Cate Tiernan - A Chalice of Wind

"They're two completely different maps," said Axelle,

Daedalus saw what she meant. "What's the date on that first map?"

"Uh, 1843," Richard said, finding the date in one corner.

"And this is a current map," Daedalus clarified. "Clearly, the older map is wildly inaccurate-it's not a satellite-data topographical map. The same features don't even appear on both. Look, Lac Mediant, Lac Penchant. This one is called Grand Barataria, and now its called, uh, Lake Salvador, I think," He squinted at the two maps, then glanced up and saw that this afternoon's quick, heavy thunderstorm was on its way.

"Crap," Axelle said.

"But this is the map we always used," Jules said.

"But it's been a long time," Richard pointed out, "Even the actual courses of the rivers have changed. The coastline has changed a lot, With every hurricane that's hit Louisiana, some aspect of the landscape changed"

"Now what?" Jules asked, frustration in his voice, "This is a major point,"

"Yes, Jules, we know" Daedalus said, hearing himself sound testy. He tried to dampen his irritation. They needed to pull together, to work as one. He reached out and put a hand on Jules s shoulder, "I'm sorry, old friend, I'm upset. But this is only a temporary setback, I'm sure. We'll do more research. We'll look at maps from different years and compare them. It will show us how the landmarks have changed. From that we can extrapolate where we need to be looking. It will take time, but we can do it!'

"We only have a little time," Jules said.

Again Daedalus squelched his temper, "We have time enough," he said, trying to sound both certain and reassuring. "We'll get started tonight," He looked over at Richard, who'd been quiet. That handsome child's face, those old, old eyes, Richard met his gaze and nodded, Daedalus got into the cat just as the first big raindrops hit the windshield. They had to pull this off. This was their only chance. Who knew if they would ever have another?

Half an hour late. That seemed about right. If he was still here, he was serious and had staying power; if he was gone, then good riddance,

(Actually, if he was gone, I would track him down like a dog.)

We were supposed to meet at Amadeos at nine. It was nine thirty, and the place was starting to fill up, I looked at the bouncer when I went in, and he automatically started to card me.

You don't want to do that, I thought, sending him a quick distraction spell. Just then, something at the back of the bar caught his eye, and he turned, striding through the crowd like a bull through a field of wheat.

I slipped inside and smiled as I saw some regulars, I could feel admiring looks from people and hoped Andre appreciated the skintight white jeans and tie-dyed halter, I flipped my hair back, looking unconcerned, and slowly examined the patrons,

I felt him before I saw him. All of a sudden, my skin tingled, as if someone had shocked me with static. The next moment, a warm hand was on my bare back, and when I turned, I was practically in his arms.

"You're late.' he said, looking into my eyes until I felt breathless.

"I'm here now"

"Yes. What do you want to drink?" Expertly he wove us through the crowd until we could stand at the bar to order. Nothing too crass or too childish. "A margarita," I said. "No salt."

Five minutes later we had made our way into Amadeos back room, where a small stage rilled one end Sometimes on weekends they had live bands, but it was a weeknight, and instead people were clustered around small tables and clumped onto the easy chairs and small couches scattered around the room. It was very dark, and the walls were covered with flocked red wallpaper so kitschy it was in again.

Andre led me to a battered purple love seat that was already occupied by a couple of college guys. He didn't say anything, just stood there, but somehow they suddenly got the urge to get refills on their drafts.

I sank down first, taking Andres hand and pulling him down next me. He smiled slightly and didn't resist; then he was on the love seat and with no hesitation kept coming at me until our mouths were touching, our eyes wide open. I held my right hand still over the back of the love seat so I wouldn't spill my drink, but the rest of me leaned against Andre, wanting to sink into him, eat him up, melt our bodies together.

Minutes later one of us pulled back-I don't know who. I took a sip of my drink, feeling stunned and hot and nervous and very, very turned on. I glanced uncertainly at him, and he looked like everything I felt.

"What do you have?" I asked, nodding toward his drink.

"Seven-Up," he said, fishing the maraschino cherry out with long, graceful fingers. He held it out to me and I went for it, loving the burst of candied over-sweetness in my mouth. When I could talk, I said, "Oh, sure, get the girl drunk while you stay totally in control.' Which, to tell you the truth, did not seem like a good situation for me to be in. I mean, I was practically blind with lust for Andre, but I still had one or possibly two wits about me.

Andre gave me a crooked smile and I silenced an involuntary whimper. "Number one,' he said softly in his accented voice, "I don't think you would need to be drunk, and number two, I'm not drinking, but somehow I feel I've lost control anyway"

Okay, I was in love. And this is how sappy it was: I was totally, completely, one hundred percent happy and content to be sitting on that lumpy love seat in that crowded bar, drinking my drink and just staring into his dark blue eyes. I wanted for nothing, needed nothing, had to go nowhere. I could sit there and feast my eyes on him till the end of time.

I looked at him thoughtfully, running one ringer around the edge of my glass. "No, I wouldn't have to be drunk" I agreed shakily. I leaned back against the side of the love seat and stretched my legs across his lap. My bare feet felt the warmth of his hard thigh through his black jeans, and I pressed them down experimentally; He had muscles.

"Tell me about yourself? I said, pushing my hair back. I played with the straw in my glass and smiled, "Where have you been all my life?"

He smiled too, getting the corny reference. Despite everything, I remembered how Racey had felt about him, and I owed it to her-and to myself-to find out a little bit about him before, say, we got married.

'Andre what?" I prompted, when he didn't answer. 'Are you still in school? Where do you live?"

'Andre Martin," he said, giving his last name the French pronunciation: Mar-taihn. I blinked. "I'm taking a year off, out of university, to work for my uncles law firm here. As a paralegal. I have my own apartment in the Quarter." His warm hands slid under my jeans and massaged my calves. It made my brain feel like mush, or maybe that was because I had drained my large margarita. "Not far from here," he volunteered, smiling wickedly, I put the glass down on the little table next to the love seat.

"Andre Martin?" I said, making sure,

"Yes."

I felt like I'd been looking at his face my whole life. "That's so weird," I said, feeling distinctly fuzzy-headed. "That's my name too. Clio Martin. Isn't that weird?"

He looked amused, then considered it. "Martin is not so unusual a name," he pointed out.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I said. "It just seemed funny-having the same last name." My head was suddenly very heavy; I dropped it back over the arm of the love seat. Involuntarily I moaned at the strength of Andres fingers rubbing my legs.

He laughed, then swung my legs over the side again, which pulled me up next to him. He put his arms around me and kissed me.

Things after that were a little blurry. I know he asked me to go home with him, and, miracle of miracles, I said no, I couldn't make it too easy for him. I know we kissed and made out and held each other so tightly that at one point my top had his shirt's button impressions on it, which struck us both as really funny,