A Circle of Ashes (21 page)

Next to me, Jules’s beautiful, deep voice started to weave in and out in the chant. Most people were singing now. I didn’t have my own personal song, but I just closed my eyes and thought about water, my element, and everything it meant to me. Then I opened my mouth and let whatever came to me become a sound.

At first I sang very softly, not wanting to mess anyone else up if I was doing it wrong. But I felt like I was actually singing a song and not just making a bunch of unconnected sounds. It felt like there was a song already written inside me that I was letting out. It felt good, and natural. I let my voice join the others lightly, following them without trying to be louder or alone, just blending. Slowly, as I concentrated, faint impressions came to me.

I focused on opening my senses, and gradually I was able to separate out emotions and people. I almost caught my breath—it was incredible. I could actually feel that Manon was unhappy and that she also felt guilty. About what? And Daedalus was already sending out waves of triumph, as though some goal had been achieved. That was creepy.

I tried deliberately reaching out to Sophie, just to see what would happen. To my surprise, I was hit with a wave of sadness that was so strong I opened my eyes. Her face looked impassive, the same as always, but her large brown eyes were haunted, and I felt a sense of desperation—almost steely resolve. To do what?

From Ouida, I felt calm, radiating peace and love—what a relief. She felt wary but was concentrating on sending out only good. Thank heavens. Then there was Luc. I couldn’t help it—I opened my eyes and shot a quick glance at him. His eyes were closed; he was singing, joining in with the others. I felt a deep wave of remorse and longing coming from him. He was so beautiful, so haunted in the deepening twilight. Suddenly I was fiercely glad that he was there, that we were both part of making magick, no matter how far apart we were. With no warning, I felt a powerful rush of love and sad desire for him. I tried to squelch it immediately, but it was too late. He felt it. His eyes popped open and he stared at me. Quickly I looked away, swallowing my feelings, but my eyes caught Clio’s. She’d been watching Luc. She’d seen us looking at each other. Miserably I wondered if she’d felt my emotions. I hoped not. Deliberately I closed my eyes and cleared my mind again. I held Jules’s and Richard’s hands firmly, our feet doing a grapevine to the left endlessly, over and over.

Okay, Axelle now. Mostly I got a sense of impatient irritation.

Richard, right next to me, felt more closed off, as if he was concentrating on not sending out anything. What little I picked up felt like confusion, anger, doubt.

I opened my eyes a slit and looked at Clio again. Her eyes were closed, her face flushed and damp. She looked… beautiful. Did that mean I did too?

Relax. Concentrate
. In the middle of the circle a small fire burned. Near it, at the four points of the compass, were thick gold pillar candles inside tall hurricane-glass holders two feet high. The fire was ringed with stones, and between the candles were stone bowls of water. I let myself feel each element, concentrating on water—cool, flowing, powerful, endless, timeless. I let my voice grow stronger. Our circle was moving more swiftly now. Petra had explained that the Rècolte song had once had actual words, but that they’d been lost over the centuries. It seemed so odd that this had been going on for centuries and until now, I hadn’t ever heard about it. But the song had once praised the earth for growing people’s food, praised the sun for keeping everything alive, and praised rain for nourishing them as well as their crops. It was all about how the earth had given to them and they had taken. Next spring, they would give back to the earth when they planted things and enriched the soil. It was about the promise of returning life in return for the life they had received.

It was a haunting, beautiful, otherworldly-sounding song, and I felt weirdly emotional and thankful for everything I had. I’d lost so much, and after losing my father I hadn’t been able to imagine ever feeling close to
whole again. But now with Clio and Petra, I had a family again. And even more than that—I had a connection to this deep magick within me. It had terrified me at first, but now… now that I was finally feeling close to it, close to
myself
, it was like a door had opened to another entire part of my life.

Suddenly I began to feel a strong thread twisting through the woven song. I realized the energy of the circle felt off balance, discordant. There was anger in the thread, and it was coloring our magick dark. I opened my eyes and looked at Petra, who was facing straight ahead, her chin firm as she sang. She felt it too. Glancing at Clio, I saw that she looked puzzled, concerned. I kept singing, not knowing what else to do or what was going on.

I realized I was caught up in magick—it was overwhelming, stronger than me, stronger than anything I had felt before. I looked from face to face, but everything was a blur, a dizzying swirl of light and color and sound. I saw Clio staring at Luc, then turning away. I saw Ouida nod at Petra. Richard, next to me, was watching Daedalus, frowning, and when I looked at Daedalus, I recognized the source of the dark magick.

Daedalus was using our energy to work some other spell. I wanted to break out of the circle but didn’t know how, didn’t think I could. I was hot, burning up, damp with heat, and my throat was dry and sore.

I closed my eyes for a second, starting to feel sick, and when I opened them, I saw Petra nod at Ouida and Luc. Suddenly she wrenched her hand out of mine. The three of them threw their hands up, shouting words I didn’t recognize, and it was like the world had been pulled out from under us. Jules and I, still holding hands, stumbled and started to fall, and then with no warning the big glass flutes shielding the candles burst.

“Oh!” I cried, feeling my cheek and shoulder sting, and then I fell hard to the ground and felt the world sway beneath me.

Other people fell around me, crying out. Daedalus’s voice was choked with rage, and then all was still and quiet. I felt terrible, nauseated. My head throbbed and my forehead stung, maybe from getting hit by flying glass. My eyes filled with tears.

“Thais.” Painfully I turned my head to see that Clio had crawled over to me. Her face was unnaturally white, with greenish edges. Her shoulders were scratched and bleeding. “Are you okay?” she asked, and then she simply collapsed on the ground next to me. I reached out and felt her hand, her fingers closing around mine.

“I’m gonna barf,” I croaked, starting to cry.”What happened? Did I do that?”

“No, no,” she said weakly. “Nan and Ouida ended the circle unnaturally. You always have to bring a circle down slowly, the way it began, and finish it properly. If you don’t, you feel like this.”

“It feels horrible,” I said, sounding like a baby. “Why did they do it?”

“I think Daedalus was doing something,” she said.

I put my hand to my cheek. Blood trickled down the side of my face to the ground. My arms were cut in several places.

“I think he was working dark magick, using the circle,” Clio went on, her voice breaking. “Nan and Ouida broke it to stop him.”

My face crumpled and tears slid down my cheeks. “Was he trying to hurt us, you and me?”

She held my hand more tightly. “I don’t know. But it’s okay,” she said. “We’re fine. I’m here, and Nan is here.”

“Girls?” Petra leaned over us, her face ashen. “Are you all right?”

“No,” I said, starting to cry more. I remembered how excited I’d been to start the circle, how thrilling it had been, feeling the magick rise. Now I felt naive and stupid, duped. “I never want to do this again.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” said Petra, sitting by us. She reached out and put a hand on each of us. “I’m so sorry. It really isn’t usually like this. Ouida, Luc, and I had to try to stop Daedalus.”

“But you didn’t, you know,” said Daedalus, sounding wheezy but triumphant. Like I’d felt him before. “It succeeded.”

“What were you
doing?
” Jules sounded furious.

With difficulty, I propped myself up enough to see that the others were in various stages of recovery. Manon was crying also, and Sophie was holding her, kissing her face. Axelle was leaning over into some bushes, being sick. Luc and Richard got up, and they both looked as furious as Jules sounded. Luc was pale and clammy, his deep green
bouvre
dark with sweat. Like the rest of us, Luc was cut all over from when the glass burst. Thin ribbons of blood trailed down his face and arms.

“A forceful summoning.” Daedalus sounded so pleased with himself that I wanted to kick him. “For Marcel and Claire. There’s no way they can resist coming now. I’ll have my Treize.”

“You fricking jerk!” Clio choked out, sitting up. “How dare you—?”

He turned to her, his eyes like ice. “I dare much, little girl,” he said. “And you’ll thank me before this is through.”

“Get up.” Luc glared down at Daedalus.

“Oh, Luc, really,” Daedalus said. He got to his feet a little shakily, and as soon as he was up, Luc swung back and punched him so hard it knocked Daedalus off his feet.

Daedalus lay still on his back, his mouth gasping like a fish.

“Get up,” Luc said again, and spit blood onto the ground.

Ouida came over, moving stiffly. “Please, Luc, don’t,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. He ignored her for a moment, then turned to her. His chest was heaving and his eyes gleamed with anger. “I’m asking you,” she said more softly. “Please.”

After several long moments, Luc swallowed and stepped back but glared down at Daedalus.

Richard came over, his upper lip cut, his robe sliced in several blood-rimmed places. He looked down at Daedalus.

“Try it again, old man,” he said, his voice still and deadly. “Try using me again like that against my will and I’ll find a way to kill you. I promise.”

Daedalus looked shocked. “Riche—” he began, but Richard had already turned and walked away, heading to the food tables.

I lay back down, feeling better as soon as I was touching the earth from head to foot. I looked up at Petra.

“Can we get out of here?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “As soon as you two can walk.”

W
hat was this guy’s name? Pak? Pakpao? Whatever. Claire lifted her hair off her neck and fell over sideways on the bed.

The guy said something to her, but the only word Claire caught was
beautiful.

She smiled and patted his arm sleepily. “Yeah, yeah.”

In the next instant, the finely carved wooden screens on her windows blew inward with hurricane force. Empty bottles fell and smashed on the ground. The single lightbulb overhead burst, showering Claire with hot, fine pieces of glass.

The magick hit Claire in the chest like a fist, and she bolted upright, gasping.

Daedalus! That bastard! Claire sprang out of bed, swearing furiously. Pak was frightened, chattering in Thai, something about a storm. She ignored him, stomping around her room. Her feet were cut by the broken glass, but she ignored that too. Damn Daedalus! Picking up a heavy brass incense holder, Claire hurled it against the wall. It knocked a chip out of the plaster and fell to the floor with a crunching sound. She would kill him—somehow she would find a way. She would absolutely cut out his beating heart. Had anyone ever tried that?

Finally Claire sank back down on the bed. Pak put his hand on her shoulder, concerned. She shrugged him off, told him to leave now. At least she’d learned that much Thai. Very useful. While the guy, completely bewildered, got dressed, Claire hung her head, so angry she could hardly breathe. A liquor bottle had broken near her foot, and the sticky puddle touched her bare foot. The alcohol burned her cuts, but none of it mattered.

Pak tried to talk to her once again, but she waved him away. She wouldn’t cry—Claire never cried, but she almost wished she could right now. In a few moments she had to get up, throw some things together, and grab a taxi to the airport. She was going to New Orleans. And once she was there, she was going to make sure that Daedalus understood he was never, ever to mess with her again.

M
arcel was dreaming. In his dream, he was tending a garden by a river, back in Louisiana. There was water everywhere in Louisiana, rivers everywhere, like the canals in Amsterdam. When he was young, people had used the rivers much more than the rutted, muddy roads.

There were two kinds of rivers. One kind was opaque and green, with warm, slow-moving water. The other kind was clear and red-tinged, with cold water that moved fast. They were both good to swim in, drink from, catch fish in. Here in Ireland, despite the very different climate, Marcel had lots of seafood, like back home. Crabs and shrimp, all different kinds of fish. He loved that about Ireland, the greenness, the water. Like home.

In his dream, Marcel was tending a garden. Looking up, he saw a lone pirogue moving slowly down the river. It must have broken loose from somewhere. Marcel made his way down the slippery clay bank, avoiding the knobby cypress knees poking up through the water. He grabbed a long branch and hooked it on one end of the little flat-bottomed boat. He would pull it to shore and tie it up, find out whose it was.

The pirogue bumped against roots, its bottom scraping the shore. Marcel leaned down to grab its trailing rope, then stopped, frozen. Inside the boat was a body. His breath caught in his throat as he pulled the boat closer. It was a girl, not yet twenty. She lay peacefully on the boat’s floor, eyes closed, arms crossed over her chest. She looked like she was sleeping except for the unnatural pallor of her skin, her blue-tinged lips and fingertips.

Now he saw that she was wet, her dress sodden and clinging to her, her black hair streaming back. Cerise’s birthmark burned on her cheekbone, bright red.

Cerise? No—of course not. Cerise had been blond. But this girl looked just like Cerise, if Cerise had had black hair. And this girl had drowned. Cerise had died in childbirth.