Free A Chalice of Wind by Cate Tiernan Page A

nodded solemnly. “My best friend, Racey, and I are blood sisters—we did a rite when we were ten. I think I still have the scar.” I looked at my thumb, but the tiny cut where I had shared my blood with Racey’s had long become invisible.
    “She was with you at Botanika,” Andre said, leaning back on his elbows. He was wearing a blue oxford shirt that looked incredibly soft and worn. The sleeves were rolled halfway up to his elbows. Like his shirt, his khaki cargo shorts were well broken in, the fabric velvety.
    “Yes.” I looked up to find him smiling knowingly at me. Without even really thinking about it, the words sprang into my mind: I am the woman you desire, my will is strong, my passion’s fire. I will give myself to you, once you prove that you are true.
    It wasn’t a proper spell, not really. There was no real intent in my mind, I had no tools, and I wasn’t even trying to achieve any specific thing. It was more . . . opening his mind to the idea. Allowing him to see me as his true love. Sort of moving things along, in a way.
    He blinked once, quickly, and looked at me, almost as if he’d heard my thought, which was impossible. But that’s how finely we were already attuned to each other, that he could somehow sense something, some strong emotion flowing from me.
    “How are you liking the local scenery?” he asked, echoing my words to him the first time we met.
    I swallowed, feeling shivery and excited. “I’m liking it,” I said, and my voice sounded a little rough, a little unsure. Perfect.
    “Come here,” he said, his face intent, his slight French accent making his h almost silent.
    Moments later, it was just like at Amadeo’s. We fit together perfectly, and for the first time in my life, I felt actually overwhelmed. Before, no matter who I was with, part of my brain was always doing an imaginary manicure, or going over a lesson with Nan, or thinking about clothes I wanted to buy. This time all my senses were focused on Andre, the way he felt, tasted, the scent of his skin, the heat in his hands as he held me. This is the one, I thought. I’m only seventeen, and I’ve found my one perfect love. It was amazing and also a tiny bit scary. All my emotions made perfect sense to me, but there was a tiny part of me that was still marveling at how strongly I felt about him so quickly. But I couldn’t stop it—I was caught on this swift ride of emotion, and there was no way to slow it down. I didn’t even want to.
    I couldn’t help smiling against his lips with happiness, and he pulled back to look at me.
    “What’s funny?” he asked, looking at me.
    “Not funny,” I said, pressing my hips against him. “Happy.”
    “Happy?”
    I laughed at his confused expression. “Yes, happy. ” I raised my eyebrows. “Or are you not happy to be here with me?”
    “No.” He smiled. “I’m happy.” He traced my eyebrow with one finger, letting it trail down my cheek. “Happy to be here with you.” He leaned back so he was lying next to me and looked up at the sky. Never in my life had any boy ever stopped kissing me himself. It wasn’t all physical with Andre—he wanted to be with me for more than just that. He was so much deeper than anyone else I’d ever known, and my heart swelled. I looked at his beautiful profile, like a classical statue’s, and felt like the luckiest person in the world.
    “Tell me about yourself,” he said, still gazing at the thicket of oak leaves overhead. The growing darkness made it even more private. “Who do you live with?”
    I laughed. “What kind of a question is that? You don’t think I live with my parents?”
    He looked at me curiously. “Oh. And do you?” Maybe he’d been hoping I had a roommate, my own place, and I suddenly felt stupid, childish.
    “Actually, no,” I said. “I live with my grandmother. I always have.”
    “It’s very sad to lose your parents so young,” he said, turning on his side to face me. He took my hand and held it