by Cate Tiernan
I felt utterly shattered, as if my bones were turning to lace. My right hand clenched the crystal like a frozen claw, and with difficulty I unpeeled my fingers.
Where the chunk of smoky quartz had been, there was now only a pile of ashy white powder. As soon as I took my hand away, it began to sift through Daedalus’s shaking hand.
Abruptly my legs gave way and I fell to the floor.
Effortless, Like Melita
It was amazing, Axelle thought. Her black eyes focused unwaveringly on the black candle, hovering an inch over her black marble countertop. Her thought was a nebulous ribbon fluttering at the edge of her brain while most of her consciousness spun magick.
Axelle had never been able to levitate a candle, even after Melita had increased their powers, after Axelle had been studying magick, off and on, for almost two hundred years.
Now look at her.
It felt effortless, a smooth extension of herself, as if her will extended beyond the boundaries of her person to affect the world around her without even touching it.
This was all new since the failed rite. During the rite she had asked for more power. She had gotten it. And this newfound power was intoxicating. She knew that all of magick was balance—that if she had gained power, someone had lost it. But truly, why should she care?
“Mrew?” Minou jumped up on the counter next to the hovering candle. Her pupils flared when she sensed the magickal field, and when she saw the candle, she batted at it.
Axelle blinked, the candle fell, and the spell was broken. Minou’s tail puffed instantly, and she jumped off the counter to hide under the couch. The whole thing had taken two seconds.
Nearby, Manon managed half a smile, which was the most Axelle had seen since Manon had shown up on her doorstep, suitcase in hand. Yeah, Sophie had screwed up big this time. Not that Manon’s plan would have worked anyway—look at what Marcel had gone through. Axelle sighed. Marcel. When was he going to get tired of being a little storm cloud, raining on everyone’s parade? Goddess knew shewas tired of it.
But Sophie had blocked Manon’s plan, when if she had just sat tight and not done anything, it would have ended up the way she wanted. Now Manon felt betrayed, like Sophie had stabbed her in the back. Which, as they all knew, wouldn’t have helped her plan either.
“You couldn’t do that before, could you?” Manon asked.
“No,” said Axelle, picking up the candle. “I’m stronger since the rite.” She looked up at Manon, used to her childish face and body, the blond hair, the dark eyes so oddly old and jaded and bitter in that pretty, girlish face. “You know, this is what Melita feels like all the time. Better than this. Stronger than this.” Axelle looked down at her perfectly manicured hands, the slim fingers that now seemed able to command magick at will.
“I never really realized it before,” Axelle went on. “We all knew she was wicked strong, but I never understood what that meant. It meant this.” She twined her white hands in the air, not making magick, but moving them slowly and gracefully through space. “It felt like part of her, easy and natural. I mean, I think things, and they come to me. It always seemed to take so much effort before. Studying books, memorizing things, practicing forms again and again. This is the difference between taking endless years of violin lessons and being born a virtuoso.”
Manon looked at her. “Do you feel like a virtuoso now, with magick?”
Axelle thought. “It’s just … so much easier. It comes to me. Before, I had to hunt magick down, wrest it out of the world, force it to my will. Now it feels there, everywhere, accessible. I can pluck it out of the air like a kite string.” She made a pinching motion with one hand. “It’s smooth.”
“That’s amazing.” Manon sounded bitter—she hadn’t gotten what she’d asked for from the rite. Her brown eyes looked bruised from crying, her small face pinched and pale. Axelle still had no idea what Manon saw in Sophie—Sophie seemed so staid, so boring and prissy and goody-goody. Not that Manon was that bent. But she could have done so much better. If Axelle had been Manon, had been made immortal as a beautiful child, she would have found a way to turn it to her advantage instead of whining about it for a quarter of a millennium.
“The thing is,” Axelle said, going to the fridge and taking the bottle of vodka out of the freezer, “this is what Melita felt back then. And who knows what she’s got now, what kind of power? But back then, she had this, possibly more, and she kept it to herself.”
“What do you mean? She showed us all the Source; she did the rite,” said Manon.
Axelle poured herself three fingers of vodka in a glass she hoped was clean. Manon wasn’t the little homemaker Thais had been, and the place was a wreck. “But she didn’t truly share her power. Yeah, she did the rite, made us all immortal, yippee. But only because she wanted immortality for herself as well. Before then she was this strong for, what, ten years? A long time. And she didn’t share that, didn’t tell anyone else how to get it.”
Manon frowned, then picked up her glass and went into the big main room. She sank down on a black leather chair with her back against one arm and her legs dangling over the other. “Well, why would she? People who have power want to keep it for themselves.”
“You don’t understand.” Axelle lay down on the couch, her clothes sliding against the leather. She punched a pillow into place so her head was still high enough for her to drink. “I was Melita’s best friend from the time we were six. I was more her sister than Cerise was—shewas always off in her own little fairyland, all fey and golden and otherworldly. Of course we now know she was apparently boinking half the village.”
“Only Richard and Marcel,” Manon said.
Axelle waved a hand. “Uh-huh. How many people were you boinking? Or me? None. Because nice girls didn’t. Even naughty nice girls didn’t. But any-way, I was practically Melita’s sister, but she didn’t share her power with me. She could have made me stronger, and she didn’t. I was the person she loved best in the world, and she left me behind in the dust, just like she left all of you.”
“Huh,” Manon said thoughtfully.
Axelle wished she’d never started talking; she hated Manon knowing how hurt she felt now, today, at what Melita had done more than two centuries ago. But she couldn’t help herself—these last two days had been a revelation.
“I mean, I was proud of her all those years. Yes, maybe I was also envious, but mostly I was proud. And she told me how sorry she was that she couldn’t just wave her wand and tell me how to do it, that she had no idea what had happened to her—that maybe she had been born that way. Yeah, right!”
Now that Axelle had gotten started, she couldn’t stop. “She wasn’tborn that way—she discovered it. Or someone showed her, someone none of us knew about. If she had shown me, we could have made incredible magick together. But she kept it all to herself.”
Manon was watching her now as the implications of this started to sink in.
“And you were best friends,” she said.
“More than best friends. Blood sisters.” Axelle felt her cheeks heating up with anger, or maybe it was the vodka. For so many years she had let these thoughts go. But now they were stuck in her craw, a constant irritant. “But she didn’t want a blood sister—she wanted a lackey.She wanted me to stay beneathher. She wantedto leave me behind. I never would have done that to her.” Axelle tipped the glass back angrily. She’d already said too much.
She was pissed, really pissed, at Melita for the first time. She’d hated Melita for leaving her behind, but she hadn’t really known what had happened. Maybe something bad had happened to her—maybe she hadn’t been able to come back, maybe she hadn’t become immortal for some reason, maybe she was dead.
But now Axelle felt, deeply and certainly, that Melita wasn’t dead, that she could have taken Axelle with her. She could have shared her power, could have helped Axelle be much stronger—and she had decided to keep Axelle down.
I woke up feeling like I’d spent the night
in a cement mixer.
My alarm sounded like the world coming apart. Groaning, I leaned over and smacked it off the table. Then I looked at the floor, spinning crazily, and realized I was going to hurl.
Our small bathroom was between my room and Thais’s, and I stumbled toward it, whacking my shoulder hard on the door frame. I drew in my breath with a hiss, kicked the door shut behind me, and almostmade it to the john before I tossed. Operative word being almost.
After I was done heaving, I splashed water on my face and rinsed out my mouth. A quick look in the mirror told me I looked horrible—splotchy, greenish, hollow-eyed. My birthmark stuck out against my unnaturally pale skin as if someone had smashed a raspberry against my left cheek. I grabbed a towel and swiped up the floor and toilet as best I could, then pushed the towel behind the big, old-fashioned tub, figuring I’d get it later and slip it into the wash.
I felt like walking death. Or in my case, staggering death.
This was a hangover, but the worst effing hangover I’d ever had in my whole misspent youth. This was a hangover caused by doing risky magick. Dark magick, I admitted to myself with a searing sense of shame and remorse. Magick I was hiding from Nan and especially Thais.
But that burst of power I’d gotten from the crystal—
My throat tightened again. I grabbed my hair with one hand to keep it out of the line of fire and hunkered over the toilet.
“Clio? Time to get up!” Nan’s voice came dimly to me from downstairs.
Oh goddess, I had school today. Frick.
“Coming,” I croaked, hoping she could hear me.
A couple of dry heaves later, I groped my way to the bathroom door and headed downstairs, hanging onto the handrail so I wouldn’t fall and break my neck. Obviously I had “an awful stomach bug,” and Nan would definitely let me stay home from school.
The smell of coffee and toast almost made me hurl again, but I forced myself into the kitchen so I could evoke as much sympathy as possible.
“Clio?” Nan called again. “Thais, maybe you should—”
“Hey,” I said weakly, entering the kitchen.
“Honey, what’s the matter?”
Thais was pouring me a cup of coffee, but she turned around at Nan’s tone.
“Whoa,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” I said miserably, and right then I truly did feel miserable, and scared, and deeply ill down to my bones. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I rested my head on the table. If they knew …
Nan put a cool hand on my forehead. I had the sudden fear that she would feel the dark vibrations, left in my skin like a scent.
“Hmm—you don’t feel feverish,” she said, looking at me with concern. “Let me get you something to settle your stomach.”
“Yes, please,” I said with feeling. “I ate something at Racey’s last night—maybe it was bad. Maybe I should call her and see if anyone over there is sick.” Still able to think on my feet.
“What did you eat?” Thais asked, coming to sit next to me. “You want some plain toast?”
My stomach recoiled, and I grimaced. “Um, a taco. And no thanks.”
Five minutes later I was carefully sipping tea made with fennel, ginger, honey, and ground aniseed, still feeling like death might be a good option at this point. I didn’t know why I felt so wretched and wondered if Daedalus did too. Maybe one got used to the effects of dark magick. Right now I never wanted to find out.
“Sip that slowly, honey,” said Nan, and sat back down to read the newspaper.
“I don’t think I can go to school today,” I ventured.
“No, not if you’re this sick. Thais can get your assignments. Another good thing about having a sister.”
I looked at Thais, who gave me an overdone perky nod.
“Yep,” she said brightly. “I know you don’t want to fall behind.”
Nan gave me a knowing smile, and I moaned and hung my head over my tea. My stomach felt a tiny bit better.
“Oh, goodness,” said Nan, reading the newspaper. “Your school—they’ve done asbestos testing and have found that some of the old insulation contains asbestos.”
“It’s an old building,” said Thais, finishing her coffee.
Nan kept reading, one hand absently breaking off pieces of cinnamon toast. It smelled really good, and I started to wonder if I could maybe handle a small piece. Then my head throbbed again, a wave of exhaustion came over me, and I decided against it.
“Listen to this,” said Nan. “Because they’ve found evidence of old asbestos, they need to shut the school down for several days while they determine whether they need to rip it all out or if they can just seal it up.”
Thais’s face lit. “We don’t have school?”
This was too good to be true.
“Not for the rest of the week,” said Nan, frowning as she read. “They’ll make an announcement tonight on the school’s web site about what will happen next week. If they actually need to rip out the asbestos, they’ll try to divide up the classes and house you all in other buildings, like at Tulane or Loyola.”
“Yes,” I said gratefully, and drank more tea.
“Wow,” said Thais. “Back in Welsford, there were a grade school and a courthouse that had asbestos. They just sealed it all up, though.”
“Well, you two have gotten a reprieve,” said Nan. She still sounded tired, not totally herself, and I wondered again what had happened to her and Daedalus during the rite.
“Excellent!” said Thais. “No school!”
I remembered to be Clio. “So I’m wasting a perfectly good illness. Way unfair.”
Nan sent me a tolerant look, one I knew well. “The injustice. Go on back to bed, honey. I’ll come check on you in a little while. Is that tea helping?”
“Yeah. I’ll take it up with me. Thanks.” I carried it upstairs, feeling like I was made of glass and might splinter apart at any moment. I’d never felt this bad from a regular hangover, not that I’d had many. One night of throwing up cuba libres through my nose had pretty much taught me how to cut off my liquor intake before it got to that point.
This felt much worse, like my soulhad a hangover. What had I done?
I set the tea on my bedside table and crawled back under the covers. Thank God there was no school—the universe was looking out for me. I wanted to sleep for a year and then wake up to find life back to normal.
I felt Thais coming closer, then heard her foot-steps on the stairs. I closed my eyes when she came in and gently sat down on my bed. If she suspected that I’d started studying with Daedalus, she would be so mad. And worse, so hurt.
“Where were you last night?” she asked.
I opened my eyes. “Racey’s. I told you.”
She nodded. I couldn’t tell if she believed me or not.
“Too bad about Luc’s face,” she said.
I watched her expression, which looked guarded. As mine probably did.
“Yeah. Bastard.”
“Yeah. Anyway, Petra seemed to think it was only temporary. So—” Suddenly her eyes met mine, sharp and green. “Richard. I think he’s hot for you.”
“What?” I practically yelped, my heart starting to race. “Richard and I can’t stand each other.”
Except for when we were locked together, our mouths fused, our hands all over each other … But Thais didn’t know about that. No one did, except me and him.
“I don’t know,” she persisted. “I saw how he was looking at you. He looked … like he wanted to eat you up.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I bluffed. “He’s so … supercilious. Like he’s always sneering.”
“Yeah,” Thais said thoughtfully. “Well, watch him the next time he’s around. See if you notice anything.” She stood up. “I can’t believe there’s no school! I’m going out. Petra still looks kind of under the weather—I’ll see if she needs anything. What about you? You want some ginger ale or something?”
“No
thanks. I’ve got this.” I gestured to the tea. “What are you going to go do?”
“Go to the grocery store, other stuff,” she said vaguely, heading out the door. “Hope you feel better—I’ll see you later.”
“Okay.” Once she left, I snuggled down under my covers again, trying not to cry, knowing I would only feel worse if I did.
So Thais thought Richard was hot for me. I had an image of myself lying on the cool wooden floor of his apartment after I had furiously and unsuccessfully tried to take him apart. After the hitting and screaming and crying I had lain there like a sack of laundry, and he had said, “I don’t love you. I don’t love anybody. But I see the value of you, the incredible worth of you, more than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Now, lying here in my bed, knowing what I had done last night, how I had taken something beautiful and utterly destroyed it for my own purpose, I started weeping silently. Richard was wrong. I had no value and no worth.
We didn’t have anything like Botanika back in Welsford. I’m sure occult bookstore-coffee shops existed in Connecticut, but I’d never been in one. I wasn’t totally comfortable here, still felt like an imposter somehow, among the nose rings and dreadlocks and pink and blue hair. There were some normal-looking people too. But I was pretty much the most boring person here.
Botanika took up the whole front half, almost a block long, of a building that looked like it had been a department store back in the thirties. Huge glass windows overlooked the street, and the interior hinted at what it might have looked like eighty years ago, with pressed-tin ceilings painted a dark copper color, ceiling fans on long poles, all connected to each other by pulleys, and tall columns supporting a roof that must have been eighteen or twenty feet high.
Inside, all the way to the right, was the coffee shop, with its small square black tables and old-fashioned library chairs. Each table had a green-shaded banker’s lamp, and the whole place was wi-fi, which explained all the students with laptops.