A Chalice of Wind

by Cate Tiernan

  “Please, ma’am?”

  Claire willed her head to turn and somehow managed to switch her gaze a bit to the left. A small Thai maid, no more than fifteen, knelt on the black wooden floor. She held up a silver tray covered with a stack of neatly folded telephone messages. Her head was bowed—she was reluctant to disturb ma’am. Especially this ma’am, who often threw things and broke things when she was unwillingly disturbed.

  “Please, ma’am? Messages for you. Man call many times. He say very urgent.”

  With supreme effort, Claire swung her feet over the side of the bed. She glanced at herself in the mirror. Ouch. Reaching out for the messages, a sudden surge of nausea made her freeze momentarily. She muttered some words under her breath and waited a moment for the feeling to pass. The maid bowed her head lower, as if to avoid a blow.

  Claire took the messages. She muttered thanks in Thai.

  The little maid bowed deeply, then stood and started to shuffle backward out of the room.

  “Make a bath for me!” Claire remembered to call, then winced as the words reverberated inside her pain-racked skull, making it feel like all the little blood vessels in her brain were leaking. “Please make a bath,” Claire whispered again, adding the word bath in Thai.

  Claire glanced at the first message. From Daedalus. She tossed it on the floor and looked at the second. Daedalus. Onto the floor. The third one read, Get your ass to New Orleans, damn you. She laughed and tossed it after its companions. The rest were just more of the same, just old Daedalus playing mayor, wanting an audience so he could pontificate about nothing, blah, blah, blah.

  Claire reached over, found a bottle by the bed with a few inches of a pale yellow liquor in it. She took a swig, winced, and drew her sleeve across her mouth. Time to start the day.

  Thais

  I didn’t remember getting back to Axelle’s. The whole surreal day swam through my consciousness like bits of a movie I’d seen long ago. For six periods I’d dealt with stares and whispers, dealt with seeing Clio again and again as we passed each other in the hall, both of us jerking in renewed surprise. Thank God for Sylvie. In her I sensed a true friend—she treated me normally, helped me get my bearings, told me where classes were, how to meet her at lunch.

  Clio was going to talk to her grandmother. So I had a grandmother too, for the first time in seventeen years. Doubt was pointless. It had been overwhelmingly obvious that Clio and I had once been one cell, split in two. Now that I knew I had an identical twin, I somehow felt twice as lost, twice as incomplete as before. Would that feeling go away if we became close? I had family now, real blood family, but I still felt so alone.

  Dad hadn’t known. I felt that instinctively. Never in any way had he ever revealed that he knew I’d been a twin. Which was a whole other mystery in itself.

  I’d managed to get on the streetcar going downtown and got off at Canal Street, the end of the line. Like a trained dog, I found my way to Axelle’s apartment. For just a minute I rested my forehead against the sun-warmed iron of the gate. Please, please, let Axelle not be home. Or Daedalus or Jules. Please.

  I passed the small swimming pool in the courtyard and hesitated before I unlocked the door. How had Axelle gotten me? Who was she, really? Had she even known my dad? Because just as surely as I knew Clio was my sister, I also instinctively felt that I had been brought to New Orleans on purpose, and part of that purpose must be Clio. I paused for a moment, my key in my hand. Oh my God. Had Axelle caused my dad’s death somehow? The timing was so . . . I took a deep breath and thought it through.

  I didn’t see how she could have done it. Remembering it was a fresh pain: my dad had been killed when an old woman had a stroke at the wheel of her car. It had jumped the curb and crashed through the drugstore window. My dad had been in the way. But the woman was from our town—old Mrs. Beadle. I’d known her by sight. There was no way Axelle could have bribed her. She’d broken her nose and her collarbone and gotten glass in one eye. Her driver’s license had been taken away forever. Despite everything, even Mrs. Thompkins had felt sorry for her. No. Axelle and her gang of merry weirdos couldn’t have had anything to do with it.

  I opened the door and was met by a blast of air-conditioning, as usual. The air inside was stale with cigarettes but blessedly quiet and empty. In that instant, I knew no one was home, as if I could have felt the jangling energy their presence would make.

  I dumped my backpack in my room and sat down on my bed, feeling numb. What was happening with my life? Even if Axelle hadn’t caused my dad’s death, still, it wasn’t a coincidence that I had been brought halfway across America to a city I’d never been before only to run into my identical twin—the twin I never knew existed. Yet given how unconcerned Axelle had been about my going to school, I didn’t see how meeting Clio today had been planned. If Axelle knew Clio was here, she hadn’t planned on us meeting—at least not yet.

  Restlessly I got up. She wasn’t home, and I had no idea when she’d be back. I started roaming the apartment, deliberately snooping for the first time. My eyes fell on the door that led to the secret attic room. If anything was hidden in this apartment, it was in that room. I listened for Axelle. I heard nothing, felt nothing. There was a small brass knob right below the small brass lock. Could she have left it unlocked this once? I knew she carried the key with her.

  I turned the doorknob and pulled.

  Nothing happened. It was locked. Of course.

  A wave of frustration made me grit my teeth. I needed answers! I closed my eyes, trying to calm the thousand questions swirling in my brain. I took some deep breaths. A lock, a lock . . . I was about to cry, as I hadn’t all day, not since this morning when I’d gotten up. I pictured the lock in my mind. All I needed was a stupid key! I could see how the small key would slide into the lock, how its indentations would line up with the little row of pins in the cylinder. . . .

  I needed to think, to decide what to do. I leaned against the cool wall, my eyes closed, hand still on the knob. I reached my finger up and traced the keyhole. One stupid key. I would just put the key in, turn it, the pins would fall into place. . . . I could see it. I sighed heavily. Maybe I should go take a long tepid shower.

  Then, under my finger, I imagined I felt the smallest of vibrations.

  I opened my eyes. I listened. Silence. Stillness. I turned the doorknob and pulled gently.

  The door opened.

  I was in! Without hesitation I ran up the worn wooden steps. The plaster walls were decaying slightly, like everything else in New Orleans. Here and there bare brick was exposed.

  I held my breath as I reached the door at the top of the stairs. God only knew what was behind here, and all of a sudden, horror-movie images filled my mind.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I muttered, and turned the doorknob.

  The door led to one dimly lit room, the only illumination coming from shuttered half-moon windows at either end. The ceiling was low, maybe eight feet in the center, and sloped down on both sides to maybe four feet. The air was completely still and the exact temperature of my skin. I could smell wood, incense, fire, and too many other intermingled scents for me to name. At one end was a scarred worktable that was covered with the same kinds of maps and plans and books I’d seen downstairs. At first glance, I saw no suitcase full of heroin, no huge opium pipes, as I’d feared. So it was just about the voodoo, then.

  Low bookshelves lined the wall on one side, and, curious, I knelt to read their spines. Some of the titles were in French, but others read, Candle-Burning Rituals for the Full Moon; Witch—A History; Astral Magick; Principles of Spellcraft; Magick, White and Black.

  I sat back on my heels. Oh, jeez. Magick. Witchcraft. Not a surprise, but a depressing confirmation. I looked around. The bare wooden floor had layers of dripped wax from candles. There were pale, smeared lines of circles within circles, all different sizes, around the candle wax. Other shelves held candles of all colors. An astrology chart was pinned to one crumbling wall. There were
rows of glass jars, labeled in some other language—maybe French? Latin?

  How incredibly asinine. It was like finding out they were Moonies. I couldn’t believe anyone would spend so much time and energy and money on all this stuff. What idiots.

  So the three of them did their “rites” up here. And that kid Richard too. God.

  But . . . after my nightmare, Axelle had done spells in my room, like they would help protect me or something. Which meant she thought someone was trying to hurt me. As if my nightmare had been witchcraft by someone else.

  I suddenly felt dizzy, my head pounding. I had to get out of here this second. I ran to the door, raced down the steps, and pulled the door shut behind me. I heard a slight snick—it was locked again. Adrenaline raced through me, making my heart hammer, my breath come fast. I didn’t even think of where to go but flew out of the apartment and out the side gate.

  On the street I stopped short. It was still daylight, the sun intermittently covered with dark gray clouds. Tourists were walking by, as if nothing were unusual, as if my life hadn’t changed hugely, not once, but too many times to count in the last month and today most of all. I slowed to a walk and crossed the narrow cobbled street. What to do, where to go—my thoughts weren’t even that coherent. I just kept taking one step at a time, one foot in front of the other, feeling my skin film with cold sweat.

  Then I found myself in front of the private garden, the garden where I’d met Luc.

  Quickly I moved the ivy aside and pushed open the small wooden door. As soon as I was inside and the door shut behind me, I felt the cold dread start to leave me. Inside this quiet garden, I felt calmer, saner. Safe.

  Once again I sank onto the marble bench, feeling its welcome coolness against my skin. I didn’t want to search the windows of the surrounding buildings but hoped that Luc could see I was here. In a life filled with strangers, he and Sylvie were the only people I felt at ease with.

  In the meantime I sat, letting my heartbeat slow, my breathing become regular. I couldn’t think, couldn’t begin to piece this puzzle together. I could only sit and listen to the muted sounds around me: the trickling fountain, the few small birds hopping among the jasmine, the very distant sounds of horses and carriages, tugboats on the river, streetcars rattling on their tracks.

  I had a sister, a twin sister. I had a grandmother. Each time, I realized it all over again. Things with Clio had been strange. Maybe she didn’t want a sister. Maybe she didn’t want to share her grandmother—my grandmother. But surely my grandmother would want me? I closed my eyes and said a prayer that this was all real, that I had a real family now, that my grandmother would love me and take me to live with her, like in a fairy tale. Please don’t let me be alone anymore, I prayed.

  As before, I didn’t hear the gate open, but when I looked up, Luc was walking toward me. A tight knot inside my chest eased, and all my tension started to evaporate. He was taller than I’d realized, wearing worn jeans and a white button-down shirt rolled back at the sleeves. A gentle smile lit his face, and it hit me again just how good-looking he was. And then I became aware of how grubby and dusty and hot I was, and my morning shower seemed a lifetime ago. Great.

  “We meet again.” He sat next to me on the bench, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. “You look upset. Again. Is your life so crazy right now?”

  I gave a short laugh, wishing I had brushed my hair sometime in the last eight hours. “Yes.”

  He gave a sympathetic sigh, and it struck me how incredibly comforting he was to be with. He couldn’t be more than a year or two older than me, but he seemed light-years away from most guys I’d known. I put my head to one side, thinking about it.

  “What?” He smiled at me.

  “I was just thinking. . . . You have a . . . deep stillness to you,” I said. His eyes lost their dreamy expression, became more alert. “As if all of this”—I waved my hand to encompass the whole world—“washes over you without affecting you very much. You seem like a—” I paused, considering. “Like a tree in the middle of a river, kind of. And the river washes around you and past you, but the tree never moves.” I laughed self-consciously at my description.

  Luc didn’t speak for a minute, just looked at me. “Is that how I seem to you?” he asked softly.

  “Yes,” I said, not caring if I sounded stupid. “Everything in my life has changed. It keeps changing every day. But when I sit here with you, it’s like the world has stopped.” I shrugged. “Like time has stopped. It’s . . . peaceful. It makes me feel better. I can’t explain it.”

  Luc leaned back against the vine-covered brick wall. I heard the sleepy hum of bees as they went from flower to flower among the Confederate jasmine. I remembered how Luc had told me the names of some of the plants, and, leaning forward, I picked another perfect, creamy gardenia blossom. I inhaled its fragrance, its heady sweetness, and then I tucked it through a buttonhole on his shirt pocket.

  “One for you,” I said, smiling.

  Luc was very still, and now he looked at me with a slight, puzzled smile.

  “What do you want from me, Thais?” he asked.

  “What do I want from you?” I didn’t understand.

  “In relationships, people want things from each other,” he explained, his voice patient. “Girls might want protection or someone to pay for things—someone to show off to their friends. Guys might want arm candy or someone to take care of them or just someone to sleep with. People are afraid to be alone, and so they cling to each other like flotsam after a shipwreck. So, what is it that you want from me? And also, what is it that you’re offering me?” His crisply accented voice was very quiet, for my ears only in this still, private garden.

  My mouth was hanging open. “Well, that was just about the most depressing, old-fashioned, sexist-pig view of relationships I’ve heard in a long time,” I said. I felt hurt, as if he were implying that I wanted to use him somehow. “What rock have you been living under? How did you get so cynical this young?”

  Luc cocked his head, studying me. His dark hair, his beautiful eyes, made me even madder because my strong attraction to his gorgeous outside was being spoiled by his dumb inside.

  “And since when do we have a relationship?” I said, feeling anger rise in my veins. “We’ve run into each other twice!” My jaw set as I thought rapidly, already feeling the loss of something I hadn’t even realized I wanted. “I am offering you nothing,” I went on, practically spitting at him. “I’d rather stay alone the rest of my life than hook up with a guy who’s only wondering what I want from him. And why would you even be worried? You clearly have nothing to offer me.”

  I pushed off from the bench and strode to the garden gate, furious at him for ruining everything when I’d felt so peaceful and calm. I’d reached out to yank the gate open when suddenly Luc grabbed my arm and swung me around. Emotion crossed his face: uncertainty, hope, and something I recognized at the last second as strong, intense wanting.

  “You’d be surprised at what I can offer you,” he said roughly, and then he was kissing me like Chad Woolcott had never kissed me in eight months of going out. Like no one had ever kissed me, ever. My head bent back over his arm and I felt the heat of his body through my clothes. It never occurred to me to resist, and I knew then that I’d wanted him all along. I felt the hardness of his arms holding me, pressing me to him. My eyes drifted shut, my mouth opened to his, and my arms wrapped around his neck as if I had no control over my own body. And maybe I didn’t.

  It felt like we kissed for ages, standing there, and finally we pulled away, as reluctantly as if pulling away meant death. Luc looked as shocked as I felt. I put my fingers to my lips—they felt bruised. Luc was breathing hard. He ran a hand through his dark hair and looked away.

  All I could think was . . . my world had just tilted. It was just a kiss, standing up, even, yet in that kiss it felt like everything in my life fell quietly into place and made sense.

  Which it didn’t, of course. My life w
as still a huge, thorny mess. But during that kiss I had been able to forget about it, forget about everything.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking completely unlike his usual cool, suave self.

  “Don’t be sorry,” I whispered, trying to pull myself together. I glanced at the sky, almost dark, and then I felt the first heavy raindrop explode against my arm. My skin felt so hot I expected to see a little puff of steam. “I have to go.” I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay there forever.

  He looked at me then, intensely, as if trying to see my soul. “We have a relationship,” he said, and I got a weird feeling that he hadn’t meant to say that, that it had come out anyway. “Even if I’m . . . old-fashioned and sexist and cynical.” He gave a short laugh.

  “I’ll be back,” I said. And looking into his eyes, I saw my reflected knowledge that with one kiss, everything had spun out of control.

  Clio

  “Holy Mother,” Racey breathed, looking at me. “I can’t get over it.”

  I took the bag of Raisinets from her and got a small handful. “Me neither.”

  “So Petra knew about your mystery twin,” she said.

  I nodded. “She had to. She was stunned, but not surprised, if you know what I mean.”

  Racey nodded, leaning against my wall. It was getting late—soon she’d have to go. School night, etc. Like I could deal with school now. I could barely stand school when my life was somewhat normal—now it would be an unending agony.

  “Well, oh my God,” Racey said, trying to sound normal. She tucked her white-streaked hair behind one ear. “You told me you wanted a sister once.”

  “No. I said I wanted you to be my sister,” I reminded her. “I don’t want another me as a sister.”

  “That would be a nightmare,” Racey agreed, and I kicked at her with my bare foot. She laughed and said, “So what’s Petra’s explanation, then?”

  “Don’t know,” I said shortly. “Haven’t heard it.” I leaned against my headboard and pulled a pillow into my lap. “She said she’d explain it, but she started doing all these protection spells, and then later she said that she wanted to see Thais and me together.”