Cate Tiernan - A Chalice of Wind

My breath stopped in my throat and I froze where I stood, Diesse. This was the definition of poleaxed, this stunned feeling, where time stood still and all that crap.

"What?" said Racey, almost bumping into me. She followed my line of vision. "Whoa."

The Hottest Guy in the World was staring right at me, I've known my share of hot guys, but this one was in a whole different league. His sable-colored hair was too long, as if he couldn't be bothered to get it cut prop' erly. Dark eyebrows angled sharply over dark eyes. He was young but with strong features, like a man, not a boy. In that instant, I knew we would be together. And I also knew that he wouldn't be easy to wrap around my little finger, like other guys. His open, interested look was a challenge. One that I was going to accept.

I raised my eyebrows slightly, then went slowly into the cubicle, giving him a good look at my back, all bare skin because of the halter, Racey followed me in a second later, and I made an awed, oh-my-God face at her. She shrugged noncommittally.

"Yon don't think he's too old?" she whispered.

I shook my head and laughed, surprised and a little freaked to notice that my fingers were trembling, Racey helped me undo the back ties, and I scrambled back into my bra, I felt like I'd just run a thousand-meter race, hot and cold and trembly all over.

I was dressed for comfort in an over-dyed man's tank top and a ratty pair of jean shorts that were cut off right below my underwear. While it would have been nice to be wearing something more sophisticated, I knew that most guys would think I looked damn fine.

"That guy is fantastic," I said.

Racey shrugged again, "We don't know him," she pointed out,"He could be anyone,".

I looked at her, Racey had never been like this- usually she was as goget-'em as I was. Did she want him for herself? I didn't think so. She didn't look jealous. Just,concerned,

I had to get up my nerve to saunter out of the changing cubicle, the halter in my hand. Which was very unlike me, A guy-any guy-hadn't made me nervous since I was about four years old.

He was still there, not even pretending to be cool or casual. His gaze locked on me like a dark laser, and I felt an actual bona fide shiver go down my spine. Oh my God, this was going to be fun. And scary. Anything that was truly fun always had an element of scary to it.

He didn't smile, or wave, or try to look approachable. Instead, keeping his eyes on me, he nudged a chair out a bit with his foot, Tres suave.

I was dimly aware of Racey fading into the background like a good best friend. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her settle into a seat at'the bar. Then I was at his table, and he pushed the chair out the rest of the way for me, I sat down, dropped the halter on the table, and reached over for his drink. Our eyes stayed locked as I took a sip-he was drinking iced espresso, which seemed impossibly cool. He was perfection. The ultimate. And I was going to show him that we were a matched set.

"I haven't seen you here before," I said, thrilled to hear my voice sound a tiny bit husky, a tiny bit lower than usual. This close, I could see that his eyes were actually an incredibly dark blue, like the sky at midnight. It made him look that much more intense.

“I’m new in town," he said, and he had a French accent God help me.

"How are you liking the local scenery?" I asked, and drank more of his coffee.

He looked at me, and I felt like he was picturing me lying down somewhere with him and he was thinking about what we would do when we got there. My heartbeat sped up.

Tm liking it," he said, understanding my meaning. He took back his glass and drank from it, "I'm Andre."

I smiled, "Clio."

"Clio," he repeated, and my name with a French accent sounded incredible, I spoke some French, like my grandmother did. Our religion was all based in French from hundreds of years ago. But I didn't have an accent, I mean, except an American one, "Tell me, Clio," he said, leaning toward me over the small table. "Are you what you seem? Would you be dangerous for me to know?"

"Yes, And no," I said steadily, lying through my teeth, I had no idea what I seemed to be, and no way would I tell him that I was dangerous only because I didn't intend to ever let him get away, "What about you?" I asked, feeling like I was walking some fine edge, "Are you dangerous for me to know?"

He smiled then, and I felt my heart shudder to a stop inside my chest, At that moment, I would have given him my hand and let him take me across the world, giving up my home, my grandmother, my friends. "Yes, Clio," he said softly, still smiling. “I’m dangerous for you to know.”

I looked back at him, feeling utterly, utterly lost. "Good," I managed, my throat dry.

An instant of surprise crossed his beautiful, sculpted face, and then he actually laughed. He took my hand in both of his. Little sparks of electricity made me tingle all over, and then he turned my hand palm up. He looked at it and slowly traced a finger down the lines in my palm, as if reading my fortune. Then he took out a pen and wrote a phone number on my skin.

"Unfortunately, I'm already late," he said in a voice that was so intimate, so personal, it was as if we were the only two people in Botanika. He stood up-he was tall-and put some money on the table for a tip. "But that's my number, and I'm telling you: if you don't call me, I'll come find you."

"We'll see, wont we?" I said coolly, though inside I was doing an ecstatic victory dance. Something in his eyes flared, making me take a shallow breath, and then it was gone, leaving me to wonder if I had imagined it.

"Yes.’' he said, sounding deceptively mild. "We will." Turning, he walked with long, easy strides to the door and pushed it open. I watched him pass the plate glass window and had to struggle with myself not to jump up, run after him, and tackle him right there.

Racey slid into the seat opposite mine. "Well," she said. "What was he like? Did he seem okay?"

I let out a deep breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "More than okay." I uncurled my fingers, showing Racey his number written on my palm.

Racey looked at me, unusually solemn.

"What?" I asked her. "I've never seen you like this"

"Yeah," she said, and looked away. "I don't know what it is. Usually, you know, we see a guy, and bam, we know what the deal is, how to handle him-no surprises, you know? They're all kind of the same. But this one-I don't know.' she said again. "I mean, I just got a funny feeling from him."

"You and me both," I said sincerely, looking at his phone number in my palm.

"It was like I instantly knew he was… really different," Racey persisted.

I looked at her, interested. She was one of the strongest witches our age in the coven, and besides that, she was my best friend. I totally trusted her.

"Different bad?" I asked. "I didn't see that. He totally knocked me off my feet, but it all felt good… Besides the scary stuff, I meant.

Racey shrugged, as if shaking off bad feelings, "I don't know what I'm doing," she said. "Don't listen to me. He is really hot. And I didn't even talk to him," Then she looked at me again. Just… be careful."

"Yeah, of course," I said, having no idea what that meant. We got up, and I paid for my new halter, which I planned to wear the next time I saw Andre.

Okay, one good thing- beignets-weighed against the katrillion bad things. Mostly, one incredibly bad thing-not having Dad, who had been there every day of my life, let me win at Monopoly, taught me to drive. He'd held me when I cried, and my eyes filled up now just thinking about it. He'd been quietly funny, gentle, maybe a little bit distant, but I'd always known he'd loved me. And I hoped he'd known how much I loved him.