“Giguhl,” Adam snapped. “You’re not helping.” He pushed Zen toward Brooks while he used his body to scoot me back.
I crossed my arms and gritted my teeth together. How dare that bitch call me out like that. And, hello? I wasn’t the only one who thought Zen would be a mage. But did she call Adam names? Of course not.
Adam pulled me into the hallway, slammed the door behind us, and trapped me against a wall. “You need to apologize,” he whispered.
“What! Like hell I do. She’s the one—”
He put a hand over my mouth. “Shut up and listen, okay? We need her help. So you’re going to swallow your pride and apologize. Got it?”
I tried to sear him with my eyes.
“Sabina, please.” The pleading in his tone was what finally got me. I suddenly missed the old days when I didn’t give a shit about the consequences of losing my temper. But he was right. We needed Zen’s help if we wanted to save Maisie. Besides, I respected Rhea too much to be such a bitch to her friend after she’d gone out of her way to offer help.
I sucked in a long, slow breath. The inhalation brought both a measure of calm and the heady sandalwood scent of Adam. Closing my eyes, I nodded my surrender. He removed his hand, and when I opened my eyes again I was rewarded with a trademark Lazarus smile. Suddenly I felt a lot better about agreeing to supplicate myself.
I licked my lips. “Fine, I’ll apologize. But I want the record to reflect that I don’t like her.”
“Taken and noted,” he said. “But I think she’s okay. We just got off to a bad start.”
I didn’t share his optimism about Zenobia’s potential but kept that opinion to myself. See? I was already growing. Never let it be said I can’t learn a lesson.
When we walked back in, bodies scattered like cockroaches in a suddenly illuminated room. Giguhl and Brooks scampered over to the altar, where they tried their damnedest to look like they hadn’t just been eavesdropping.
Zenobia sat near the window like a queen waiting to receive visitors. I swallowed the flare of pride that threatened to make me renege on my promise to Adam. Instead, I called up Maisie’s face in my mind’s eye. I took a deep breath and reminded myself this apology was nothing more than a necessary evil en route to finding my sister. I stopped in front of the voodoo priestess and tried to look contrite. “I’m sorry I called you a cow.”
She inclined her head. “And?”
I paused, trying to figure out what else I had to apologize for. “And what?”
“You forgot to say you’ll be more generous in your attitude toward the mortally challenged.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, I thought. Adam cleared his throat, a subtle reminder to keep my temper in check. With great effort, I nodded. “I promise I’ll try. ”
She ran a tongue over her teeth as she assessed my sincerity. “In addition, I demand that you vow not to feed on me, my employees, or my customers.”
I looked up at the ceiling, praying for patience. “Not a problem.” The truth was, with the exception of a slipup in New York no one knew about, I hadn’t fed directly from a human in weeks. I still didn’t like the taste of bagged blood, but I had to admit it saved me a lot of trouble.
Zen nodded in approval of my easy acceptance of her terms.
I continued. “Just point me in the direction of the nearest blood bank and we’ll be good to go.”
Zen drew back with a grimace. “I’ll do no such thing. The good people of New Orleans need that blood more than you.”
I sighed. “Look, lady, what do you expect me to do? Starve?”
“I didn’t say that,” Zen said. Her smile gave me a feeling I wouldn’t like the next thing out of her mouth. “There is another perfectly acceptable solution. A butcher friend of mine would be happy to sell you all the cow’s blood you’ll need.”
“Fine.” Not that I was looking forward to sucking on farm animals or anything, but I just wanted this conversation over with already. I raised an eyebrow, challenging her to add another stipulation.
Instead, she stood up with a clap. “Excellent! And now that that’s settled, why don’t I show you to your rooms?”
“Wait,” Adam said.
“Yes?” she said with a raised eyebrow.
“You’re still going to help us?”
“Of course, cher. A proper southern woman never allows a simple misunderstanding to get in the way of hospitality.” She chuckled and rose from her seat. She paused. “Besides, Rhea warned me about this one’s”— she nodded toward me— “colorful personality.”
She sauntered over to Adam and slid her arm through his. He laughed— somewhat uncomfortably, mind you— and seemed to enjoy playing the gallant gentleman as he led her from the room with Brooks and Giguhl trailing them. I glared after them but managed not to call out a colorful retort.
Zenobia’s passive-aggressive comment had painted me in a corner. If I argued her point, it would just prove she’d been right.
Before I joined them, I cracked my neck from side to side. Breathing in a martyred sigh, I reminded my temper to behave itself. If I’d learned one thing, it was that killing people who annoyed me generally created more problems than it solved.
I mentally patted myself on the back. See? Totally growing.
5
Half an hour later, Adam, Giguhl, and I walked toward the halogen lights in Jackson Square. After Zen had shown us our rooms— actually an attic apartment on the third floor of her building— we’d decided to do a quick walking tour of the immediate area. I wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing exactly where I was and what lurked in the French Quarter’s shadows.
We passed Pirate’s Alley and entered the square in front of St. Louis Cathedral. Two young boys played large plastic buckets like drums for a crowd of tourists. Palm readers sat behind card tables scattered throughout the area. No one found it ironic to offer such a pagan service in the shadow of the looming cathedral.
With a sigh, I allowed my worries to float away down the Mississippi. My shoulders unknotted, and my breathing slowed for the first time in days. I even found myself smiling at a persistent fortune-teller who promised she could tell my future. Even if I thought she could help— which I didn’ t— I was content to allow myself to be in the now for the moment.
We were finally getting somewhere, and while the situation was far from ideal, I could almost feel Maisie here. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but the city pulsed with magic. A dark, earthy energy swirled beneath the streets, down in the city’s swampy foundations.
But I also detected a lighter, more familiar power in the air. If this magic had a color, it was cool cobalt blue. If this magic had a scent, it was bright cedar and jasmine.
My chest swelled with hope and my pulse picked up. Maisie was here somewhere. I just knew it.
Then my gaze landed on a middle-aged woman forking a twenty over to a fortune-teller with greasy hair and a couple of missing teeth. The trust and naked hope in the customer’s face gave me pause. Did my expression mirror hers?
Adam backtracked a few steps to check on me. Giguhl was perched on his shoulders, but the cat was too busy taking in the carnival of the senses to notice my distress.
“Red? You all right?” Adam asked.
I took a deep breath and dragged my eyes from the desperate woman at the table. I knew better than to put my faith in intangibles. Gut feelings, talismans, prayers to selfish gods— these things wouldn’t get Maisie back. Only clear thinking and strategy would get the job done.
I nodded at Adam. “Yeah, just watching foolish mortals get suckered out of their rent money.” Dismissing the scene with a wave, I pulled him away. As we walked, I pulled Giguhl onto my shoulders. For some reason, the weight and warmth of his little body helped dispel some of the lingering fog of worry.
We skirted the square containing a statue of Andrew Jackson and headed up the brick avenue toward the river. A crowd gathered at the corner, watching a living statue pose. The woman was dressed to resemble the Statue of Liberty, with her skin painted convincing verdigris. We paused at the edge of the crowd and watched her for a moment.
“Oh, my gods, what’s that smell?” Giguhl hissed from my shoulder. His little pink nose went up like a periscope searching for the source by smell alone.
I sniffed the air. The muddy scent of the Mississippi melded with the seductive aroma of warm blood flowing through all those mortal veins. But I was confident neither mud nor blood were making Giguhl squirm and snort the air like it was cocaine. Instead, I took a wild stab that it might be the scents of sugary fried beignets and smoky chicory coffee coming from the other side of the street.
“Café du Monde,” Adam said, pointing to the patio with its green-and-white-striped awning and the long line of mortals looking for a fix.
“Can we get some?” the demon cat hissed by my ear. “Pleeease.”
I exchanged a look with Adam. The defeated kind two tired parents shared over the head of a whining toddler. Finally, the mage sighed. “You want some, too?”
I shook my head. Adam lifted the hairless cat from my shoulder and held him like an ugly football under his arm. “Come on.” He shot me a long-suffering look. “We’ll be right back.”
While the mage jogged across the street to join the long line outside the café, I leaned against a brick wall to watch the performers. The area was humming with activity. In addition to Lady Liberty, a man in a tinfoil suit performed The Robot to music blaring from a boom box near his feet. Beyond them, artists hawked portraits of jazz greats and woven reed baskets to tourists exiting the hansom cabs parked along Decatur Street. Further downriver, a paddle-boat curtsied in the water like a young miss at a cotillion.
I was just about to carry on with my stroll when a familiar screech made my veins go arctic. I ducked out of instinct and scanned the sky. Sure enough, a white-feathered form circled the cathedral’s spire. I knew without a closer look that the owl had blood-red eyes.
