A Chalice of Wind Read Free

live and with whom. Although I would hope that Ms. Gauvin is sensitive to the fact that Thais is about to start her senior year of high school and that it would be least disruptive if she could simply stay in Welsford to do so.”
    “I know,” said the woman, sounding regretful. “But sadly, my home is in New Orleans, and my business precludes my being able to relocate here for the next year. Thais will be coming to New Orleans with me.”
     
    I sagged down on my bed, feeling my somewhat threadbare quilt under my fingers. I felt numb. I was embracing numbness. If I ever let myself not feel numb, a huge, howling pain would tear up from my gut and burst out into the world in a shrieking, unstoppable, hysterical hurricane.
    I was going to New Orleans, Louisiana, with a leather-happy stranger. I hated to even speculate on how she knew my dad. If they’d had any kind of romantic relationship, it would take away the dad I knew and replace him with some brain-damaged unknown. She’d said they’d been friends. Such good friends that he’d given her his only child, yet had never mentioned her name to me once.
    A tap on my door. I looked up blankly as Mrs. Thompkins came in, her gentle, plump face drawn and sad. She carried a sandwich and a glass of lemonade on a tray, which she set on my desk. She stood by me, brushing her fingers over my hair.
    “Do you need any help, dear?” she whispered.
    I shook my head and tried to manage a brave smile, which failed miserably. Inside me a hollow wail of pain threatened to break through. It hit me over and over again, yet I still couldn’t quite take it in. My dad was dead. Gone forever. It was literally unbelievable.
    “You and I know everything we want to say,” Mrs. Thompkins went on in a soft voice. “Saying it just seems too hard right now. But I’ll tell you this: it’s just for four months. If it works out and you want to stay down there”—she made it sound like hell—“then that’s fine, and I’ll wish you well. But if you want to come back after four months, I’ll be here, with open arms. Do you understand?”
    I nodded and did smile then, and she smiled back at me and left.
    I couldn’t eat. I didn’t know what to pack. What had happened to my life? I was about to leave everything and everyone I had ever known. I’d been looking forward to going away to college next year—had imagined leaving this place, this room. But I wasn’t ready now, a year early. I wasn’t ready for any of this.

Connected by Fate
    I reach out through the darkness
To touch the ones I need
I send my spirit with a message
It finds their spirits where they reside
We are connected by time
We are connected by fate
We are connected by life
We are connected by death
Go.
    I n this still room, the candle flame barely wavered. How lucky, truly, for them to find such a suitable place. Daedalus liked this little room, with its attic ceiling sloping sharply downward toward the walls. He sat comfortably on the wooden floor, nailed into place over two hundred years before. Breathing slowly, he watched the candle flame shine unwaveringly, upside down in the faintly amethyst-colored glass, as if the ball itself were a large eye peering out into the world.
    “Sophie,” Daedalus breathed, imagining her the way she’d looked when he’d seen her last. What, ten years ago? More. Sophie. Feel my connection, hear my message. Daedalus closed his eyes, scarcely breathing, sending thoughts across continents, across time itself.
     
    Cherche nouveau: L’histoire de France. Sophie tapped the words out on her keyboard, enjoying the instant gratification, the enormous well of knowledge at her fingertips. With every passing age, things became more wondrous. Yes, there were downsides to progress. There were many, many things she missed. But each new day revealed a new wonder also.
    “Veux-tu le saumon?” Manon asked, the phone pressed against her ear. “Pour dîner,” she clarified when Sophie looked at