A Feather of Stone #3 Read Free Page A

ashes onto the ground and rubbed them with my toe to make sure they were out. I snuffed the candles and cleaned up the wax that had dripped off.
    “Petra would be very displeased if she knew about this.”
    The dry, slow voice made me jump about a foot in the air. I hadn’t sensed anyone around me—still didn’t, in fact. Looking around wildly, I finally saw a black shadow sitting on the stoop of a crypt, next to a cement vase holding faded plastic flowers. Daedalus stood and came over to me.
    My heart was beating fast—but I put my shoulders back, shook my hair out of my face, and began coolly putting my supplies into my bag.
    “You don’t care what Petra thinks? She raised you.” He knelt a few feet away from me, his black clothes blending into the night.
    “Why don’t you let me worry about that?” I said. I forced my breathing to slow, kept my face blank.
    “Why are you stirring up the past?”
    I looked at him. “You saw what I was doing?”
    “A bit. Not a lot. It was an ambitious spell. Why were you working it?”
    “Why should I tell you?” I stood up, my knees shaky, and shoved my feet into my slides. I began to head for the cemetery gate.
    “I could help you.”
    I paused for just a second, then kept walking. Daedalus walked beside me.
    “I could help you,” he repeated. “I know more about Melita’s spell than anyone. You obviously have a connection to her, through your bloodline. We could combine our strengths. It could be . . . very interesting. Very rewarding.”
    I reached the rusty wrought-iron gate that led out of the cemetery and opened it. It squeaked loudly.
    “I don’t think so,” I said. “Nan doesn’t trust you, and neither do I.” I turned and walked away from him, hoping he wouldn’t follow me home and maybe wake Petra up to fink on me.
    “Think about it.” His quiet words floated through the night, but when I turned, he was gone.

thais
    “ C hip?” Sylvie held out a bag of Fritos and shook it. It was lunchtime, but our school’s cafeteria was always crowded and noisy, so me, my friend Sylvie, her boyfriend, Claude, and Kevin LaTour were sitting outside.
    I took some. “ Thanks. Trade you for my pickle?”
    “Great.” Sylvie leaned against Claude and bit the pickle. “At least it’s Wednesday,” she said. “Middle of the week. After this, it’s all downhill, toward the weekend.”
    I laughed. “I hope next weekend is better than last weekend,” I said without thinking.
    Next to me, Kevin groaned and covered his face, obviously thinking about our date last Saturday, when we’d gotten hit by lightning. God, and that wasn’t even what I’d been talking about. That had been scary, but at least it had been scary in the normal way of just being one of those freaky nature things that happened in New Orleans, not some kind of magickal attack.
    “I promise,” he said, putting his hand over his heart. “Our next date will be disaster-free.”
    I slapped his knee lightly. “It wasn’t your fault.”
    Actually, I’d been referring to the nightmare of a Récolte circle I’d gone to on Sunday—but for a second I’d forgotten that I couldn’t talk about it with my friends. They knew that witches existed, in a vague way, but they didn’t know that I and my family actually practiced the craft.
    I still found it hard to believe, myself.
    Kevin put his arm around me, and I smiled at him. He was a sweetheart—the more I knew him, the more things I liked about him. Plus, of course, the high adorableness quotient.
    “Can you maybe grab some coffee with me after school today?”
    My face lit up and then instantly fell. “ ’Fraid not. First I’m going to get my Louisiana driver’s license, then I have to go home and wash, scrape, air out.”
    Kevin made a sympathetic face. Pretty much every day for the past couple of weeks, my sister Clio and I had spent most waking moments helping to repair, clean, and desmoke our little house. We’d set it on fire during a