched out all around us, pristine and decorated and bigger than any private house I’d ever been in. I loved the fourteen-foot ceilings, the tall French windows, the gleaming wide floorboards.
Kevin quit tugging on my hand. “Hey, if you don’t want to stay—that’s cool. We can go somewhere else, do something else. I wasn’t trying to push you.”
That was one reason why I liked Kevin so much. He was t
otally sincere about that. I mean, Luc might have said the same thing, but he wouldn’t have meant it as much, would have really wanted me to change my mind. Kevin was willing to take me at face value.
Don’t think about Luc.
“I’m assuming the TV is downstairs?”
Kevin grinned. “I was thinking the one up in my room.”
Laughing, I pushed against his chest gently. “Think again.”
He raised his hands in defeat and led me into a family room that was bigger than the front room and workroom at Petra’s house put together. He opened an antique-looking entertainment center to reveal a gigantic TV.
“Oh my God,” I said enviously, and he smiled.
“You’ll have to come to our Super Bowl party. Or maybe not—it gets pretty ugly. You want something to drink? I can make popcorn.”
I just gazed at him in appreciation. He would have been so perfect—if I didn’t have the memory of someone else.
“Is this okay?” Kevin’s voice was muffled and kind of hoarse.
Feeling like I was about to jump off a cliff, I managed to nod before our mouths met again. The only light was a dim table lamp across the room. We were lying on the wide sectional sofa, making out, the movie a muted background noise that we hadn’t paid any attention to. Kevin was a great kisser, smooth and sure and gentle, with an underlying determination. It was . . . really nice. Great, even. But my brain never went haywire, I never lost myself, never felt like we were becoming one person. I really, really liked holding him, liked the way he felt and kissed, felt comfortable making out but didn’t feel desperate to go further. I didn’t feel like being more assertive or demanding as much as I was giving.
We were lying side by side, and now he put his hand on my leg, right below where my dress ended. His hand slid up my thigh slowly, giving me time to stop him.
“Um,” I said, breaking away from our kiss. I felt sleepy and dopey and thoroughly kissed, and it was so nice, such a good feeling. Breathing hard, Kevin waited, then leaned in and kissed my neck, sending shivers down my spine. His hand went a little higher, and it was exciting—it felt risky and safe at the same time, and part of me wanted to see where it would lead.
Except I knew where it would lead, and I couldn’t go there.
I put my hand over his, and he stopped, pulling back to look at me.
“I want to touch you,” he whispered, kissing the side of my face. He felt warm and so, so nice, and it was incredibly tempting. If I could have said yes, I would have.
But I couldn’t.
“I . . . can’t,” I whispered back. I remembered how angry Chad Woolcott had been, the ugly fight we’d had, where his nice facade had dropped away, leaving a hateful jackass. Please don’t let that happen now.
Kevin hesitated, and I imagined the war inside his head—push now and see if she gives in, be a good guy now and see if it pays off later. . . .
He took his hand away. Holding me in an embrace, he kissed my face and then my mouth, snuggling closer.
I couldn’t relax. “Are you . . . okay?”
He looked at me and gave a little smile. “I’m here with you. Everything’s fine.”
I relaxed and right then became aware of a dull humming sound. “What’s that? Is that . . . just the fridge or something?”
Kevin listened, then he sat up and tugged his shirt down. “Oops. That’s the driveway gate opening. Someone’s home.” His smile was beautiful and teasing as I bolted into a sitting position and smoothed out my clothes.
Getting up with quick grace, Kevin flicked on several more lamps. I grabbed the remote and turned up the TV’s volume. And there we were, watching a movie neither of us could name, when Kevin’s stepmother came in.
“Kev?” a woman called.
“Hey,” Kevin called back, Mr. Innocent. I gave him a look and he smirked at me.
After a moment she came into the family room, sorting through a thick stack of mail. “Hi, sweetie,” she said without looking up. “I saw your car. Didn’t you have a date tonight?”
She was tall and elegant, with black hair swept up into a chignon. Even Clio would have approved of her tailored—probably designer—pantsuit.
“Uh, yeah,” Kevin said, muting the TV again. “This is Thais. Thais, this is my mom.”
His stepmother looked up sharply and saw me. I projected an air of goody two-shoes while her eyes narrowed at Kevin.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. LaTour,” I said politely.
“You too, sweetie,” she said to me, then turned her attention to Kevin. “Home alone with a girl? Minus five points.”
He looked a little embarrassed while she made a big show of examining the situation. My cheeks started to heat up.
“But you’re downstairs. Plus two points. And everyone’s clothes are on. Another two points.”
Now I was mortified.
“So it could be worse,” she said, putting the mail down on a bookshelf. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, sweetie.” Her eyes were kind as she looked at me. “But Kevin’s father and I know how easy it is to get carried away, make a mistake.”
“Mom,” Kevin groaned, putting his head in his hands.
“Especially in a house with a liquor cabinet and a swimming pool.”
“The liquor cabinet’s locked!” Kevin protested.
“I don’t drink,” I said quickly.
“We’re almost eighteen,” Kevin pointed out.
“Yes, and eighteen is a great age to get married and have babies,” Mrs. LaTour said brightly. “Or better yet, to have babies and not get married. I mean, college, schmollege! Careers are for losers! Right?”
Kevin just groaned, shaking his head in his hands.
I wished I could melt into the couch and disappear. How would I ever be able to face his stepmom again?
“We were just watching a movie,” I said faintly, my face burning. I could never come back to this house, never meet Kevin’s dad—not after tonight. She’d tell him that Kevin had been making out with some girl, and that would have been me, and I would never—
Believe me.
The thought flew away from me as if it had its own destination.
Believe what you see, not what you fear.
Have trust in your child whose heart you hold dear.
I hadn’t meant to send it out, wasn’t even sure what it would do. But I was so embarrassed and mortified and just wanted this to end.
Mrs. LaTour blinked and put her head to one side, and then she leaned against the doorway into the kitchen. “Gosh, I’m . . . so tired,” she said, sounding sapped. “I didn’t realize it.” She looked up at us. “What was I saying?”
“Um,” Kevin said.
“Well, it’s late—I really should get going,” I said. “I have a curfew.” I didn’t really, but let her think of me as the nice girl with the curfew.
“All right . . . Thais, is it?”
I nodded.
“I’ll take you,” Kevin said, practically springing off the couch.
“It was nice to meet you, Mrs. LaTour,” I said.
“Dr.,” Kevin whispered. “Dr. Hendricks.”
“Sorry. Dr. Hendricks,” I said. I grabbed the sweater Clio hadn’t wanted me to bring, and Kevin and I hightailed it out of there.
When he dropped me off at home, Clio’s car was still gone. Kevin walked me up to the porch, and we stood out of the streetlight’s glare for a while, kissing and murmuring goodbyes.
“I’m sorry my mom walked in on us,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “But I was so embarrassed.”
“She’ll forget about it,” he promised.
Yeah, I think she will. I found that unsettling.
Finally we tore ourselves away from each other and I went inside. Dropping my purse on the little table by the front door, I headed back to find Petra. Sure enough, the kitchen lights were on. I felt Clio in the house, which was weird . . .
Except, when I reached the kitchen, she was sitting there w
ith Petra at the table. They both looked grim. Uh-oh, I thought. What now?
“I didn’t see your car,” I said. “I thought you were still out.”
“There’s a reason for that,” Clio said bitterly.
“I’ve been trying to call you,” Petra said.
Frowning, I pulled my cell out of my purse. I hadn’t turned it on. “Oh.”
Then they told me about how, while I’d been making out with my boyfriend, my twin sister had almost been killed. Again.
My first thought was: Melita?
Get Over Her
The French Quarter had sunk even lower into its iniquity. It had been forty years since Marcel had been here. It had been shocking then, but now it was like he was at the entrance to hell.
Well, he’d seen enough. Here, surrounded by gaudy lights, gaudy people, horrid scents, and ear-deafening noise, he missed his home at the monastery with a raw pain. He would never be able to go back. Something would happen here to prevent it; he was sure of it. How could he return to Father Jonah with fresh blood on his hands?
He turned and headed back up to St. Charles Avenue. It was three in the morning—it might take a while for the streetcar to come. Not many locals would wait for it at this hour—crime had spiraled so far out of control that most natives lived behind locked iron gates, burglar alarms, and private security firms.
However, Marcel didn’t worry about getting mugged. He had nothing to lose, not even his life.
As he walked past a place Ouida had taken him to for lunch back in the fifties, the door swung open and three drunks stumbled out, laughing and holding on to each other for support. They almost ran right into him and he stepped back, weary and revolted.
Oh.
He knew these drunks. They were three of his least-favorite people in the whole world.
They were gasping with laughter and righted themselves clumsily.
“Oh, pardon me,” said Claire, blinking hazily up at him. Then her face changed with recognition and she stood up straighter. “Marcel.”
Richard and Luc also straightened, as if they were willing themselves to sober up to deal with him. Maybe they were—frivolously doing system-cleaning spells to rid themselves of pollutants. It would be just like them to misuse magickal power. He himself hadn’t used or made magick in a long, long time—not since he’d devoted his life to the Christian God, back in 1919. He tried not to even think about magick. It wasn’t up to mere humans to bend the power of God to their will, and that was what magick was. Only the hand of God should alter things out of their natural paths.