A Feather of Stone #3 (14 page)

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.

Looking at these three, he knew that distinction was lost on them. He tried to keep his face impassive but felt his lip curl slightly in disgust. Of course Luc was still completely dissolute. Where were this week’s women? Usually he had two or three hanging off him.

And Richard.

Richard was the embodiment of the hand of God, put on earth to humble Marcel and remind him of his all-too-human weaknesses. To hate someone as deeply as he hated Richard, to be stirred to violence at just the sight of him—these were tragic character flaws that Marcel had spent decades trying to improve.

Without success.

“Marcel,” said Luc. He held out a hand. “Sorry you got brought back like that. Daedalus is having another lust-for-power banquet. You and Claire were the appetizer.”

Marcel forced himself to shake Luc’s hand.

“Luc.”

“I got in Thursday,” Claire said. She fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of her big, lumpy purse and lit one.

“Tobacco,” Marcel said. “Satan’s agent. Slavery, cancer, corporate lies, deliberate poison—it all stems from the tobacco industry.”

“Glad you’ve lightened up,” Luc muttered.

Claire looked at Marcel and blew smoke away from them, out the side of her mouth. “Marcel, honey, you must have missed the memo. There is no Satan. No Satan, no hell. We’ve got
la déesse
,
le dieu
, the life force that exists in everything. We’ve got ourselves and our free will. You can’t pretend to believe different.”

“I don’t believe different,” Marcel said. “I
know
different. There’s the one true God, his Holy Son, the Holy Spirit. And there is surely Satan and surely hell.” He’d seen both, close up.

Claire let out a deep breath. “Okay. Tomato, tomah-to. Anyway, we’ve been talking about possible ways to kill Daedalus.” Her face brightened, and Luc smiled again. “Got any ideas?”

“If I had, I would have used them long ago, before I committed my soul to God. But not necessarily on Daedalus.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Richard’s muscles tense. Looking at him straight on, Marcel saw a mirror of his own hatred and resentment.

Luc sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Damn it!” Claire smacked him on the chest with her fist, surprising him. She looked back and forth between him and Richard furiously. “Damn both of you! That was two hundred and fifty years ago! Get
over
it! Ger over
her
! You stupid jackasses! Just let it
go
!” Some people walking by stopped to watch the spectacle unfolding.

Richard and Luc looked as surprised as Marcel felt. Claire had always been a drama queen, but she’d never spoken to them like this before. Pain and heartache bored her, she’d said. She’d rather just have fun.

She spoke again, her voice low and trembling with anger. “You’re both so
stupid
, so
blind
. Centuries later and she’s still squeezing your hearts. Cerise was a sweet girl—she didn’t deserve what happened to her. Goddess knows we’ve been playing out the tragedy ever since. But you two are the most single-minded idiots I’ve ever—you’re
pathetic
, both of you. Poor Marcel. Poor Richard. Lost their true love.”

Marcel stepped back, stung, feeling blood burn his cheeks.

“All this time, it’s always been Cerise, Cerise, Cerise,” Claire went on. She seemed stone-cold sober now, her green eyes fiery. “You can’t even
see
anyone else. You can’t even
recognize
love—” She stopped abruptly, shutting her mouth like a trap. White-faced with anger, she glared at them for a second more, then rubbed her hand over her eyes. “I’m tired,” she said. “I’m going back to Jules’s.”

Without another word she turned and crossed the street, heading away from the lights on Chartres Street. She seemed to be weaving a bit, and after a pause Luc said, “I’ll go with her, make sure she gets back.”

Then he was gone, leaving Marcel and Richard facing each other. Marcel’s head was spinning. What had Claire meant?

Richard was watching him steadily, but Marcel knew he was just as shaken.

“She’s talking rot,” he heard himself say. “She’s drunk. As usual. Doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Richard, barely two feet away, close enough to strangle, gave him an odd smile. “Claire always knows what she’s talking about. She knows more than you and me put together. Despite everything you learned, being Melita’s bitch half your life.”

Pain stabbed Marcel’s heart so strongly he almost gasped. He actually staggered, one hand on his chest, and leaned against the crumbling stucco of the Napoleon House. Several people glanced at him in alarm, but they faded away, out of his sight. All he could see was Richard’s face, that hateful, beautiful angel’s face that Cerise hadn’t been able to resist.

“How did you—” he choked. “Who else knows? How could you—”

But Richard only gave him another small, tight smile, then turned and walked away.

Clio

Another sleepless night. I was exhausted to my bones—this day had been endless and the evening horrible. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my Camry billowing black smoke toward the sky.

Okay, okay, Clio, think. Think it all through. Someone is trying to kill you or Thais—again.
The more I thought about Thais’s theory about Melita, the less ridiculous it seemed. Sure, it was a stretch, but none of this made sense anyway. The only reason I could think of for anyone wanting me or Thais out of the way was if the
two
of us made more than a full Treize. Daedalus needed a full Treize—but no more—for the rite. Someone needed one of us gone before the rite. As much as I was drawn to working with Hermann Parfitte’s book, as much as I needed to know how to control the rite’s power, still, I needed to know who was behind the attacks more.

If we knew that, then other things would fall into place.

At least, I hoped so.

Okay. Now I knew what I needed to do. I got out of bed and walked quietly into Thais’s room. She was deeply asleep, her layered black hair in an aureole around her head. Kneeling next to the bed, I shook her shoulder.

“Thais,” I said softly. “Thais, wake up.”

She stirred, then blinked. Her eyes focused on me and she instantly looked alarmed. “What is it? Are you okay?” Sitting up, she looked at me anxiously.

“Hi,” I whispered. “Sorry to wake you. But I need you for something.”

“What?” She rubbed her eyes, still looking worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll explain on the way,” I said. “First we have to steal Nan’s car.”

 

No one did stiff disapproval better than Thais. I had to hand it to her. She was much better than Nan, even.

Now she sat next to me in the front seat of Nan’s Volvo. The only time she’d uncrossed her arms had been to eat a McBiscuit.

“Since I’m going to get hanged when we go back, can you fill me in on what my crime is going to be?”

“Yeah. Right now we’re going to a safe place so we can do a spell,” I explained. “Last night—was it only last night? God. Last night someone blew up my car. There’s so much going on so, so much crazy stuff, but if someone out there
is
still trying to hurt us, the most important thing is finding out who it is. When we know that, we can figure out how to protect ourselves from them and figure out how it relates to the rite. We can’t even plan what to do in the rite until we know who’s behind the attacks.”

I glanced at her, making a mental note to avoid ever pulling that face.

Thais let out a heavy breath and looked out her window. “The rite.”

“Yes.”

“Where you want us to become immortal.”

“Yes. Thais, I’ve thought and thought about it. We can’t die. We have to go on living like this, young and beautiful and healthy. Think of everything we could do with all that time to do it in.”

“Yeah, and it’s worked out so well for the Treize,” she said sarcastically. “They’re the poster children for mental health and stability.”

“We’re different. We’re choosing this on purpose. We have goals for ourselves, our lives. They weren’t prepared.”

“I’m not prepared either.”

I stayed quiet, letting her wrap her mind around the idea. Several miles later, she finally spoke.

“I’ve thought about it. I just don’t know. I think the rite is going to kill someone, like it killed Cerise.”

“Not if we know who to protect ourselves from,” I pointed out. “Not if we’re strong. Not if we’re the ones controlling it.”

She shook her head, looking out her window. Her face was troubled, reluctant. “We’re just going to set something on fire again,” she said.

“Not if we’re in the middle of a river.”

 

“They don’t make floating cups?” Thais asked.

“No. But we can do this without the four element cups,” I said. We were waist-deep in a small river close to the town of Abita Springs. The water was red and cold, mostly clear. Where we were, the river was about forty feet wide. I wished Racey were with us—remembering what had happened the other times that Thais and I had made magick together didn’t reassure me. But Nan hadn’t been able to figure out who was trying to hurt us, and now my frigging
car
had been blown up. I just had to do something.

“Maybe we should talk about this some more,” Thais said, eyeing my supplies.

“Look, we have to do this,” I said. “Once we know who’s trying to kill us, we’ll be able to focus on the rite and on becoming immortal.” I realized how bizarre my words were, and how they actually made sense in the craziness of our lives, and laughed.

“You must have been a fun child,” said Thais.

I laughed again, glad that we were together, that it was daylight, that we were far away from anyone.

“Okay, we’re standing in water, which is your element,” I said. “So this should be good.” Glancing at the sky, I saw that it was still clouded over. It didn’t look like rain was near, though. The only candle I’d been able to find that would float was a goofy one in the shape of a yellow duck. I lit it, and then I dropped four stones in the water around us: one for the past, one for the future, one for now, and one for the problem. Thais and I held hands over the water, and I began to recite:

I began my song. The last time I’d done a spell, I’d taken Q-Tip’s soul from him. That had been a huge and powerful spell, and this was another one. Beneath my nervousness and determination, I felt deeply tired and tainted.
Maybe Melita began like this.
I don’t know where the thought came from, but it chilled me. I pushed it down and kept singing, closing my eyes, trying to concentrate.

Thais didn’t join in, but I felt her power rising with mine, joining mine through our clasped hands. And I really did actually
feel
her power—it had become tangible, stronger, since the last time we’d done a spell together.

Ideally, a photographic image would have popped up in our minds, with a big yellow arrow pointing to the guilty party. But nooo. Magick doesn’t work like that. You have to meet it halfway.

I sang for a while; I don’t know how long. I was getting nothing and decided this was a bust. I quit singing and opened my eyes to tell Thais. She opened her eyes at the exact same time, and we stood looking at each other for a moment. In the next second, I was pulled into her eyes, the green striations like veins on a leaf. It was like sinking into a vortex, like a wormhole in a sci-fi movie. In the depths of her eyes, I started getting images.

There was the hazy outline of my car, like a smudged Polaroid. I saw a dark figure off to the distance, and somehow I knew its lips were moving, its hands making motions, but I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.

I saw my car explode into flames again, and I winced. Like in a fuzzy old movie, I saw myself, a blurred stick figure, jump out of the car and run away, and I felt someone’s dark pangs of disappointment that I hadn’t died.

It made my blood boil.

More images flowed. I saw Thais sitting on a streetcar, saw a red pickup fly soundlessly through the air, snapping a light pole in slow motion. Inside the streetcar, Thais got to her feet and moved out of the pole’s way, seconds before it would have impaled her.