A Feather of Stone #3 (6 page)

“Would you? If you get the candles, we can keep working till you get back.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said, sliding my feet into some kitten-heeled mules. I did it slowly, hoping Nan wouldn’t wait for me. She smiled and headed back downstairs, and I whipped over to my bed, shoved all my notes back into my BOS, then spelled it and put it on my desk, very casual looking. I took a page of unknown symbols and stuck it into my miniskirt pocket, then hurried downstairs.

“Back in a few,” I said, passing through the workroom.

“Thanks, sweetie,” said Nan. “Be extra careful.”

“Gotcha.” I grabbed my purse and car keys and headed out the front door into the night. It was warm but not awful, and I was thrilled to get out for a while. I’d been so housebound lately, what with all the Cinderella-ing, coupled with the humiliating lack of boyfriend. I mean, I always had
someone
around. But not since I’d met Luc. No, since that whole train wreck, I’d been alone, pathetically advising my sister on date-wear while
I
sat home
knitting
. Okay, well, metaphorically knitting.

I drove down Magazine Street to Botanika. Inside, I got myself an iced latte, then took it into the store section. They had the best collection of occult books in New Orleans, which was saying something.

First I looked in the spellcraft section. I found a couple of books that were a bit over my head, but even they dealt with spell forms I’d heard of before: the basic “cast circle, call on elements, delineate spell and its limitations, call power, enact spell, disband.” Familiar stuff and then some variations, including an interesting one that relied on natural limitations, like phases of the moon. It seemed somewhat risky to me, but nothing hit me as very dangerous or dark or super-powerful.

I glanced around, but no one was paying attention to me. There was another, restricted area of the book section: a short, dark passageway lined with bookshelves. At one end was a fire exit. A gold cord and a sign blocked entrance from the store.
Not open to minors, due to the sensitive nature of the works within.

I slipped under the cord. My eyes adjusted almost immediately to the dim light.

Small, faded paper labels identified some shelves. There were sections for Biography, Spellcraft, Grimoires, Books of Shadows, Witch’s Tools, Tantric Power, and so on.
Biography of a Dark Witch
was one title, and my eyes widened with interest. But first I needed to see what else was here.
Don’t Invoke Danger
seemed pretty forbidding. There were more:
Celestial Omens
,
Personal Power
,
The Thin Line Between Light and Dark
, and one titled simply
Dark Magick
.

All of them looked incredible, and I couldn’t believe I’d never been in here before. Actually, I wasn’t sure they would sell me any of them anyway. I could try. But I wasn’t finding anything about immortality, channeling lightning, or something. I would know it when I saw it.

I didn’t have much time. Nan would give me only so long, then call my cell phone, worried. I would have to come back another time. Quickly I stooped down and looked at the dark-spined books on the lower shelves. Many of them were in different languages. Curious, I pulled out one called
Mastering Life
, which I thought might be about immortality. It kind of was, but it didn’t seem to parallel Melita’s spell in any way.

A book called
Forbidden Symbols
caught my eye, and I pulled it out. Flipping through it, I saw one and then two of the unknown sigils from my vision. I tucked the book under my arm. I would try to buy it, and if they wouldn’t sell it to me, then I’d come back later and copy its information. I was about to leave when I saw a thin, falling-apart volume shoved toward the back of one shelf. I could see it only from above—at eye level the other book’s spine covered it. I eased it out carefully, its binding practically crumbling in my hands. Once it had been dark red, but now it was so old and grimy, it was almost black. I opened the cover.

Being the Personal History of One Hermann Parfitte; and How He Learned to Subvert the Power of Others,
I read silently. Subvert the power of others? Bingo. That was more like what Melita had done. I tucked that book under my arm too and stood, and just as I did, a rush of heat and awareness made me think—Richard.

I whirled and saw . . . Luc. Watching me from the entrance of the restricted area. As usual, a flush rose in my cheeks and my heart started beating fast. Keeping my face neutral, I walked right toward him and ducked under the cord, forcing him to step aside. I brushed past him and headed for the candle section.

He followed me.

“What do you have there, Clio?” he said. His voice was beautiful, slightly accented, and reminded me of afternoons we’d spent lying in each other’s arms.

“Candles.” I chose some off the shelf, making sure they were unscented and the right diameter.

“The books,” he said, and reached for them, his fingers brushing my side.

A tingling shock went through me, as if I had touched a live wire. I tried to pull away, but the books slipped out from under my arm. Luc read the titles, his eyelashes thick and dark as he looked down.

“None of your business,” I said coolly. “Just like every other aspect of my life.”

He looked up at me, his handsome face thoughtful. “How are you?” he asked, not commenting on the books. “Have you recovered from Récolte?” He’d been furious at the Récolte circle—he’d punched Daedalus, knocking him to the ground.

I took my books back, practically snatching them out of his hands. Inside, I felt trembly, uncertain, hurt. All the usual Luc feelings. I wondered if he wished he’d run into Thais instead.

Not answering him, I headed to the checkout counter. I hated this. I loved him, but he loved my sister. He was still everything I wanted. Why was he playing games with me? What could he possibly get out of it now?

The clerk rang up my candles and started to ring up the books. She paused when she saw the red RESTRICTED stamp on the inside, by the handwritten price. Looking up at me, she seemed to weigh her options. She’d been working here for several months, and I knew she was Wiccan. Not everyone who worked here was a witch, but she was. She said, “Are you over eighteen?” She looked barely over eighteen herself, with her turquoise hair, pierced nose, and tattooed arm.

“Yes,” I said clearly, wanting to will her into believing it but figuring it probably wouldn’t work.

“Can I see some ID?”

Crap. Damn it. How freaking embarrassing, right in front of Luc. I really needed these books, had to have them. I didn’t want to come back—

“Those are mine.” Luc stepped up to the counter and put down some money and a driver’s license.

The clerk glanced from Luc to me while I held my breath. Luc looked only a little older than I did—he’d been frozen in time when he was nineteen. He would be carded in bars forever.

The clerk finished ringing up my candles and handed me my change. She looked at Luc’s license, rang up the books separately, and put them in a plain paper bag. Handing it to Luc, she gave us both steady looks, as if to say, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Outside, in the night air, I took the books back from Luc. “Thanks,” I said ungraciously, and held out a twenty.

He shook his head, waving it away. “Those books are dangerous, little Clio. Why do you want them?”

I turned to head for my car, but his warm hand on my shoulder, heating my skin right through my shirt, made me stop. I loved the way his hands felt on me. A wave of longing and attraction washed over me, practically making me whimper.

Slowly he turned me to face him. “What are those books for? Or . . . who?”

I shrugged. Who else would they be for? He didn’t think Petra would want these titles, did he?

“Tell me. I might be able to help you.”

The thought of making magick with him made me want to cry. This was unbearable. I pulled my shoulder away. “You’ve already done enough,” I said, my voice shaky, and headed back to my car.

But again, as I was reaching for the door, Luc turned me to face him. I stood as he traced my cheek with his fingers, burning trails of awareness wherever they touched. He put his head close to mine, and I thought I would scream.

“I miss you,” he said softly, gently raising my chin to look into my eyes. He pushed his other hand through my hair, holding the back of my neck. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.” Then he lowered his lips to my temple and pressed a feather-soft kiss there. My knees felt weak, and I hoped they wouldn’t buckle.

“Please tell me how I can help you,” he said. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Somehow that did it—that word woke me up, made me snap back to reality. I drew back a bit and finally looked him in the eye.

“I’m not alone,” I said, making my voice strong. “I have my sister.”

Pain flared in his gorgeous, dark blue eyes. His hands dropped away from me and he stepped back.

I drove home, refusing to cry.

Someone Who Could Help

Outside the airport terminal, Marcel inhaled deeply, then coughed out a lungful of car exhaust. Another thing to long for: the clean, pure air of his home, scented by the sea, by peace. The air in New Orleans had taken a dive since the last time he’d been here.

Still, the moment he’d set foot on the pavement, he’d felt immeasurably better. No longer did he feel as though a thousand insects were crawling under his skin. He’d lost much of his tension, his anxiety—and would lose even more as soon as he saw Daedalus.

The rage, however, would remain.

Here, in the city where virtually every kind of vice was tolerated and condoned, his worn brown monk’s robes attracted even more attention than they had in Shannon. He needed help. He had no money, no other clothes. He was completely drained, an emotional shell. It had been days since he’d been able to sleep or eat, thanks to Daedalus.

A taxi pulled up to the curb, and Marcel climbed in. He would go to Petra. She would help him. She always had.

Thais

The next afternoon I eased the Camry into a parking space in front of our house, then forgot to put the clutch in. The engine gagged, then died with a shudder. I winced and turned to Clio, who was wearing her saintly “hope you learn to drive soon” expression.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Clio gathered her stuff and opened her door. “I’m sure my kidneys will bounce right back.”

I laughed. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, opening the front gate.

“Isn’t all this stuff going to die when it freezes?” I asked, pointing to the plants.

Clio shot me a superior look. “You’re such a Yankee.”

“It freezes here, right?”

“Every couple of years,” Clio admitted. “Let’s go see if they finished the back yet.”

We’d done as much of the work repairing the back of the house as we could, but Petra had hired professionals to do the rest. Rain had delayed the final paint job, but maybe they’d done it today.

We started down the narrow alley along the side of the house. Without warning, Clio stopped so suddenly that I walked right into her.

“What’s—” I began, but her hand motioned me to be quiet. I peered over her shoulder.

“Down there,” she barely breathed, and I went on tiptoe to see better.

A brown snake was coiled on the sidewalk right in front of us.

“Is that a good snake?” I whispered.

“It’s a copperhead—a water moccasin,” Clio whispered back.

“So that’s not good?”

She didn’t answer. The snake’s head swayed as it rose into the air.

“It’s going to strike,” Clio said without moving her lips. “It’s poisonous.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, and just like that, words came to me. I breathed them out. “Sister snake, leave us now. Return home to your young. Our place is here. Return and be healthy.
Va-zhee, va, let, monche.
” I didn’t know what those last words were, but the snake paused as if it heard me.

It pulled back, as if it were going to leave, but suddenly it swung around. Clio backed up quickly, pushing me behind her, but the snake twisted toward us. Suddenly I remembered my nightmare, the one where the snake was coiled around my neck, choking me.

Clio repeated the spell I’d just said, with the same words at the end. At the last words, she drew two signs in the air, ones I didn’t recognize.

Again the snake paused, and again it swiveled back toward us. “Our magick’s affecting it, but it’s fighting us,” Clio said.

I couldn’t take the tension anymore. I slid my purse strap off my shoulder and hummed the purse right over Clio’s shoulder at the snake. Clio shrieked almost soundlessly and pulled back. My purse hit the snake, and I mentally said,
Sorry, sorry.

But it did seem to break the snake’s concentration. With a last look at us, it turned and slithered under our neighbor’s fence so quickly that it was gone in a flash.

I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until I let it out with a whoosh.

Clio turned to me. “A snake in our alley.”

“Does that ever happen normally?”

She paused, considering. “Well, copperheads
are
all over the place, but not usually uptown. They stay closer to water.”

“We’re only three blocks from the river,” I pointed out. I paused, shivering despite the heat. “Or do you think it was magick?”

“I don’t know,” Clio said. “I mean, was this an attack?”

She headed toward the back again, and I picked up my purse carefully, looking all around in case the snake came back. I’d lived in Welsford, Connecticut, for seventeen years, and the only dangerous thing that had happened to me had been stepping on a dead bee. Since I’d come to New Orleans, I’d been living in mortal peril, like, every day.

We were almost at the back of the house when we heard Petra’s voice and someone else murmuring back to her. The side windows were open over our heads since the house was raised up on brick pilings.