A Chalice of Wind Read Free Page A

her.
    Sophie nodded. She didn’t care what she ate. She couldn’t understand Manon’s various hungers: food, drink, cigarettes, people. Sophie thirsted for knowledge, for learning. One day, somehow, if she could fill her brain with enough truth and understanding—then perhaps she could begin to understand herself, her life, the lives that were irrevocably entwined with hers. Maybe.
    A thin tendril of cigarette smoke floated over to her. Manon was still walking around, phone pressed against her ear, ordering food from the concierge.
    The results of Sophie’s search filled her laptop screen, and she leaned forward. At that moment, with no warning, the words wavered, as if underwater. Sophie frowned, glancing at the floor to make sure the surge protector was active. This computer was practically brand-new. What—?
    Sophie, my love. Come to New Orleans. It’s important. Daedalus.
    The words resolved themselves on Sophie’s screen as she watched them, taking them in. Manon hung up the phone and came to see what Sophie was staring at.
    “We haven’t heard from him in a while,” Manon said unnecessarily.
    Sophie said nothing.
    “Are we going to go?” Manon asked.
    Again Sophie didn’t reply. Her large brown eyes searched the room, the air, seeming to stare across thousands of miles, straight at Daedalus.
     
    “And now Ouida,” Daedalus murmured, clearing his mind of all thought, all feeling. He existed but was unaware of his own being. He was one with the wood, the air, the glass, the flame. . . .
     
    Okay, assuming this sample wasn’t contaminated, she could isolate about thirty cells, put them through trypsin-Giemsa staining, and have a nice set of chromosomes to examine. Ouida Jeffers carefully maneuvered the dish containing the genetic material out of the centrifuge. She heard the lab door swing open and shut but didn’t look up until the sample was securely on a shelf and the fridge door closed. Not after what had happened last Tuesday. A month’s worth of work literally down the drain. God.
    “Excuse me, Doctor.”
    Ouida looked over to see her assistant holding out a pink telephone message.
    “This came for you.”
    “Okay, thanks, Scott.” Ouida took the message. Maybe it was about that intern she’d interviewed.
    Come to New Orleans, Ouida, it said. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Breathing quickly, she glanced around the lab, her lab, so familiar, representing everything she’d worked so hard for. We need you, said the message. At last. Daedalus.
    Swallowing, Ouida sank down on a lab stool and reread the message. Relax, calm down. You don’t have to go. She looked through the window, honeycombed with wire for security. Outside the sky was clear and blue. New Orleans. New Orleans would be very hot right now.
     
    As soon as he saw Claire, Daedalus grimaced. Clearly she hadn’t made huge leaps forward since the last time they’d met. He saw her sprawled gracelessly in a cheap wooden chair. Two uneven rows of upside-down shot glasses gleamed stickily on the Formica table where she rested her elbows.
    Claire.
    The crowd chanted around her. A beefy, middle-aged man, some sort of Asian, Daedalus couldn’t tell which, seemed to rally himself. He tossed back another jolt of whatever white-lightning alcohol they were drinking. Beyond feeling the stinging burn at the back of his throat, he wiped his mouth on his work-shirt sleeve. Dark, half-closed eyes strained to focus on his opponent.
    Claire’s attention was caught momentarily by the insistent ringing of the bar’s wall phone.
    Answer it, Claire. Ask not for whom the phone rings; it rings for thee. . . .
    The ringing was blinked away as if it were an annoying insect. Claire smiled, and the crowd cheered at this show of bravado. Someone thunked down another heavy shot glass; an unmarked bottle tilted and splashed more rotgut, filling the glass and dousing the table around it.
    The crowd started clapping in unison, shouting something.