A Feather of Stone #3 by Tiernan Cate Page A

would have to be practically on top of him to see him now. On his back, he looked up through the leaves at jigsaw pieces of cloudy sky.
    Clio. Clio and Thais. As usual, the thought of Thais made his jaw clench and his gut ache. Her sweetness, her acceptance. He was dully surprised that she was still so angry, so hard against him. At Récolte, she’d been cold and unyielding—at least, until they were in the middle of that awful circle, their emotions being ripped out of them and used as fodder. He’d felt her then. Felt the deep and powerful love she had for him. He’d felt her anguish, her anger. And her love. She was much stronger than he would have thought possible.
    Now she was seeing that boy, that stupid boy, kissing him, wrapping her arms around him. If Luc were dark, really, truly dark, no holds barred—that boy would have had a car wreck by now.
    Good thing he wasn’t that dark.
    Sitting up, Luc unpacked his supplies. With a stick he drew a circle in the dirt around him and set four stones at the four compass points. This was dark enough. This was sinking to new lows, even for him. Already he was going further than he’d thought he’d have to. Ten years ago—five—none of this would have bothered him. But there was something about the twins—a vulnerability coupled with an incredibly compelling strength. He hadn’t felt so strongly about anyone in—ever? He frowned, trying to remember. He’d loved Ouida, in his way. He’d loved other women over the years, the centuries. But who had gotten to him this way? Who had ever caused this deep hunger in him? Had anyone? He couldn’t recall.
    It was almost sunset. Luc sat in the middle of his circle, closed his eyes, and let himself sink into a trance. Leaf of tree, cloud of sky, come to me and know not why. I draw you here, with blood and bone. I know you’re near, Clio, my own.
    There. He sent it out into the world, feeling it leave him, aiming straight and true toward the one he called. Similar to what Daedalus had done but on a much smaller scale: if Clio were even fifty miles away, she wouldn’t feel it. Daedalus’s call had reached to the other side of the world. Also, Clio could resist this one if she wanted to, if she was strong enough. Not by just shrugging it off—she’d have to work a little. But she could do it. He wondered if she would.
    The sun had almost completely set by the time he had his answer.
    He felt her before he heard or saw her, felt her angry energy. But she had come.
    When she was close, he opened his eyes. She was striding toward him, her face set in a grim expression.
    “How dare you!” she practically spit at him when she was close enough. He had the sudden thought that if he’d been standing up, she would have punched him. As it was, she swung her woven straw purse and smacked him on the head.
    “Ow!” It hurt but was so unexpected he almost laughed.
    “You used a spell on me!” she snapped furiously. “A week ago, you punched Daedalus out for doing the same thing to you! You hypocrite!” She actually kicked him, but she was wearing soft-soled beaded ballet slippers, so it probably hurt her more than him.
    He stood quickly, holding up his hands. “Yes, yes,” he said, speaking softly. “I’m sorry. You’re right, it was a terrible thing to do—”
    “ Another terrible thing to do,” she said, her green eyes narrowed. “You just seem to keep coming out with them, don’t you?”
    “I’m sorry,” Luc said again. “I was desperate—I had to see you, talk to you. I’m sorry I used a spell, but I didn’t know what else to do. Clio, please, please, just sit and talk to me for a minute. Please.”
    She crossed her arms over her chest, pressing her breasts upward against her olive green camisole top. A couple of circuits in Luc’s brain threatened to short out, but he ruthlessly damped them down.
    “You have one minute,” Clio said, her voice like an arctic wind.
    “Okay, all right.” Luc ran one hand