By Cate Tiernan
After seventeen-year-old Thais Allard loses her widowed father in a sad automobile twist of fate, she is compelled to depart the one domestic she's ever identified to dwell with a complete stranger in New Orleans. New Orleans greets Thais with many secrets and techniques and mysteries, yet none as incredible because the second she comes head to head with the impossible the same dual, Clio.Thais quickly learns that she and the dual she by no means knew come from a relatives of witches, that she possesses wonderful powers, and that she, in addition to Clio, has a key function in Balefire, the coven she used to be born into. Fiery Clio is below extremely joyful to need to percentage the highlight, however the twins needs to discover ways to mix their powers with a view to entire a ceremony that would remodel their lives and the coven perpetually.
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Additional resources for A Circle of Ashes (Balefire, Book 2)
But she was not, November found, when she kissed her outside the restaurant, under the washed-out constellations. She tasted like flour, flour and salt. Their breasts pressed tight together between two fog-dewed overcoats, the ache of it half-painful and half-pleasant. Xiaohui took her to a little apartment above a grocery store, and they fell together just inside the doorframe, awkwardly, like great beasts too eager for niceties. She bit November’s lower lip, and there was blood between them then.
He would watch her angles under the strings, the crease of her legs beneath an immodest skirt, her lips moving against the glass. The little wet fog of her breath. She could almost tell what he looked like without turning her head: good black suit, a little too small, clutching his briefcase like a talisman, probably a little gray at the temples, no rings on his hands. They all looked like that. Sei turned, her blue hair brushing her hipbones. Good black suit, a little too small, clutched briefcase, freckles of gray in the hair.
It was not his fault that that simple thing instilled so much trust in him, so much instinctive, automatic familiarity. Lyudmila had locked herself out of her tall, narrow house, where her cats mewled in panicked sopranos from within. “That was my sister’s name,” he said softly as he put his eye to the lock in her brownstone, his lashes falling just inside the old metal. The woman spoke to him hopefully in Russian. This occasionally happened, and he dreaded it. He could speak no more than a few words now, those snow-slushed consonants and swallowed vowels having receded into the same icy mist as Novgorod.
A Circle of Ashes (Balefire, Book 2) by Cate Tiernan