A Chalice of Wind

A Chalice of Wind Read Free Page B

Book: A Chalice of Wind Read Free
Author: Cate Tiernan
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Her name? Some Asian word that meant “crazy white lady”? Daedalus couldn’t tell. She wasn’t going to answer the phone—no one was. She wouldn’t hear his message. He would have to try to catch her when she was more sober. Good luck. It would take her days, at least, to dry out from today’s little episode.
    Her eyes glowing greenly, as if lit from within, Claire’s unsteady hand reached out for the glass. It wobbled, clear liquid running over her fingers. She didn’t notice. She held the shot glass to her lips and tossed back her head. Then, triumphantly, she slammed it down on the table. The crowd roared its approval; money openly changed hands. Across from her, the Asian man bluffed by reaching out his hand for another glass but then slowly leaned sideways, sliding gently against the table. He was lying on the floor, eyes shut, shirt wet, before anyone had realized he was out.
    Daedalus groaned. All right, later for her.
     
    At least Marcel wasn’t likely to be pickling himself from the inside out, Daedalus thought, closing his eyes and focusing on the man who’d been a mystery for as long as Daedalus had known him. Marcel. He pictured the youthful face, the smooth, fair skin, the blue eyes, the pale auburn hair.
    The candlelight’s reflection didn’t move while Daedalus gazed at it. Marcel.
    Daedalus could practically feel the chill wafting off the stone walls in his vision. He mused that he could be seeing Marcel today, a hundred years ago, three hundred years ago, and it would all look the same: the rough stone monastery walls, the dim light, the orderly rows of desks. Three hundred years ago, every desk would have been occupied. But today few Irish families committed younger sons to God so they’d have one less mouth to feed. As a result, only two other occupants kept Marcel silent company in the large hall.
    Marcel was hunched over a large book: an original, hand-illuminated manuscript. The gold leaf had faded hardly at all since the time it was ever so carefully pressed in place by a penitent servant of the Holy Mother Church.
    Daedalus sent his message, smiling at his own creativity, proud of his strength. Marcel could deny what he was; Daedalus never would. Ouida could ignore her powers, the same powers that Daedalus reveled in daily. Sophie could fill her time with learning and other intellectual pursuits. Daedalus spent his time harvesting strength.
    Which was why he was greater than they; why he was the sender and they the receivers.
    In the monastery, Marcel’s thin shoulders hunched over his manuscript. The beauty of the art in the margins was filling his soul with a too-pleasurable torment—was it a sin to feel such human joy upon seeing the work of men before him? Or had their hands been divinely guided, their illuminations divinely inspired? In which case Marcel was only paying homage to their God by his admiration.
    His lips barely moved as he read the Latin words. But—he frowned. He blinked and rubbed a rough sleeve over his eyes. The letters were moving. . . . Oh no.
    Panicked, Marcel looked up. No one was paying attention. He shielded the book with his body, keeping it out of sight. He would never escape. And never was such a long time. Now he accepted that the fine-edged black letters had rearranged themselves. He read the newly formed words. Urgent. Come to New Orleans at once. Daedalus.
    Marcel brushed his rough sleeve across the cold sweat dampening his brow. Then he sat, struggling to feel nothing, as he waited for the words to disappear, to become again a prayer in Latin, lauding God. He had to wait a long time.
     
    The last storm had stirred the waters so that fishing or crabbing was pointless. Better to wait till the water cleared, a week, maybe two. Besides clouding the waters with silt, the storm had littered the sandy beaches with all manner of driftwood, dead fish, an empty turtle shell, uglier human detritus: a bicycle tire, someone’s bra. There was a story about

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