Free A Chalice of Wind by Cate Tiernan

Jules and Axelle. Maybe Manon. Maybe Richard. But the others, they’re for good. They follow the Bonne Magie. You can too. Your power could elevate them to goodness.
    “No, no,” Marcel sobbed as the velvet curtain opened and Brother Eric touched his shoulder. “I can’t go back.”
    “Marcel, we must all face our demons,” Brother Eric said softly. “Now come, rest. You’ve been working too hard. I’ll have Brother Simon bring you some soup.”
    Marcel let himself be led out of the chapel, its stones standing watch over God’s disciples since 1348. But Marcel knew they could no longer protect him. It was only a matter of time. Every step he took was a step closer to his own personal hell, and whatever awaited him in New Orleans.

Clio
    “Y ou’re late.” I gave Andre the full force of my “peeved” look, which made lesser guys quake. Andre just grinned and swooped in to kiss my neck, which pretty much shorted out all rational thought.
    “So we’re even, then,” he said, with such an unrepentant, wicked expression on his face that I laughed and couldn’t hold it against him. Instead I pushed against his chest, barely moving him, and then walked ahead, trying to get my fluttering nerves under control. My palms tingled where I’d touched him.
    “You’re lucky I waited,” I tossed over my shoulder.
    Andre caught up to me, matching his steps with mine. It was dusk, the sun just beginning to set over the bend of the Mississippi River. It was a magickal time. I mean, literally magickal, when the force of the sun was yielding to the force of the moon. Some rites used this time on purpose to harness the effects of both.
    “This is a pretty park,” he said.
    I looked around. The small golf course had been molded with weensy, artificial hills. Huge live oaks towered over us, spreading shade beneath their branches. It was so familiar to me that I barely noticed anymore. “I like how green New Orleans is,” I said. “My grandmother and I went to Arizona a couple of years ago, and it was awful. I mean, actually, it was pretty, in a really dry, dusty way. But I felt parched somehow. I like being surrounded by green.”
    I pressed my lips together. Déesse, I sounded like a freaking idiot. Or a travel guide. What was wrong with me? Why did he throw me off balance? I took a deep breath, momentarily closed my eyes. Center. Center myself.
    “Come this way,” I said, holding out my hand.
    Andre took it, his skin warm against mine. “Where are you leading me?”
    Everything he said seemed to have two meanings. He could make anything sound sexy or forbidden.
    I smiled back at him, pulling him along. Years ago, Racey and I had found a place we called our clubhouse. Really, it was just a dip in the ground, between the massive roots of three live oaks. If you lay flat, no one could see you until they were right on top of you. We used to lie there for hours, talking, practicing little baby spells, giggling to ourselves when we heard passing golfers swear and throw down their clubs.
    Now, standing at the entrance, I suddenly remembered my horrible vision—the one where blood had bubbled up from between a tree’s roots. But that had been a cypress tree. I swallowed hard and forced myself to step over the large roots. It had just been a dumb vision—you could see all kinds of freaky stuff when you let your magick rip. I wasn’t going to think about it.
    I sat down, tucking my skirt under me. It was lavender and tiered, almost reaching my ankles, long and flowing. Guys loved stuff like that. On top I wore a little white cotton camisole that buttoned up the back and had embroidered lavender butterflies. I’d worn my hair in two braids to get it off my neck.
    I kicked off my sandals and patted the ground next to me.
    “You should feel honored. You’re the first non-blood sister to see this place,” I said teasingly, tapping his knee with a long piece of centipede grass.
    He looked at me quickly. “Blood sister?”
    I