Heather Graham
Blood Red

To New Orleans.

To Sean and everyone at the Monteleone.

For Alice Duffy, with lots of love, respect and

tremendous admiration.

Especially for Kate Duffy—“Duffee” will always mean

pure excellence—with deepest gratitude, always.

For Christine Feehan (and clan), Cherry Adair, Molly

and Kate, Brian and Kristi Ahlers, Deborah and Harvey,

Lance and Rich, Debbie Richmond, Pat and Patricia,

Bonnie, Kathleen, Aleka, Toni, Sally and all those who

were so willing to hop on and give New Orleans and

me their very best.

And for Connie and T, who get me through

everything.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Prologue

There had never been a more beautiful bride, never a more picture-perfect wedding. The weather had bowed down in honor of the occasion, and there was a slight cooling breeze. The night was neither too warm nor too cold, and the time had been carefully chosen; the sun was just setting in the western sky. The bride had longed for a castle, and they had found an ancient cathedral perched atop a hill within an old fortress town.

The groom was gallantly trying to be everything the bride’s fairytale prince should be. He had spent his adult life trying to live life by his own code, which demanded decency to his fellow human beings. He didn’t bend easily to anyone’s whim, but he had learned the importance of compromise, and of being compassionate. He knew himself capable of error and had learned to admit it. He could honestly say he was ready to battle for the downtrodden or the underdog, and he had lived through enough battles to see many of the errors made around him. More than anything, as he prepared to wed his stunningly bride, he could say that he loved her dearly, more than life itself.

Thus…this wedding.

Whatever she longed for, a castle deep in a land foreign to him, an elegant horse-drawn carriage, or anything that could possibly complete the fantasy wedding of her heart, she could have. It helped that events had recently turned in his favor; where for many years he had worked to support what he prayed was a talent, he had suddenly discovered himself a rich man, almost overnight. And though the bride hailed from this part of the world, they had met in the United States. She had heard him playing; he had looked up and met her eyes. Life hadn’t been the same from that moment on. But since many of their closest friends were still struggling financially, he and his bride had—very tactfully, they hoped—managed to treat their friends who couldn’t afford the trip, providing an enjoyable respite from the rigors of life, as well as the pleasure of the wedding itself.

A lavish runner extended the length of the cathedral aisle. The groom, elegant in a black tux, stood next to his identically attired groomsmen. As the music played and the priest cleared his throat, they all looked to the rear for the entry of the bride and her party.

The flower girl was adorable, tossing petals with a somber appreciation for the great duty entrusted to her. The bridesmaids followed, lovely in glimmering silver offset with black trim.

And then the bride…

So beautiful…

Her hair, long and lustrous, as red-gold as the sunset, fell to her shoulders, haloing her face in beauty. She wore a modern gown, but one designed in a Renaissance style, and his heart caught in his throat at the sight of her. Beneath the sheer flow of her veil, he could see her eyes shimmering, touched by a mist of tears. He smiled in return, and his heart thundered.

She moved gracefully down the aisle.

And then…

The spill of blood appeared on her dress, beginning as a tiny dot at her heart. Then it widened…widened to cover her breast, the entire bodice….

She stopped walking.

She stared at him.

There was horror on her face. Her eyes pleaded.

He started to run to her, but he couldn’t reach her. A sound was rising in his ears. A storm, a siege, a rush…

The blood came then, like a tidal wave. A rush of it, as if a crimson river had exploded, broken a dam, surged down a hill…

He blinked.

He saw her face her eyes…pleading for help.

Then the blood washed everywhere, along the aisle, up the ancient lichened walls of the cathedral. It rose higher and higher.

He was drowning in it.

Choking on it.

Far away from the distant mountains, a man awoke from a nightmare. He let out a hoarse cry and jackknifed to a sitting position. The scene in his mind had played out so realistically that he was momentarily convinced he was covered in blood. He was coughing, as if he had been fighting for breath in his sleep.

He cast off the sweat-soaked sheet that had covered him, rose, and strode to the doors to the balcony, quickly casting them open. Reality rushed in with a breath of magnolia-scented air.

Would it never stop? Would the nightmare never cease to haunt him?

It was the end of spring, the beginning of summer. Heat rose by day, and yet, by night, there was a breeze that touched his skin like a gentle hand.

He looked up at the sky. Eerie clouds veiled the moon, giving it an unearthly tinge of color.

He gritted his teeth, his features hard and determined.

It looked just as it had then….

At the blood wedding.

1

Mark Davidson watched the couple at the bar, who seemed to be like any couple at any bar.

The man leaned toward the woman. She was pretty, in a tube top that displayed sculpted abs and a short skirt that afforded a long look at longer legs. She batted her lashes now and then, lowering her head, offering a shy, even rueful, smile to the man at her side. He was tall, and dark. Despite his apparent ease with her flirtation, there seemed to be a tenseness in him, a leashed energy that, to Mark, at least, suggested something wasn’t quite right.

The couple laughed together, teased each other. Body language. She’d been looking for something that evening; he’d definitely been set on action.

“Another drink, sir?” Momentarily, he was distracted by the waitress, an attractive but older woman with large eyes and a nice figure. Her voice was polite but also weary, he thought. Maybe it hadn’t been easy for her over the last few years.

“Um…” He wasn’t sure why she was asking. He’d barely touched the beer he’d ordered earlier. Then again, they needed to make money here, so maybe it was just a hint.

“Sorry, I guess you don’t,” she said with a little sigh. He had a feeling she was a native. Her accent was richly Southern. Not that New Orleans was a city where only natives could be found. It was the kind of place people simply fell in love with, as if it had a personality all its own. Of course, some people loathed the city’s free and easy spirit, and, he had to admit, the vomit in the streets after a particularly wild night during Mardi Gras wasn’t exactly a selling point. None of that mattered to him. He loved the place, the narrow streets, the old buildings and the mixture of cultures. He loved everything about the place.

Oh, yeah. He loved everything about the place, except for…

The waitress was blocking his view, he realized. He had chosen a back table, in the shadows. He was away from the jazz band playing to the far left of the bar, near the entrance. The group was great; Mark would have happily come here just to listen to them. That was one of the things he loved most about New Orleans; some of the best music in the world could be heard here, often just by walking along the streets. Young talent, fine talent, often began their careers playing in Jackson Square or right on any street corner, performing in the hope that the passersby would be tossed their dollars in a guitar case or a hat.

There was so much to love about New Orleans.

Like the many times he had come here with Katie…

No.

He took a long swallow of the beer in front of him, lukewarm now, and gritted his teeth. He wasn’t here to walk down memory lane.

“Sure, yeah, another beer. Cold, please,” he said, trying to look around the waitress. But when she moved, he saw that the couple at the bar had gone.

He leapt to his feet and dug into his pocket for a bill. He handed it to her.

“Never mind,” he said, heading for the door.

“Sir, your change,” she protested, staring at the fifty he’d handed her.

“Keep it,” he murmured, his eyes already riveted on the door to the street.

Out there the world was bright, alive with neon, laughter and the dueling beats of jazz and rock, as the music from the bars and clubs lining the sidewalks spilled into the humid air. Flashing lights advertised all manner of drinks and entertainment; old buildings seemed to peer at the rush of people with a haunting, even if decayed, elegance, despite their cloaks of commercialism.

Men and women, groups, duos, even singles, meandered down the street, some slowly, slightly inebriated, bumping into one another as they walked. Others moved with purpose.

He didn’t see the couple from the bar, and he swore bitterly to himself.

Where the hell would the man have taken the girl? It wasn’t as if he had to commit murder in a darkened cemetery; he could have rented a room anywhere. Hell, he might even have a place of his own here. Where? Alone, he might have moved as quickly as the wind. But he had the woman with him, slowing him down.

“Sir?”

He turned. The waitress had followed him.

“I said to keep the change,” he said gently.

She smiled. “The bartender said the couple you were watching went left. The guy talked her into a late night cemetery visit.” She shrugged, a soft and thankful glow in her eyes. “Lots of assholes trying to pick up women convince them to slip into the cemeteries at night. Risky business. Drug dealers hang out there—and worse. You take care.”

“Thanks,” he told her. “Thank you.”

Now that he had a direction, he started running down the street. So much for thinking the guy might just opt for a hotel room or the courtyard of some nice bed and breakfast.

As he ranm, he patted a hand against the pocket of his Chinos. He could feel the vial. He was armed, as well—conventionally armed—but he knew that wouldn’t mean a damned thing, given what he was up against.

He reached the cemetery. Entry at night was illegal, but he scaled the fence easily, landing with a soft thud on the other side.

As he did, he heard the laughter. They were deeper into the grounds, behind the chipping stone and plaster of an above ground tomb, with its sad angels and praying cherubs.

“Ooh, this is decadent. Creepy, and kind of exciting,” a female voice said.

“Yes. I know.”

“You want to…here? Right here?” she whispered. Her voice sounded a little uncertain. Now that she had come to the cemetery, perhaps she was feeling a little bit bothered by such disrespect for the dead. Or maybe it was fear of getting caught by the police.

“You tell me,” the man answered. “Do you want to feel my lips touch your flesh?”

The girl made a sound Mark couldn’t identify, and he clenched his jaw tightly, seeking to control the pain and fury that swept through him. He didn’t blame the girl. She might as well have been hypnotized.

“I want…yes….” she murmured.

Mark crept closer. There they were.

The man had stripped off his shirt. The girl was stretched out on top of one of the tombs, her bare torso glistening beneath the moonlight. The man was bent over her, his hand stroking the length of her legs, his lips teasing the bare flesh of her midriff.

“Wait, please!” There was fear in the girl’s voice now.

“Too late.”

“No. No!”

“You’re very pretty…. We could have had so much more fun first. Excitement like you’ve never imagined. Too bad that tonight…well, I’m really am hungry. It’s been a while for me, I’m afraid.”

She was gasping out another protest again. She had just realized she was about to die, Mark knew, and she was trying hard to scream. But terror, as sweet as sugar in the blood, was beginning to fill her, and she couldn’t choke out the agony trapped in her throat.

Now!

Mark inhaled, tensing. She wouldd be dead any second now if he didn’t act. He reached into his pocket. He sprang.

He was in terrific shape, having served with the Marines before putting in several years as a bouncer while getting his own work sold. Even so, as fast as he was, the man sensed his approach. He heard the snarl of rage before he saw the man at the tomb swirl around, ready to meet him, a horrible, twisted mask of fury on his face. He saw the mouth open, the glint of the fanglike teeth in the darkness. Oddly enough, they had a fascinating opalescent glow.

He swore softly to himself. This wasn’t the same man he had been trailing with such dogged determination. It was another, no doubt equally as bad.

His heart sank. And, yet…

This creature was about to kill. He had to remember justice—had to put it above revenge. He couldn’t let his guard down; he couldn’t falter for an instant.

Before he could reach the creature, however, the man gave a harsh laugh of amusement. “Going to shoot me?” he demanded.

“Hell no,” Mark assured him. His vial was full, and it was open. He aimed directly into the face and eyes of his opponent.

It let out a bloodcurdling cry of rage and astonishment as the holy water bathed its features. There was a flutter of shadow and darkness, a weak flapping of wings. It took off and crashed hard into a tomb.

Mark followed it. He drew the small but sharply honed stake he always carried from his pocket, then skewered the mix of shadow and substance and bat wings by the tomb.

There was a burst of misty color in the night. Dust exploding in the air, crimson with the blood of many lifetimes.

The flapping stopped. For a moment there was something of the lumpen and darkened essence of a man by the grave…then there was nothing. Dirt and ash. Dust to dust.

He stood there, just staring, suddenly shaking as he broke out in a cold sweat.

Suddenly the girl started to scream. The sound jerked Mark back to reality, the here, the now. He turned. She was staring at him with wild, tear stained eyes, obviously in a state of total shock..

“Shut up,” he said, sharply but not unkindly.

“He was a…a vampire!” she said. She blinked in disbelief at her own words.

“Yes.”

“You killed him!” she gasped. “But…he was real.” She shook her head. “That’s…impossible.”

“I’m afraid not.

She swayed, still reeling, shaking as if she were suffering from a severe chill.

“He—he really was a vampire?”

Mark could hear sirens approaching. Someone must have heard her scream. “Yes, he was.” But not the one I was looking for, he added silently.

“I don’t…I can’t…believe this,” she said.

“We need to get out of here. The police are coming.”

“Shouldn’t we stay and report…um…this?”

He arched a brow at her. “You’re going to report what happened here?” he asked.

She stared at him, still shaking. “Yes, but…no, it isn’t real, can’t be real, but…”

“It is real.” He was trying very hard to be patient, but time was running out. He sighed. “They won’t believe you, though. We have to get out of here.”

Her jaw worked hard as she tried to form words. At last, still shivering, she said, “Get me over the wall, please?”

“Of course. Head that way.”

He could move like the wind himself—college football—but she was still so stunned that he felt as if he was dragging dead weight. He had to urge her to help herself as he pushed her up the wall, then jumped to safety behind her and brought her back down on the sidewalk.

Back on solid pavement, she stared at him, shaking her head. “He was really a vampire?”

“Yes.”

“No,” she argued, then, “Yes,” she said.

She was going to need some major therapy, he thought.

“You…you saved my life. I—I—oh, God, I owe you…you…”

“You and I both have to get out of here. They’ll think we’re junkies or thieves or something,” he said flatly.

“Yes, but…I need to…to thank you somehow.” Her eyes were wide, frightened; she wasn’t being sexual, just grateful and unsure what to do about it.

She straightened her spine, still unable to believe what had happened, but trying for proper dignity.

“My life. You saved my life. I owe you something.”

The patrol cars were nearly at the gates.

“You want to do something for me?” he demanded “Be careful. Don’t go off into cemeteries with assholes you meet in a bar, okay?” He grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”

He ran, pulling her along after him, and stayed with her down Canal Street and all the way to Harrah’s.

“I don’t even know your name,” she told him.

“And you shouldn’t,” he said gently. “Go in there. Call a friend. Go home.”

He turned and left her, suddenly exhausted, and more disappointed than he cared to admit.

He’d thought he’d been chasing…someone. But he hadn’t been. It was that simple.

He swore softly.

Damn, but there were a hell of a lot of foul beasts preying upon the world.

It occurred to him as he walked wearily back to his hotel that man himself could be considered one of them—even before the taint of pure evil touched upon him.

He stopped and looked at the roiling sky. He’d killed a murdering bloodsucker tonight. And it was all just beginning.

“I’m coming to get you. You’re going to be mine, in a world of blood and death and darkness,” Deanna Marin whispered darkly.

“Oh, for the love of God, cut it out,” Lauren Crow pleaded.

“Seriously. Perhaps we’ll open a door to another world, and demons will spring out and bring darkness and evil into this world,” Heidi Weiss said, laughing, unable to maintain a low, threatening tone with the same success Deanna had managed.

Both Deanna and Heidi were staring across the outdoor table at Lauren with ridiculous grins on their faces. Of course, they were both holding drinks obtained from one of the bars here in Jackson Square, though she couldn’t remember which one. Deanna’s glass was in the shape of some kind of nuclear material container and Heidi’s looked like a naked man, buns, pecs and all. Perhaps due to a combination of alcohol and the atmosphere of New Orleans itself, they were suddenly eager to visit one of the numerous fortune-tellers who worked the area around Jackson Square with their tarot cards and crystal balls at the ready.

Lauren was delighted to be there—New Orleans was one of her favorite places in the world. Few locations offered such an artistic setting, with not just the visual stimuli but the with the history of the area and liveliness of people filling the very air as New Orleans did.

Tonight, however…

Maybe it was due to the one Cosmo she’d imbibed, but instead of feeling light and giddy, she felt as if a strange sense of dread and darkness had settled over her.

“Lauren, what on earth is the matter with you?” Heidi demanded. “It’s just for fun.”

Lauren just didn’t like the idea. She didn’t know why—she wasn’t particularly superstitious—but she had never wanted to have her cards read, let someone see her future in her palm, or receive any other kind of astral or otherworldly advice. Time, in her opinion, brought enough hardship without having to worry ahead of time about the bad things that could happen.

But she hated to be a wet blanket when they were here in New Orleans for a much anticipated pre-bridal shower for Heidi. Since they worked together at the artistic concepts company they had created after college, it had taken a lot of planning to get all their projects completed so they were free to take off together.

It was Heidi’s party, and Lauren had promised herself that she was going to make sure everything went exactly the way Heidi wanted it to. But this desire to play with the occult was somerthing new, and it was making her very uncomfortable.

“You said you would do anything at all this weekend to make me happy. Remember, you’re my bridesmaid, so you’re supposed to be my slave,” Heidi teased.

“Why are you so bugged about it?” Deanna asked.

Lauren didn’t know why, and she knew it was silly, but she really didn’t want to look into the future.

“You can pick whoever we go to. How’s that?” Heidi asked.

“Guys, I just think—”

“You need to do this just so you won’t be frightened of a few dramatic effects and some spooky patter,” Deanna said.

“I’m not afraid,” Lauren protested quickly, but even as she spoke, she realized that in fact that was exactly it. She was afraid.

“Really, think about it,” Deanna said, “Most of the psychics here are just college kids, trying to make a few bucks. Think of all the times we came here to draw, and how badly we needed the money people paid us for our sketches.”

“I think you’re forgetting the important point here. I told you. You’re supposed to be my slave, remember?” Heidi said.

”Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lauren muttered. “All right. In that case, I think we should see some kind of voodoo queen. This is New Orleans, after all.”

“And do you know an authentic voodoo queen?” Heidi asked, grinning.

Lauren had to smile; she couldn’t help finding a certain amusement in the question. Heidi Weiss had powder blue eyes, platinum hair and a smile a mile wild, the kind that coerced you into a good humor whether you wanted to feel cheerful or not. That grin was a little lopsided now, but just a little. They hadn’t been drinking to the point of saturation, only enough not to feel any pain.

“We can walk around, look them all over,” she suggested.

Lookswise, Deanna was the opposite of Heidi, with almond dark eyes, sleek, almost blue-black hair, and now she decided to take charge. “I’ve got it. We’ll walk around the entire Square to start. And then, if we don’t see someone Lauren likes, we’ll walk the entire French Quarter.”

Lauren wondered if Deanna really had that much energy, or if she thought Lauren would decide more quickly if the alternative involved endless walking, since she was already—and obviously—exhausted They had arrived that morning on the red-eye from Los Angeles, and they hadn’t stopped since. Lauren always felt very much at home in New Orleans, since she came from Baton Rouge, but Deanna had grown up in NewYork, and Heidi was from Boston. They had come often after becoming friends in college, but neither Heidi nor Deanna knew the little quirks and twists and turns of the place the way she did. They’d hit the casino early; then she’d been assigned to lead them to every little shop in the French Quarter, every place that wasn’t part of a chain. Now she was tired and just wanted to get this over with.

“There,” she said, pointing completely at random.

The woman she had chosen was sitting at a small portable table, facing the Cathedral. She appeared to be older than they were, but beyond that, her age was indeterminate. Her hair was tied back with a scarf, and she wore a white peasant shirt and skirt. Her face was stunning, with strong features and skin a beautiful shade of gold that spoke of a multi-ethnic heritage. She was speaking earnestly to a man in the chair across from her, pointing to the tarot cards she was laying out before her as she spoke. She might have been at a Renaissance fair, rather than the French Quarter of New Orleans. Behind her was a small red tent that would have looked at home on a medieval battlefield. There was a table just inside it, covered with a cloth that depicted the moon and the stars. On the table was a crystal ball.

“She already has a customer,” Deanna noted.

“I’m sure he won’t take that long,” Lauren said with a shrug. She wasn’t sure why she had pointed to the woman, but now that she had, she was suddenly determined. Suddenly she realized that she did know why—she would have liked to draw the woman. Her face was so arresting.

“We could go to Madame Zorba right there,” Heidi teased, inclining her head toward a younger woman just a few feet away.

Lauren grinned. Madame Zorba was definitely a college student. “I like the woman over there,” Lauren insisted.

“There’s a good-looking gypsy guy up the street,” Heidi said.

“You’re engaged,” Deanna teased her.

“Yeah, but you and Lauren could use a guy,” Heidi said.

“Wow. Thanks,” Deanna said.

“Just what I need, a gypsy,” Lauren said. She didn’t let her smile falter. Heidi, damn it, you know I’m not looking to meet a guy.

“You don’t have to fall in love, pack him up and take him home with you,” Heidi told her. Then she added softly, “But you could date. We’re talking well over a year here.”

“Thanks for the advice, Mom,” Lauren murmured. She paused, shivering suddenly, looking up. The night sky seemed to have clouded over; it had suddenly become cooler. There was a moon trying to come out, she thought, but it was shadowed by the clouds. She frowned. It was strange. There was a red glow where the moon should have been. “We may get rain tomorrow,” she said.

“It’s supposed to be clear all weekend,” Deanna said.

Lauren shrugged. “Look at the sky.”

“Um, well…could be smog,” Deanna said.

“Hey, we’re not in L.A.,” Heidi said with a laugh.

“What—is it just called pollution when you’re not in L.A.?” Deanna asked.

“It’s just an angry red sky,” Lauren murmured.

Heidi groaned. “Oh, Lord, we haven’t even gotten to the fortune teller yet, and she’s talking about poetic doom.”

“It’s just strange,” Lauren said.

“Is there anything weird in the wind?” Heidi teased.

“As a matter of fact, it’s gotten a bit cooler,” Lauren said.

“Thank God,” Deanna breathed.

“You know, we could just go have another drink,” Lauren suggested.

Heidi giggled. “The guy is gone. Let’s go.”

Lauren let out a sigh of impatience. “Just remember, you two wanted to do this. I’ll do whatever you want, but I want it on record that I’m against such silliness.”

“This trip is all about silliness,” Heidi reminded her. “I’m going to get married. No more wild weekendss with the girls. No more adventurous vacations. I mean, Barry is great, and he’d never care if I wanted a few days away with you guys, but…well, you know. And I guarantee you he’s going to have one of those wild bachelor parties with strippers, and his idiot brother is going to make sure he has a lap dance—”

”I’ll be happy to get you a lap dance,” Lauren said.

Heidi laughled. “I don’t want a lap dance. Now humor me, slave,” she told Lauren.

“I’m all humor,” Lauren muttered. “Let’s go.”

As they approached the woman, Lauren decided that she must look as on edge as she felt. Either that or she had talked herself into some kind of ridiculous paranoia, because it seemed as if the woman frowned when she saw them, as if she looked worried. Still, Lauren couldn’t help noticing the strength of her features, and she wondered if she dared ask to do a sketch of her at some point.

There was no nameplate, nothing like Madame X or Madame Zenia or any other cliché, on her table. She rose, stretching out an elegant arm and offering a slender hand with elegantly polished nails. “Hello,” she said simply.

“Hi,” Heidi said cheerfully.

The woman stared at Heidi gravely. “You seek the future?”

“Absolutely,” Heidi said, introducing herself. “I’m Heidi Weiss, and I’m about to be married. I’d love some advice.”

The woman nodded, but her expression said that she read in Heidi’s polite words the simple fact that she didn’t really believe in what she was doing. It was all for fun.

“I’m Deanna Marin,” Deanna said, stepping forward. “And this is Lauren Crow.”

The woman arched a brow slightly, studying Lauren. “Crow?”

“I’ve been told that my great-grandfather was Cherokee,” Lauren said, taking the woman’s hand. There was strength in her grip. It offered a strange assurance.

“I, too, have Cherokee blood. We have the same green eyes.”

“So we do,” Lauren agreed, though she wasn’t sure green eyes came from the Cherokee part of her background.

“You’re tall…five-ten?”

“Around there. Another grandfather was from the Orkney Islands. A big tall guy, so I was told. Some Norse, some Scots.”

“Ah, and thus you are redheaded.”

“I like to think auburn.”

The woman smiled. Lauren had to admit, she liked her, but more than ever, she didn’t want a reading, didn’t want to know what the future supposedly held. She wanted to ask the woman to have a drink with them, instead.

“I like to think I am not turning gray. I’m Susan,” the woman said.

Heidi started to giggle. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized quickly. “It’s just so…normal.”

Susan offered a slight smile in return. “Life is normal, the cycle of life is normal, the air we breathe is normal. So many things are normal, including much that we don’t understand yet.”

“You have a beautiful face,” Lauren heard herself blurt out.

Susan inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the compliment. When she lifted her eyes again, she smiled. “You’re artists?”

“I’m a graphic designer, actually,” Deanna said. “Heidi and Lauren can draw anything in the world, though. They’re fabulous.”

“And you’d like to sketch me?” Susan asked, looking at Lauren.

“I’d love to.”

“That’s not why we’re here, though,” Heidi said.

“Ah, yes, the future,” Susan said. She lifted her hands. “What will it be? Would you like a reading of your palm? Or shall we see what’s in the cards? And then, of course, there is always the crystal ball.”

“We should each do something different,” Deanna suggested.

“Tarot cards,” Heidi said.

“I’ll take a palm reading,” Deanna determined.

Lauren shrugged. “Crystal ball.”

Susan nodded, indicating several small fold-up chairs inside the tent. “Lauren, you are welcome to sketch. I’ll begin with the bride.”

Lauren always carried a small sketch pad in her handbag, but she wondered how Susan knew that, and she was slightly disturbed. Or slightly more disturbed, if she were being honest Then she told herself that Susan already knew they were artists. Guessing that she carried a sketch pad was just a logical assumption. No doubt most people who did this kind of thing for a living learned how to assess people, how to read a great deal in a few words and intuit where to go from there.

Deanna had unfolded the little wooden chairs. She sat on one side of Heidi, while Lauren backed her chair away a bit and took out her sketchbook. As she sat, watching Susan instruct Heidi on how to choose her cards, she could hear the sounds around them. Music in the distance, coming from the bars. People talking, then stopping to ooh and aah at the artwork available on the street. Across from them, near the Cathedral, a lone flutist had set down his cap, and now he performed a plaintive and beautiful tune.

She looked up at the sky. Clouds still rode heavy over the moon, like a red curtain in the air.

She studied Susan. The woman was soft spoken. Elegant. Not at all what she had expected. Her pencil moved over the paper. She drew the lines first, then filled in the shades and shadows. Finally she added background, the greenery around the Square, the sidewalk, the tent, the statue of Andrew Jackson rising far behind Susan’s back.

“Ugh! What does that mean?” Heidi asked, drawing Lauren’s attention to the table, where Heidi had turned up a card with a skeleton.

“It’s…death, isn’t it?” Heidi asked.

Susan shook her head. “It often signifies change, an ending so that there can be a new beginning. You are about to end your single life. You will start into a new life.”

“Whew,” Heidi murmured. Though she spoke lightly, Lauren thought she was seriously relieved, and she felt a new wave of discomfort.

“What’s that?” Deanna asked, pointing to another card.

“Love.” Susan looked at Heidi. “You can rest assured in this—your fiancé loves you very much. You are all he has ever wanted, all he could ever need in life.”

“Oh,” Heidi breathed happily. “Ditto.”

“Yes, I can see,” Susan murmured.

“Will the wedding go off without a hitch?” Heidi asked.

“No wedding goes off without a hitch,” Susan said dryly as she scooped up the cards, patting them back into a neat pile. “But you are deeply loved, and you love deeply in return.”

“Thank you.” Heidi rose and looked at Lauren with an expression on her face that plainly said, See? Nothing to be afraid of.

Lauren smiled back weakly, wondering if Heidi had really been listening. Susan hadn’t said anything specific about Heidi’s wedding at all—she had just generalized about weddings. And she had said the skeleton card often indicated a change.

Then again, Lauren told herself, maybe she was the one hearing words that weren’t being said.

“On to the palm,” Deanna said. She and Heidi changed seats. As Deanna started to sit down, she glanced at Lauren’s drawing and frowned.

“What is it?” Lauren asked.

“Uh, nothing, I guess. It’s a great drawing. It’s just that…well, you made the skeleton card the focus of it.”

“I did not!” Lauren protested and looked down at the sketch. It was one of her best, she thought. She’d captured not just a two-dimensional image but given it great depth. She’d found the strange and arresting beauty that was Susan’s. She’d caught the atmosphere of the Square. You could look at the drawing and almost hear music.

And yet…

Deanna was right. Somehow she had detailed the tarot card down to the finest line so that it unerringly drew the viewer’s eye and became the focus of the picture.

“Don’t draw me,” Deanna whispered to her.

“Okay,” Lauren assured her quietly in return.

Susan was watching them both. Deanna noticed and gave her a rueful smile. “Lauren was engaged once.”

“And her young man died,” Susan said. Wow, damned good guess,

Lauren thought irritably. Though it was a fifty-fifty shot. Either they’d broken up or he had died. She knew that she was just one of many young women of her day. She’d fallen in love with a soldier. He’d gone to war. They’d emailed for six months, and then she’d stopped receiving replies.

Until the army lieutenant had come to her house.

She’d gone through it all. The devastation, the anger. And the healing. She didn’t feel that she had any terrible psychological hang-ups. She just wasn’t actively looking to find love again. But if the right person came along…

Would she be ready?

She really didn’t know.

“I’m so sorry,” Susan said to Lauren gravely. She was clearly sincere, making Lauren feel vaguely guilty, though she wasn’t quite sure why.

“Thank you,” she said, ignoring her uncomfortable feelings. “But, hey, that’s the past, and we’re looking to the future, right? What does Deanna’s hand say to you, Susan?”

Susan studied Deanna’s palm and looked up gravely.

“What?” Deanna asked impatiently.

“So far, it has told me that you do not like housework at all,” Susan said.

Even Deanna laughed. “Okay, I suck. Seriously, I’m really bad at it, so I gave it up.”

“Don’t worry, she has a wonderful woman who comes in twice a week,” Heidi assured Susan.

Susan traced a finger down a line in Deanna’s hand.

“The life line, right?” Heidi asked.

Susan shrugged.

“It doesn’t look very long,” Deanna said worriedly.

Susan shook her head, looking at Deanna. “Often, things are what we make them. The line…it’s like the card. It might not mean anything bad at all. It signifies change. A change in life. Heidi is getting married.”

“I’m not even dating steadily,” Deanna said.

“You’re a beautiful woman,” Susan said, sidestepping.

“What else do you see?”

Susan pointed. “Here…artistic success. You are clever and determined.” Susan looked up and stared hard at Deanna. “When you set your mind to something, you can make it happen. When we fail, far too often, it is because we’re afraid. Remember, you have the talent and the will. Don’t be put off by circumstances that seem dire. You are very strong. And there will be changes.”

“Will I ever get married?” Deanna asked.

Susan shrugged. “Your palm is not telling me. I can say that you are passionate and giving, and that you are quite capable of creating fire, passion—and love—around you.”

“I like that,” Deanna said.

Lauren looked at her, trying to avoid Susan’s eyes. Lots of people could have said that to you, her stern gaze said.

“Your turn,” Deanna said.

“Ah, the crystal ball for our talented young artist,” Susan murmured. She didn’t move, though, and her eyes were downcast.

“I think Susan is tired,” Lauren said.

“Oh no, you are not getting out of this!” Heidi insisted.

“May I see more fully?” Susan asked.

Lauren handed her the drawing she had done.

“You are very kind,” she murmured. “You have caught me on paper with great beauty.”

“I want to work more on it. I’ll send you a copy when I’m done,” Lauren told her.

Susan nodded and handed back the drawing. Lauren flipped her sketchbook closed and returned it to her purse.

“It seems like you’ve had a busy night. You look tired. You really don’t have to do another reading,” Lauren said.

“She’s trying to get out of this,” Heidi explained.

Susan stood. She wasn’t smiling. “I think that we must look into the crystal ball.”

Heidi and Deanna started to rise.

“There is only room in the tent for one—I’m sorry. The crystal ball is quite different from the palm and the cards.”

Susan waited gravely, and at last Lauren followed her into the tent, the sounds from the street and the night receding. As she sat in the chair opposite Susan, the world outside all but disappeared.

“Your fiancé, he was a soldier?” Susan asked, staring into the crystal ball.

Startled, Lauren looked at her. “Yes.”

“I’m very sorry, truly. But…there are those who believe there are certain fates we cannot avoid, and others who believe we have a hand in our own futures. Perhaps many people lived because your young man died,” she said softly.

“Thank you. I like to think that,” Lauren murmured.

“You don’t date much.”

“I’ve dated.”

Susan smiled enigmatically.

“What?” Lauren asked.

“You don’t date much because you feel that you meet nothing but dimwits and users since you lost your man.”

“It’s hard to meet the right person.”

They had been chatting casually, almost as if they were engaged in a normal conversation at any one of the smaller cafes or bars in the city. But Lauren realized that something had been subtly changing since she had come into the little tent.

The crystal ball had begun to glow, to fill with a red mist.

She stared at it, unable to tear her eyes away. She only dimly noted Susan’s face, registering as if from a great distance that the other woman looked tense, even distressed.

“You must leave here…you and your friends…must go.”

“Yes,” Lauren said.

But she couldn’t move. It felt as if she were frozen where she sat, as if her very muscles were paralyzed.

There was something dark at the core of the crystal ball, dark and red, finding form as the milliseconds ticked by.

It was a bird. A winged thing.

Then it was not.

It took the shape of a man. Tall, the face dark, the figure imposing.

A sound seemed to rise in her ears, and she realized that it was laughter. Deep, rich, taunting-and cruel.

She heard words.

So soft at first that she couldn’t understand what was being said. Then she knew.

“I’m coming for you. I’m coming to get you.”

“No,” Lauren murmured, struggling for sanity, for reality. Someone had heard them talking earlier. Someone had heard the words that Deanna had spoken teasingly.

“Lauren…” The dark figure called her by name. “I’m coming to get you, Lauren….”

“No!”

“I’m coming to get you, and you’ll be mine in a world of blood and death and darkness.”

Susan suddenly jumped up, as if she, too, had suddenly broken of the invisible bonds holding her there.

She made a strange sound and her arm flew out.

The crystal ball flew off the table and shattered on the ground.

But even as it flew into a thousand pieces, it seemed to Lauren that she heard a husky whisper of evil laughter.

2

She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten there, but Lauren found herself outside the tent. It seemed so normal now, nothing more than a little red canvas tent again.

She was back outside just as if they had finished their session completely normally,, as if she had casually strolled out after hearing some nice normal prediction for her future. She was back outside, in the midst of the neon light and movement of the night. The very normal night. She could hear footsteps and laughter, bits of conversation, the sound of mules’ hooves as they clattered on the pavement, drawing carriages filled with tourists.

Both Heidi and Deanna were staring at her in surprise, and that wasn’t normal at all.

Lauren turned to look back inside the tent. The images she had seen now seemed ridiculous, but the shattered crystal ball was there as proof that something out of the ordinary had happened.

“Lauren!” Heidi said, shocked. “Susan, we’re so sorry. We’ll pay for your crystal ball, of course. What on earth happened?” She stepped forward, slipping an arm through Lauren’s, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I knew you weren’t exactly into this, but did you have to break her crystal ball?”

“It was an accident!” Lauren protested.

It had been an accident-and she hadn’t even been the one to break it. But beyond that, she couldn’t have seen what she thought she had. She had been tricked. It must have been some kind of a parlor trick, though that seemed impossible now, with all the light and noise around her.

Even now, the details of what she had seen, what she had heard, were slipping from her mind. She tried to hold on, but they were all escaping her. And she was beginning to feel like a fool.

Was she worse off-mentally or emotionally-than she had thought?

No!

Susan was still staring at her. And she didn’t seem to be concerned about her crystal ball but about Lauren herself.

“Where are you girls staying?” Susan asked.

“The Old Cote,” Deanna said.

Susan frowned in puzzlement. “I don’t know it.”

“It’s a lovely place, made up of several cottages. It was kind of a family compound before the storm, but they’ve opened it up as an inn now as way to recoup some of their losses. The grandmother—the family matriarch, I guess—is enjoying it, so I guess the place will stay around for a while. I found it on line,” Deanna said, her enthusiasm for their little discovery evident.

“But where is it?” Susan asked.

Deanna seemed a little surprised by the fortune teller’s persistent tone. “Off Conti and a good bit back from Bourbon, luckily. The noise is great when you’re part of the party, but when you’re trying to sleep, it can be a bit much.”

“You have to move. Move into the biggest, most crowded hotel, and room together, stay together, until you can get out of New Orleans,” Susan warned.

“But we’re not leaving,” Heidi said. “Not for several days. This is my bachelorette party.”

Susan shook her head, a look of dismay on her face. She stared at Lauren, and Lauren knew that her own expression must have shown the woman that she was already feeling silly and skeptical, as if she had been the target of a trick—or a joke.

“You have to leave.”

“Oh, please,” Deanna said impatiently.

“I’ll pay you for the damages,” Heidi said, starting to sound irritated.

“You came for readings. You’ve had them, and now you have to leave,” Susan said.

Heidi pulled out her wallet and tried to give Susan money, but the woman only backed away. Heidi set the money on the table, shaking her head. Then she linked arms with Lauren, pulling her away. “You do not get to pick the fortune-teller anymore,” she said, dragging her along.

As they put some distance between themselves and the Square, Deanna burst into laughter. “Didn’t you feel as if we had just walked into an old horror flick?”

“I’m sure she was going to tell us to beware the bite of a werewolf any second,” Heidi agreed, and then she, too, burst into laughter.

“And you! You fell for all her tricks,” Heidi told Lauren.

“I did not,” Lauren protested, but silently she was thinking, Yes, I did. It was creepy as hell in there.

She felt like an idiot now, though, as they passed Royal Street, nearly at Bourbon. Bands were playing loudly from several corners, the sound of jazz mixing with rock.

“We need a drink,” Heidi said. “Name your poison.”

“Meow,” Deanna said.

“What?”

“The Cat’s Meow. Karaoke,” Deanna said.

“You must be joking. We suck,” Heidi said.

“And that’s why we’re perfect for karaoke,” Deanna said happily.

“I need a lot more to drink for this,” Lauren said. The two of them had her laughing, buit karaoke was no more her style than mystical readings. “Wait!” she said, stopping in her tracks and forcing the others to stop, too.

“What?” Deanna asked.

“I’m only Heidi’s slave. Heidi, you don’t really want to sing karaoke, do you?”

“You bet I do!” Heidi said.

Groaning, Lauren found herself dragged into the bar.

It wasn’t that bad. The host was a handsome, well-built black man with an exceptional voice. His choice of music was great; the place was hopping. The entire room actually seemed to enjoy the rendition of “Summer Nights” that Heidi and Deanna laughed their way through.

But when the two of them left the stage, Lauren was glad to see that they were feeling the effects of the noise and the crush of humanity, and were ready to go before she had to make a fool of herself in public. They left the club and headed for a darker place with soft jazz that was just down the street.

“Order me another one of those fizzy things I was drinking,” Lauren said to Deanna when they had found a table. “I’m off to find the restroom.”

She left her friends and made her way through the tables. When she reached the hallway that led to the facilities, she was startled when she ran straight into a man. She hadn’t even realized she’d been walking with her head down, deep in thought. Still, she wasn’t sure where he’d come from as she plowed straight into him.

Apologizing, looking up at last, she backed away.

He was tall, two or three inches over six feet, and definitely well built—she had almost bounced off the muscles of his chest. His hair was dark, a moderate length, and even in the shadowy hallway, it was apparent that his eyes were a deep and striking blue. She thought he was somewhere around thirty, with ruggedly striking chiseled features: high cheekbones, a long, straight nose, determined jawline and a high forehead. His mouth was generous, the kind that could harden into a thin line or curve into a quick smile.

He wasn’t model-pretty. He had the look of a man who lived, and lived by his own rules, heedless of others’ opinions.

“I’m sorry,” she said, realizing that she was staring at him.

But then again, he was also staring at her.

“Kate,” he murmured.

“Pardon?”

He took a step back, deep eyes almost burning into her. “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “You reminded me of someone. My mistake. Sorry,” he said again. But he didn’t move, and he was still staring at her.

As if he really did know her.

But he couldn’t possibly. She would have remembered if she had ever crossed paths with him before.

“I…uh, need to get by,” she said softly.

“Of course,” he said.

But he was still staring, and she felt a blush rising to her cheeks.

She didn’t know him, she was certain.

But she would like to.

She could introduce herself, of course. They were in a bar. People did things like that in bars. Some of them even went to bars specifically for the purpose of meeting people.

Some people did things like that, but she didn’t. She hadn’t dated in…well, only once since Ken had died. She hadn’t been able to work up any interest in the print shop owner Deanna had decided she had to meet. She just hadn’t been attracted to him. Maybe her feelings had still been too raw, the sense of loss too new. She had been completely in love with her finance. He had made her smile, made her laugh. And she had been attracted to him from the start. There had been nothing wrong with the print shop owner. He just hadn’t been Ken. She just hadn’t been attracted to him.

But this stranger staring at her, this man she didn’t know from Adam?. She was attracted to him.

She flushed at her own thoughts. Some people picked up strangers in bars. She didn’t, not at this stage of her life. She was here for Heidi.

She smiled. “Honestly, I didn’t mean to ram you. And I do need to get by.”

“Right. Sorry” He stepped aside.

She walked past him, heading for the door marked “Madames.” She couldn’t help but turn back.

He was still watching her.

Great. She was heading into a ladies room in a dimly lit corridor and a good looking but possibly very weird guy was watching her.

She entered, closed the door and leaned against it. There was no lock on the door, only on the three individual stalls.

I should go back, make Heidi or Deanna come with me, she thought. I’m going to be attacked in a restroom on Bourbon Street.

She was being ridiculous, she told herself. It was just the uneasiness left over from her experience in the fortune teller’s tent. The woman was probably still laughing at the three of them. She probably ought to report Susan to the tourist board. Imagine! Trying to scare them, telling them to leave town. That was hardly good for business.

She opened the door a crack and peered out.

The man was gone. She was relieved.

And also disappointed.

She let out a sigh, irritated with herself for still feeling nervous.

She was so nervous, in fact, that she took her time, unwilling to go back out into the club right away. She splashed her face with water after she washed her hands, reminding herself that she was being ridiculous. When she finally left the restroom behind, there was no one in the hallway.

The bar had grown more crowded while she was gone. As she wended her way through the crowd, she could see that Heidi was alone at their table. Frowning, she noticed Deanna was at the bar, chatting with a tall dark man. For a moment her heart thudded. Was it the same man?

No, not unless he had changed his shirt. The man she had met had been wearing a tailored shirt; this man was dressed more casually.

She started toward the bar and her friend. Deanna had definitely imbibed more than she had Tonight, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to let her friend get too close to a stranger in that condition.

On the other hand, Deanna wasn’t the one getting married. She was free to flirt if she chose.

Apparently she was simply worried in general tonight, Lauren thought. She headed for the bar, but as she did, the man turned and headed out to the street.

“Hey There,” Deanna said as Lauren reached her. “Her majesty wanted more cherries for her drink,” she said with a grin.

Lauren forced a smile in return. Deanna didn’t seem all that drunk, she thought. In fact, she seemed more pleasantly tipsy than anything else. “Cool,” Lauren responded, then asked, “Who was that?”

“Who?” Deanna frowned and flipped back a length of her long dark hair.

“The guy who was just there.”

“Oh. Just a guy.”

“Cute?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“And?”

“I told him I was with friends tonight,” Deanna said. And she laughed. “I’m a big girl, so don’t worry about me.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Lauren lied.

“Yes, you were. And you still are. You’re still tense.” Deanna looked at her and sighed. “We shouldn’t have made you go to that fortune teller.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“She was weird.”

“She was striking, don’t you think?” Lauren said.

“A great face to sketch, yes, but weird. Come on. Let’s get back to the table. Heidi is going to want her fruit.”

The band was playing exceptional jazz; it sounded as if they had been together forever. As she sat, Lauren let the music engulf her, and she smiled. She came from this state, after all. She’d been in New Orleans hundreds of times. She knew the city well. Why she was letting the antics of a Jackson Square fortune teller disturb her, she didn’t know.

“So are you ever going to tell us where the honeymoon is going to be?” Deanna asked Heidi.

Heidi shrugged. “I’ll tell you guys, but not Barry’s friends. A few of them are crazy enough to show up.”

“Okay, where?” Lauren asked.

Heidi leaned forward, and her love for her soon-to-be husband was apparent in her gamine smile and powder blue eyes. “Fiji,” she said.

“Fiji. Wow,” Lauren said.

“You really think Barry’s friends might show up in Fiji?” Deanna asked.

“You never know,” Heidi said. “I can guarantee you right now that we’ll all probably end up in the pool at the reception, and that they’ll tie cans to the car and do anything else ridiculous that guys can do. Most of those guys actually graduated from college, and some of them are even lawyers, like Barry, but honestly, they’re still like a bunch of kids.”

“You’re not marrying them, you’re marrying Barry,” Deanna reminded her.

“Because he’s wonderful,” Heidi said, finishing the statement by biting the cherry at the end of her swizzle stick.

“He is a good guy,” Lauren agreed.

“And he has some very attractive friends—silly, but attractive,” Deanna added.

“I can set you up any time,” Heidi promised.

“I like setting myself up. We’ll see what happens at the wedding,” Deanna said.

Lauren let out a yawn, then quickly apologized. “Sorry.”

“It’s late, isn’t it?” Heidi said.

“Not for New Orleans. And this is your party,” Lauren assured her.

“I know, but I think I’d like to take my party back to our nice cushy cottage,” she said.

“Cool. I’m your slave,” Lauren said.

They both looked at Deanna, wondering if she intended to protest.

She laughed. “Okay, I admitit. I’m beat, too. But we’re pathetic. I guarantee you they’ll go all night at Barry’s bachelor party.”

“Right, but his bachelor party is only one night. We have a whole weekend. We have days left to party,” Heidi said. “And shop.”

“For Fiji,” Lauren said.

“Yep, for Fiji,” Heidi agreed. She lifted her glass, and Deanna and Lauren followed suit, clinking their glasses in a toast. “Here’s to the world’s best friends.”

“Here’s to you, too,” Lauren said.

“Let’s not get maudlin,” Deanna said.

“If she wants to be maudlin, we’ll be maudlin,” Lauren reminded Deanna.

Deanna groaned. “Okay, but let’s walk in a maudlin manner and get back to the B and B.”

“Sounds good,” Lauren agreed.

As they headed for their cottage, they talked about the shops Heidi wanted to hit in the morning.

Along Bourbon Street, everything felt fine to Lauren. It was quieter than it had been earlier, but the bars were still open, and people were moving about. Groups still spilled out of the doorways of the clubs. Hawkers were handing out flyers for the strip joints. A group that appeared to be m ade up of retirees was moving along at a good clip. Most of the members seemed to be couples who had spent many years together, and who still enjoyed walking hand in hand. She had to smile. It didn’t seem quite the right place, but then again, who was she to say? They were definitely young at heart.

It was when they turned off Bourbon that Lauren first felt the strange stirring of unease.

The street wasn’t so well lit anymore.

And it wasn’t filled with people.

The sound of Heidi’s and Deanna’s voices seemed to fade. She wasn’t hearing them. Instead, she was watching. Watching the shadows.

They seemed to be moving too much. Houses and buildings, flush against one another, a few feet away, should have been still. Instead, their shadows stretched, became too long, seemed to loom.

Then there was the breeze. She hadn’t felt it on Bourbon Street, but it was eerily noticeable now

She quickened her pace.

“Hey!” Heidi’s protest broke through her sense of isolation.

“What?” Lauren asked.

“Do we really have to run back?”

“I think we should hurry, yes,” Lauren said.

“You told me this was a safe area,” Heidi protested.

“It is. But…it’s late,” Lauren said.

“Look. Up ahead,” Deanna said.

“What?” Lauren said, her heart quickening.

“Mounted police officer,” Deanna said dryly.

“Oh.” Lauren slowed her pace a bit, as they passed the officer, who touched his helmet and wished them goodnight, then rode on toward Bourbon Street. As soon as he was gone, she started hurrying again. She couldn’t help herself.

“Lauren, slow down,” Deanna begged. “My legs aren’t working too well.”

“That’s because they want to be stretched out in bed,” Lauren said.

“You two are tall—I’m not,” Heidi reminded her.

Gritting her teeth, Lauren forced herself to slow down. She was frightened, and she didn’t know why. And she was angry. She’d never been frightened here before in her life.

It was all because of that damn fortune teller.

She made herself keep to a slower pace, but she couldn’t stop herself from watching the shadows. And no matter how hard she tried to tell herself she was being ridiculous, she was certain the shadows were doing things shadows weren’t supposed to do. She couldn’t help but feel they were watching her.

The bed and breakfast, with its lovely courtyard and cottages, was straight ahead. She had to forcibly stop herself from breaking into a run.

But then they were there and she let out a sigh, praying that it wasn’t audible. The cast iron gates, dating back to the eighteen-forties, were opened to the main manor and the old cottages surrounding it.

Theirs was the middle cottage, directly facing the pool. Lauren all but dragged her friends toward it.

“Honestly, Lauren,” Heidi began to protest.

“See, we’re here. Your stubby little legs can get a rest.”

“Stubby little legs!” Heidi objected. “Some slave you are.”

“But we’re here. Aren’t you glad?” Lauren demanded.

Deanna yawned, pulling out her key and opening the door. “Yeah, yeah, great, we’re here.” She turned around and said speculatively, “Look how good that pool looks.”

“You want to go swimming—now?” Lauren demanded.

“Well, I’m sweating—since I ran back,” Deanna said.

“We’d make a racket,” Lauren said quickly.

“No one said that we couldn’t swim at night,” Heidi said.

“We’ve all had a fair bit to drink. No one is going to save us if we begin to drown,” Lauren informed them, longing desperately to go inside and lock the door.

“She’s right, you know. We have had too much to drink,” Heidi said.

“Right,” Lauren announced. She pushed open the door fully open and turned on the light. They’d left the television on. She was glad. She was even happier to realize that it was showing a 70’s sitcom, not some creepy horror show.

“How are we sleeping?” Heidi asked. There were two double beds in the bedroom behind the kitchen/living room area where they were standing. In the outer room, the bed was a pull-out sofa.

“I’ll take the bed out here, and you two can have the real beds,” Lauren said. She would have taken a hard wooden floor at that moment, she was so relieved just to be back in their cottage.

“You sure? You can bunk in with one of us,” Deanna offered.

“You snore when you drink,” Lauren said, grinning for real at last. “I’ll be fine out here.”

“I do not snore!” Deanna protested.

“You do,” Heidi told her, grinning. “But only when you drink,” she added quickly.

“Hmph,” Deanna muttered, and started for the bedroom.

“I guess that means she’s taking first dibs on the bathroom,” Heidi said, shrugging. “I’m getting into pajamas and crashing.” She gave Lauren a hug goodnight. “Thanks—this is the best trip, ever.”

“Absolutely,” Lauren agreed, wishing she could believe it was true.

She watched Heidi walk into the bedroom, too, then turned to open the sofa bed. It wasn’t so bad. The closet offered plenty of extra bedding and pillows, and she could brush her teeth and wash her face in the half-bath next to the kitchen.

Clad in boxers and a T-shirt, she started to turn off the TV and the lights.

Then she hesitated.

She left the TV on, wanting the sounds of a sitcom to lure her to sleep. She left the bathroom light on, then turned off the others. When she was done, she found herself walking to the window that looked out onto the courtyard and pool.

She had intended to reassure herself. Instead, she felt a jolt of ice rip along her spinal cord.

There was someone out there.

A man.

Watching their cottage.

He was leaning against a utility pole out by the street, but, despite the high fence, she could see him, and she knew he was staring at the cottage.

What was worse was the fact that she knew who he was.

Tall, dark hair, piercing blue eyes.

It was the man she had crashed into at the bar.

A scream froze in her throat. But then, as if he knew he was being watched in return, he stepped away from the pole and walked away. She saw the breadth of his back for a few seconds, and then he was gone.

She realized a few seconds later that she had a death grip on the curtains, and that she was still staring out at the night, which now appeared completely calm and normal.

She bit her lower lip, wondering if she should call the police. And tell them what? That she had no evidence, but she was certain a man she had met in a bar had followed them home and stared at their cottage? Like that would be a pressing concern to men who had to deal with real problems, drugs, thugs and nasty drunks. But no matter what the police would think, she was sure that they had been…

Stalked.

She glanced toward the bedroom. The door was ajar and the room was quiet. Heidi and Deanna were probably sound asleep already.

All right, she would just call the police and ask if an officer could do a few drive-bys during the night.

They would undoubtedly think she was a jumpy freak. But better that than…

Determined, she walked over and closed the door to the bedroom. Then she did call the police, using the non-emergency number. A very polite officer took her information, assured her that she wasn’t an idiot and promised that a car would check the property throughout the night.

When she hung up, she felt almost smug. She got a can of Coke from the refrigerator and curled her legs beneath her on the sofa-bed to watch TV.

But as she sat there, the cold from her soda seemed to seep into her bones. She couldn’t help but replay the her fading memories of the strange scene in the fortune teller’s tent. Now, alone in the dark, the details seemed to be coming back.

She had the strangest feeling that the evil being in the crystal ball had been real.

And that a dozen police officers couldn’t stand against the soul—stealing danger that he presented.

She had seen him. Great. Now she would think he was stalking her.

He was still in shock himself. It was impossible for anyone to look so much like Katie, and yet…It was as if his fiancée had been cloned. Even her smile, the way she flushed slightly, the slight hike of her brow…all were simply Katie.

As he walk away from the B and B, he was all too aware the woman in question was probably still watching him from the window.

Then, to his surprise, he noticed that there was a light on over the door to the main house, and several lights still blazing inside.

He made a point of walking away, then doubling back. The curtain at the cottage had dropped. He was free and clear. He walked up the porch steps of the main house and tried the door. It was open.

“Hello?”

A long hall led back to a desk. He admired the main house as he walked in; it reminded him of the Cornstalk, another bed and breakfast, and one of the loveliest in New Orleans. A curved stairway led to the upper rooms, while the hall branched off toward several more. He knew that each one would be a little bit different. That was the beauty of such a place: nothing was cookie-cutter; every room would have something all its own.

“Hello!” a cheerful voice called from the end of the hall.

He walked on to the desk. A woman of about sixty, with shimmering silvery white hair, was sitting there. Papers were strewn before her, and a computer was on a table to her left.

“I saw the lights on,” Mark said.

“I suppose I should lock up and go to bed, but I’ve discovered that I love being an innkeeper,” she said. She had a great smile, dark eyes, and an aura of energy about her, even as she sat still. “I’m Lilly Martin. How do you do?”

“I’m Mark Davidson, and I’m great, thanks. I think your inn is wonderful. I was hoping you might have a cottage left.”

She cocked her head slightly. “You’re looking for a room at three AM?”

He laughed. “I have a room, but I just saw your place, and I think it’s enchanting.”

Lilly Martin flushed with pleasure. “Thank you so much. And I do have a cottage vacant. I’m not sure I’d feel right, though. I can’t just give you the room for free, but I can’t really charge you for a full night, either.”

“We could split the difference,” he suggested.

“Lovely. Sold,” Lilly said.

She turned toward the computer. “Let’s see. Mark Davidson. Address and phone, length of stay, and will this be on a credit card?”

He produced his driver’s license and credit card. As she looked at the information, he made a point of looking over her shoulder. The registrations for the night were up on the screen.

He scanned the screen quickly. The girls were obvious. Cottage five.

Lauren Crow, Heidi Weiss, Deanna???.

He leaned back, smiling

As she typed information into the computer, Lilly asked, “Just being nosy, Mark, but what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a writer.”

“Oh! Have I read anything you’ve written?”

He hesitated. “Probably not. I mostly do sports articles for syndication,” he lied.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Hm. And here I thought you might be an underwear model.”

“What?”

She laughed. “Sorry. You look like those guys in the ads.”

“Uh, thanks. I think.”

“Or a ninja,” she added.

“A ninja?”

She laughed. “Silly of me. Okay. Maybe a cop. Or FBI.”

“Just a writer,” he said. “But thanks.” Ninja?

Within ten minutes, Lilly had him registered and he had a key to his cottage. He hesitated, though. “You really should lock up this late at night,” he told her.

“I know. My kids would be angry.”

“As well they should be.”

“But I filled another cottage tonight, didn’t?” she asked cheerfully.

He turned to her, catching her hands. “Yes, but it’s not safe, Lilly. Please, lock up much, much earlier, okay?”

She let out a soft sigh. “Yes, of course, you’re right.” She winked. “But don’t tell on me, okay? Anyway, it’s bedtime for both of us now. In the morning, coffee and croissants are served in the dining room, to your left there, or on the patio, by the pool.”

“Great. Thanks. I’ll go pick up things from my dreaded chain hotel,” he told her, grinning. “Then I’ll be back.”

After she accompanied him to the main door and watched him go, he heard her slide the bolt, and he was relieved. It worried him a bit to stay here; he hoped he wasn’t putting Lilly in danger.

But if he thought that woman looked like Katie, so would Stephan. And he knew that Stephan was here. He had followed the creature’s trail from Abruzzi to Cannes to Essex, then here to New Orleans. Mark was convinced that it was only a matter of time before Stephan saw the woman—if he hadn’t seen her already.

Because Stephan was definitely here. He could feel it.

Mark simply hadn’t expected that he would come across so many other vampires along the way. Tonight he could have sworn he had found Stephan at last, but he’d been wrong. Was he going to think that every tall, dark man he caught a glimpse of was Stephan?

It had still been a good night’s work. He couldn’t regret killing the vampire in the cemetery. He’d saved someone’s life, at least.

And yet…

The lust for vengeance was like a fire inside him. Complicated now.

Because it was as if Katie had come back to life.

She was sleeping…dreaming, Lauren thought.

She had to be.

She was there, at the bar. And he was there, too.

He said something, teasing her, as if they had been friends forever. No, lovers forever. She could smell something that teased her senses. Something that affected not just her flesh but her mind, awakening her sensuality from within, touching her most erotic zones.

Then he was touching her. Stroking her.

She awoke suddenly, the faint sound of a click in her ears. She realized that the television was still on; now it was an infomercial diet pills.

The dream weighed heavily on her, but she knew that a noise, something that wasn’t the TV, had awakened her.

The door. She had heard the door opening.

She leapt up, looking around. The bolt was undone, and she threw the door open, thinking only afterwards that it was a stupid thing to do.

But she was glad she had done it..

Deanna was outside, standing at the end of the pool, talking aloud as if she were carrying on a conversation with someone invisible, or maybe someone who had just left.

Lauren burst out after her friend, calling her name. “Deanna!”

Deanna didn’t move.

Lauren raced around in front of her, grabbing her shoulders and staring into her eyes. They were glazed. Deanna didn’t even see her.

“Hey!” She gave her friend a shake. Nothing. “Deanna!” A harder shake.

Deanna started, her eyes widening in alarm. “Lauren?”

“Hey, you, what are you doing?”

“Sleeping,” Deanna said, her features twisted into a mask of confusion.

“Sleep walking,” Lauren corrected, confused herself. Deanna had never done this before, at least as far as she knew.

“Weird,” Deanna said. She looked around at the foliage, the shimmering water in the pool, the shadows of the night. “I’m lucky I didn’t fall in the pool and drown.”

“You don’t remember coming out here at all? Really?”

Deanna shook her head and groaned. “No more of those drinks with all the shots in them, bachelorette party or not.”

“Good thought,” Lauren agreed. She felt a chill, remembering how she had seen the man standing by the pole earlier. What if he had still been hanging around? “Let’s go in.”

“I’ll put a chair in front of the door,” Lauren said as soon as they were inside, the door safely locked behind them.

Deanna gave her a quick hug. “Thanks,” she said huskily.

Deanna went back into the bedroom, and Lauren lay down again, troubled. She was so tired. Her lids became heavy. She drifted.

And dreamed.

Mark returned to the bed and breakfast with his car and belongings. He glanced at his watch. It was four in the morning.

Once he had parked and grabbed his overnight bag, he stood in the courtyard. Unease trickled through him.

He could smell it. Sense it.

Someone had been here.

He dropped his bag and hurried to the cottage where the girls were staying. He tried the door. Locked. He prayed God it had remained so since he had left.

But he didn’t like it. Didn’t like it at all.

What if Stephan had discovered the woman, the one who looked like Katie?

He was tempted to pound on the door, to make sure the girls were all right. But all signs were that they were locked in, sound asleep, safe. If they began to think of him as a danger, an insane man, he wouldn’t be able to help them.

It occurred to him that he was in a perfect position to use the women in his own quest. He was here; they were here.

The perfect bait.

No, he told himself, gritting his teeth painfully. Never bait. Never.

He stared at the door for a moment longer, then looked around the courtyard. Whoever had been here was gone. Long gone, probably. Regretfully, he walked softly away from the door, seeking his own cottage.

Luckily, it was right next door.

Lauren awoke to a hint of sunlight making its way through the draperies and the sound of chirping birds.

She frowned as she woke, despite the miraculous wonder of daylight. At least she hadn’t had any wretched dreams about fortune tellers or scary creatures in crystal balls. She hadn’t even dreamed about Deanna walking out into the courtyard, sound asleep. Now that was scary—and real.

Instead she had continued with the dream she had started before going out after Deanna, and that was very scary, as well.

And far too real.

She’d dreamed about him.

She flushed at the thought. It had been so bizarre. She’d been back in the bar, back at the point where she’d crashed into him. And it had been…

Incredibly erotic.

And insanely real. She had seen the walls, with their old posters of jazz greats. She had even smelled the slightly stale scent of alcohol that lingered around any bar, the hint of old smoke. She had seen the shadows and the dim light. And the man. They had looked at one another, and the next thing she had known, she’d been in his arms, no introduction, no small talk. Thankfully she couldn’t remember how they had shed their clothing. But she had certainly been naked, just as he had been, in the shadowy hallway, flush against him, feeling his flesh and heat, his very life, as he pressed her against the wall. She could almost remember the feel of his lips against hers, and on her flesh. The hardness of his erection as he made love to her against the wall in a bar.

Even though it had only been a dream, it was humiliating. In a thousand years, she would never do such a thing, especially with a stranger. With a man who might be actively dangerous.

She groaned softly. She really, desperately, needed a life.

She sat up and stretched, straightened and smiled.

Daylight. Once she rose, drank some coffee and showered, surely the reality of the dream would fade. She decided that she couldn’t even share it with Heidi or Deanna. It was simply too embarrassing. Too…personal.

She shook her head, rose and headed straight for the coffee machine.

Heidi and Deanna were still completely out—she could see the dark head in one bed and the blond one in the other. She opted for a shower while the other two slept on.

As the water streamed over her, she groaned aloud softly. She wasn’t afraid, exactly, but she felt uneasy in her own skin, unable to forget the pure sensuality of the dream. She could imagine his hands, the way they had felt on her bare flesh.

She finished her shower as fast as she could.

She definitely needed a life, she thought again. It was just so difficult. She was past the age of looking for fun and enjoyment while she set her career in motion. She wanted something real, commitment, respect…and, of course, passion. Something like what she’d had with Ken. Deanna was always telling her that she didn’t need to make a commitment before the first date, and that she would never know if she really liked a man enough to love him if she didn’t take a few chances. But it was hard to go back to dating after she’d been engaged, in love and ready for the future. She loathed the idea of dating again. It was just too…uncomfortable. And potentially painful.

As Lauren poured coffee, Deanna emerged from the bedroom. She looked rumpled and still tired.

“Bless you, my child,” she proclaimed. “Coffee.”

“And more in the courtyard when we’re ready for breakfast,” Lauren said. She hesitated, then asked, “Are you okay?”

“Just tired,” Deanna said.

“Well, you were rather active in the middle of the night,” Lauren reminded her.

Deanna took a cup of coffee and sipped it. “I have never, ever, done anything like that before in my life.”

“Alcohol,” Lauren suggested.

“Sadly, I have been a bit wasted before,” Deanna admitted.

“You don’t remember anything at all?”

Deanna shook her head, but her eyes were lowered. Lauren thought there was more, but she couldn’t force Deanna to tell her what it was. She could only hope that Deanna would explain more when she was ready.

Lauren walked to the door and moved the chair she had set against it. “Well, let’s see what unlight streaming on the pool does for the day, huh?” She opened the door.

A newspaper was lying on the mat.

She stooped down to pick it up and couldn’t help but read the huge headline immediately.

Headless Female Corpse Found in Mississippi.

3

Mark sat in the courtyard, dark sunglasses in place, drinking his coffee and reading the newspaper. He felt a sense of bitter fatality at the headline blazing at him, and nothing in the story that followed surprised him.

The headless woman was being called Jane Doe. The coroner estimated that she’d been dead a week to ten days, and she might have been disposed of at almost any point up to a hundred miles upriver. White, approximately five-feet-seven inches, one-hundred-and-thirty pounds, her remains had been badly assailed by the river and the creatures that lived in it. The coroner had nothing else to say for the moment, other than that additional tests were being performed on the victim.

The head had yet to be discovered.

Mark put down the paper and sipped his coffee, staring at the door to the cottage the three women had taken. Someone had taken in the newspaper, but they had yet to emerge for the day.

He was seated at a table behind a pleasant elderly couple from Ohio. There was a pair of honeymooners to his left, Bonnie and Ralph, and a few of the other guests had come by, all cheerful, friendly and wishing him a good morning. Some of them hadn’t read the paper. Some had, and been appalled at what they read. But they all seemed able to distance themselves from the story. A lone young woman, attacked and killed. Yes, it was easy for a pretty girl to be in danger, to become a victim. From the conversations he overheard, most of them also wanted to believe that she had been a drug addict, as well, or a prostitute. Anything to ensure that whatever violence had touched her would never touch them.

That was the same sentiment he heard when the door to cottage number five opened at last and the three young women appeared. An even greater sense of unease surged through him at the sight of Lauren Crow, the woman with the auburn hair and extraordinary green eyes who reminded him so vividly of Katie. The dark haired girlwas stunning as well, exotic and sleek. He decided that she had to be Deanna. The little blonde who looked like a petite princess had to be the one named Heidi.

Last night he had thought of them as bait, but the article in the paper forced him to think in far more brutal terms. They were targets.

Beautiful, all of them, and young. The perfect age. Pure temptation for the killer who had coldly thrown that poor girl’s corpse into the Mississippi.

“Poor thing,” Heidi was saying as the women approached an empty table.

“Horrible,” Lauren concurred.

“Yes, but please, let’s not obsess about it,” Deanna said. “I forget the statistics, but just in the United States there are dozens serial killers at work at any given time. But we’d go crazy if we worried about them all on a daily basis. Right?”

“Of course. It’s just…it’s just a really big headline,” Lauren said.

“Well, sure. The corpse was headless,” Deanna said.

“That’s true. The more gruesome the crime, the bigger the headline,” Lauren said.

Deanna linked arms with her, adjusting her sunglasses. “But we’re smart, and we’re not going to do anything stupid, like going off alone. You were the one who lectured us on safety way back in college—and we listened.”

“My dad was a cop,” Lauren reminded her. “I learned my lessons young.”

“Right. And you taught us. None of us wander around alone at night, and we all keep an eye on who’s around us at all times. We’re all street smart.”

“I know.”

“Enough of this depressing stuff. It’s time to go shopping,” Heidi said. “Honestly, Lauren—my dear slave—this is my happy time. I know you always worry about the dangerss of the world, but let’s go shopping.”

“Right, shopping,” Deanna agreed.

Watching from a distance, homing in on the girls and trying to filter out other conversation, Mark took a long look at Deanna. She looked exhausted, as if she were suffering from a serious lack of sleep.

They hadn’t seen him yet. He had his newspaper up in front of his face, his dark glasses in place. They were wandering slowly through the courtyard, as if unsure whether to leave or not.

“Coffee?” Deanna suggested.

“We’ll get some on the way,” Heidi said. “Let’s go

“Shopping,” Lauren said dryly.

“I can tell you’re still worried,” Heidi said with a sigh.

“It was that woman last night. The fortune teller,” Deanna said.

“We should never have made Lauren do what she didn’t want to,” Heidi admitted.

“It’s over, and I’m all right. Let’s go,” Lauren said.

She walked right past him and didn’t even notice him, Mark noticed with relief. The other two women followed in her wake and didn’t spare him a glance, either.

At the exit from the courtyard, though, Lauren paused and looked back, as if puzzled. As if she thought she should be seeing something but didn’t know what.

Her eyes fell on him, and she frowned. He stared back at her through the dark lenses of his glasses.

She hesitated, and he couldn’t tell whether she recognized him from the night before or not. The newspaper was shielding most of his face, and her expression was uncertain.

Deanna, concentrating on arranging the strap of her purse, plowed into her. “Hey! I thought we were leaving,” she said.

Lauren didn’t respond. Instead, she walked back into the courtyard, and Mark watched her as she came toward him. “Hello,” she said, looking straight at him. His heart lurched. She looked so much like Katie.

“Hi.”

“We met last night,” she said.

“The bar,” he agreed.

“You’re staying here?”

“It’s a great little place. I see that you and your friends have discovered it, too.” He rose, extending a hand. “You told me your name, but I didn’t tell you mine. Mark Davidson.”

She accepted his hand. Touching her, even so casually, sent a jolt through him.

“My last name’s Crow. Lauren Crow,” she said softly. She turned to her friends, who had followed and were standing behind her. “These are my friends. Deanna??? and Heidi Weiss.”

“Hi,” they chimed in unison, stepping up to shake hands.

“You two know each other?” Deanna said.

“Not really. We met in the bar last night.”

“Cool,” Deanna said.

“We’re here from LA. Where do you call home?” Heidi asked.

“At the moment?” he replied. “I’m in the middle of relocating.”

“Are you thinking about moving to New Orleans?” Deanna asked.

“It’s a great place,” he said.

“I guess,” Deanna managed around a yawn, then excused herself quickly. “Not a lot of sleep to be had here, though.”

He noticed that Lauren was just staring at him. Suspiciously.

“What do you do for a living?” Deanna asked.

Lauren elbowed her friend and gave her a reproving look, but he only laughed out loud. “It’s okay. I’m a writer and a musician.”

“What do you play?” Lauren asked sharply.

“Piano, guitar.”

“Do you write music?” Deanna asked.

“Sometimes. But mostly I confine my writing to article and, some fiction.”

“Cool,” Heidi said.

“Horror novels?” Lauren asked pointedly. Those green eyes of hers didn’t leave him for a second. He disturbed her, he thought. Why?

“I’ve tried a few different things in my day.”

“Are you rich and famous?” Heidi teased.

“No, I’m sorry. Just plodding along,” he told her.

“I’m not sure I believe that,” Deanna said. “You probably have a pseudonym but you’re not going to share it, right?”

“Nothing that deep or mysterious, I’m afraid.”

“Well, nice to meet you,” Lauren said. She set a hand on Heidi’s shoulder, her eyes still on him warily. “We need to get moving.”

“What’s the hurry?” Heidi asked.

“You said you wanted to go shopping,” Lauren reminded her. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Davidson, but we need to get going.”

“It was super to meet you,” Deanna said. Her voice was low and throaty. Sensual.

“Absolutely,” Heidi agreed. She seemed to croon the single word.

“We’ll be seeing you again, I assume. After all, we are staying in the same place,” Deanna said.

“Yes, we are,” Lauren murmured. She didn’t sound happy about the fact, he noticed.

“You’re here for a few days?” Heidi asked.

“I am. Cottage six.”

“That’s right next door to us,” Lauren said, unable to hide her surprise.

“Is it?” he inquired.

“I guess we really will see you,” Lauren said, her suspicion and aggravation evident in her tone. “But right now, we really do have to get going,” she said firmly.

She turned, walking determinedly toward the street.

“See you,” Deanna said, and winked.

“Later,” Heidi told him.

“Sure. Enjoy New Orleans,” he said, and he sat and pretended to give his full attention to his newspaper once again.

“My God, you met him last night and you didn’t say anything, much less introduce him?” Heidi marveled, staring at Lauren as they headed toward Royal Street.

“I didn’t exactly meet him,” Lauren said. “I bumped into him.”

“I only bump into eighty-year-old men with canes,” Deanna said mournfully.

“He’s…magnetic,” Heidi said.

Lauren shot her a quick glance.

“Don’t look at me like that. I love Barry, and I honestly believe we’re going to beat the odds and be married forever. But if I’d bumped into that guy, I wouldn’t have forgotten it. But you? You didn’t say a word to us.”

Lauren let out a sigh. “What on earth was I supposed to say? We didn’t have drinks, we didn’t go to dinner. I bumped into him in a hallway.”

“I’d have mentioned it,” Deanna said. She let out a sigh.

“He’s staying at our B and B,” Heidi commented.

“Yes.”

Deanna stopped walking and laughed. “Heidi, did you hear that? Lauren, you said that one and filled it with more suspicion than I can believe. What’s the big deal? You bumped into him in New Orleans—and he’s staying in New Orleans. Imagine that.”

“He’s staying in New Orleans at our B and B,” Lauren said.

“I call that cool,” Heidi said.

“You’re engaged,” Lauren reminded her.

“But not dead,” Heidi said with a smile.

“What’s the matter with you, Lauren?” Deanna asked. “You’re not usually like this. The guy is gorgeous and he seemed nice. What’s your problem?”

Lauren arched a brow and shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I was just nervous last night. And he was standing outside after we first got back last night, I’m certain. I saw him out on the street.”

“He’s staying here we are. He had to be on the street to get here,” Heidi pointed out, a smile curving her lips.

“Cute,” Lauren told her. “Then I found Deanna out by the pool—sleepwalking!”

“You were sleepwalking?” Heidi asked Deanna.

“I guess. Luckily, Lauren found me before I drowned. Then again, the water might have woken me up. Who knows?”

“We probably shouldn’t have taken the red-eye.” Heidi said.

“Today is going to be great,” Lauren assured her. “Turn here. That clothing shop you wanted to go to is down a few blocks on the right. I want to go to that gallery across the way. I’ll meet you guys in the place with the great hats in half an hour.”

When they reached Heidi’s goal, she shooed them inside and walked on.

New Orleans Police Lieutenant Sean Canady sat at his desk in the precinct, staring at the newspaper.

Headless corpse.

It was happening again. He groaned aloud.

“Hey, Lieutenant.”

He looked up to see Bobby Munro standing in front of him.

“Hey, Bobby.” He didn’t ask his officer if he had seen the headline; he couldn’t have helped but see it.

“The Mississippi’s a big river. That body could have come from anywhere,” Bobby said. “And there have been plenty of perps who behead their victims. Get rid of the head, stall the identification.”

Bobby was a damned good officer, Sean thought. Young and good-looking, he was nevertheless a fine cop. He’d seen a hell of a lot already, but he hadn’t become jaded. Bobby saw himself as one of the good guys, and he still believed he could create a better world.

Sean leaned back at his desk, looking up at Bobby. He’d been around a lot longer himself, and while he wasn’t exactly jaded, he was weary. He came from this area. He knew he had the respect of his superiors, from the mayor up to the governor—hell, even up to the Feds. He was given a lot of leeway in his investigations. His word was considered good. So were his instincts.

And he didn’t like this.

“An organized killer, trying to hide an ID, would almost certainly have cut off the hands, as well,” he said. “We’ve still got fingerprints, and I have a hunch we’ll have an ID on our vic soon enough.”

“Drug deal gone bad?” Bobby suggested hopefully.

Sean shrugged. “Keep an eye out,” he said.

“Right. And you remember, Lieutenant. The Mississippi? A big, big river.”

“Yeah,” Sean said, smiling grimly. “But the corpse is in our morgue.”

Lauren finished her shopping and arranged for the small piece of art she’d chosen to be delivered to the B and B, then stepped out onto Royal Street. The sun was bright. She shaded her eyes with one hand while she fumbled in her bag for her sunglasses with the other.

One of the mule-drawn carriages drove by. She blinked, then squinted against the glare. She could have sworn Deanna was in it—on the front seat, right next to the driver, who was tall and dark, and wearing a top hat.

The carriage kept going at a brisk pace.

“Deanna?” she called, following after it. But there were cars on the street, as well, and she had to move quickly back to the sidewalk and maneuver around all the people there. The carriage was far beyond her before she finally gave up trying to follow it.

Besides, itt couldn’t have been Deanna, she told herself. Deanna wouldn’t have taken a carriage ride by herself, not when she was supposed to be shopping with Heidi.

But when Lauren made it across the street to one of her favorite clothing shops, she found Heidi in the back alone, trying on hats.

“Hey,” Heidi said. “How’s this?”

The straw hat she was trying on was wide-brimmed and sported a bright flower, and Heidi wore it well.

“Perfect,” Lauren said. “Where’s Deanna?”

“She said something about the shop next door,” Heidi said. “She said she’d be right back.”

“I could have sworn I just saw her in a carriage.”

“Why would she take a carriage ride without us?” Heidi asked.

“She wouldn’t.”

“Then you probably just saw someone who looked like her,” Heidi said. “You know, this place is a little pricey, but this really is a nice hat. Should I buy it?”

“Yes,” Lauren said, still distracted. “I’m going to check next door.”

Heidi turned and stared at her. “You sound worried.”

“No, not really.”

“Lauren, it’s broad daylight. There are a zillion people on the streets.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “Let’s look for Deanna.”

“Buy your hat. I’ll check next door.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

When she stepped back onto the street, Lauren was practically assaulted by music. She came to a dead halt.

There was something happening in the street. A jazz funeral. The mule-drawn hearse, escorted by mounted police, passed just as she emerged. Behind the hearse came the mourners and, with them, the musicians. It was a spectacle not everyone got to see, something unique, sad yet wonderful, to be found in the city. Someone was about to be laid to rest in grand fashion.

The procession had to be on its way from the church to the cemetery—something of a long route from here, Lauren thought. The musicians were playing a dirge now, but she’d been to several jazz funerals in her life, and she knew that once they left the cemetery there would be a celebration of the deceased’s life. Often the band would play “When the Saints Go Marching In,” the old standby. It was an old custom, African beliefs blended with western religion.

On the street, everyone had stopped, watching the procession go slowly by.

She did the same.

The mourners were black, white and all shades in between.

One of the trumpet players was a huge, handsome African-American man. As he played, his eyes lit on Lauren, and she offered him a nod of respect. Strangely, he kept watching her solemnly until he had passed her.

As soon as the funeral had moved on, people began to mill around on the sidewalks again, and cars followed slowly, until they could turn onto a different street.

Lauren found herself listening to the sad dirge until the funeral march was but a hint in the air, and the laughter on the street and sounds of a corner rock band overshadowed what had been. Then she gave herself a shake and hurried into the next store.

She saw T-shirts, voodoo potion boxes, alligator heads, votive candles and holders, but no sign of Deanna.

Nor did Heidi appear.

She walked back into the store where Heidi had been looking at the hat. Neither of her friends was there.

Irritated, she took out her cell phone. She tried Deanna’s number first and got her voice mail. The same thing happened when she tried Heidi’s number. Cursing silently, she left her a message, too.

She didn’t want to go far; they had to be nearby somewhere. But after going in and out of a dozen shops, cafes and restaurants, her level of aggravation peaked, and she gave in to the heat and her own weariness and opted for a table near the street at the last café she checked and ordered a giant iced tea.

While she sat, she drew out her sketch pad, but before she could start working on a street scene, she found herself staring at the sketch she had made of the fortune teller the night before.

“You ruined the whole party, you know,” she said softly to the sketch. The woman was still striking, everything about her unusual, from the remembered color of her skin to the bone structure of her face.

“Talking to yourself?” someone said.

She looked up, startled, wariness slipping through her.

Their handsome neighbor from cottage six was standing by her, a pleasant smile on his face.

She didn’t answer; she was torn between suspicion and an inexplicable desire to engage in conversation. Okay, maybe not so inexplicable. He was exceedingly attractive. Tall, everything in proportion, muscular without being musclebound, with rugged features that were classically appealing and entirely masculine. She even liked his scent, and felt oddly drawn to move nearer to him.

I would actually like to get to know him, she admitted to herself.

And then another voice chimed in. The truth was that he scared her. And maybe he scared her just because she felt such a strong sense of attraction to him.

Would she have been so afraid if it hadn’t been for what had happened in the Square, the crystal ball and the illusion of genuine danger?

“Wow,” he murmured, and she realized that he was looking at her sketch. “That’s magnificent.”

“I don’t know about magnificent,” she murmured, embarrassed.

He never actually asked if he could join her, and she never suggested that he do so, but he drew out the chair across from her anyway and sat down.

She was glad, she realized. She liked having him there, liked talking with him. Liked feeling his eyes on her appreciatively.

And yet she was still…wary.

Scared.

Something wasn’t right.

“You’re quite an artist,” he said.

“It’s a living,” she replied.

He flashed her a smile. A very attractive smile. “Not everyone is good enough to make a living at it.”

“I’ve been lucky.”

“Are your friends artists, too?”

“Yes. Artists, graphic designers.”

“You do logos, fliers, that type of thing?” he inquired politely.

“Yes, and ad layouts and so on,” she agreed.

She didn’t want him to leave, she realized.

What the hell was it about him that appealed to her so strongly? She wanted to touch him, make sure he was real, stroke the contours of his face, feel his heart beat under her palm.

He tapped the table near the sketch. “I’ve seen her. It’s an incredible likeness. There’s a touch of magic to her, and you’ve captured it.”

“Thanks.” She hesitated. “So you…know her?”

He shook his head. “I saw her when I was walking around. She’s so unusual, so arresting, that you feel compelled to look at her. You’ve caught all that in this sketch.”

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“So you all had your fortunes told?”

“Yes.”

“And?” His tone was teasing, his smile captivating.

And yet, despite his teasing tone, did she sense a note of seriousness behind it? Did he suspect that she had seen a strange vision?

Of course not.

“We’re all going to live long, happy lives,” she lied.

“Wonderful So where are your friends now? Did they get lost in New Orleans?” he asked, a slight frow creasing his brow, though he still spoke lightly.

“They’re not lost,” she said, then added, “I’ve simply misplaced them.”

“Worrying nonetheless,” he said

“It’s broad daylight, and there are tons of people around,” she countered.

A waitress came by. “I’d love a tea, too,” he said, then looked at Lauren. “May I buy you lunch?”

“I should really wait.”

“Until your misplaced friends are located?”

She turned her attention to the street momentarily, then looked back at him. She was startled when he set a hand over hers. Pinpricks of sensation seemed to leap like fire across her flesh, pass into her bloodstream and balloon at the center of her being like a flow of lava. She was tempted to pull her hand away, then realized that would be far too indicative of her feelings.

She stared at him instead, slowly arching a brow.

Suddenly his expression grew serious, and his tone matched it when he spoke. “Please, you may think I’m insane for saying this, but I promise you, I’m not. I’m afraid that you and your friends are in danger here.”

Yes, there had been more to his earlier question.

“Oh, please,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment against her disappointment that he’d turned out to be a loon. “Not this again.”

All she wanted now was for him to go away. She’d been far too tempted to give in to the appealing fact that he seemed to find her interesting, attractive. To be pursuing her. Because she wanted to be pursued.

What she didn’t want was this feeling that something was lying beneath every word he said, that he didn’t actually want to be with her and was just plain crazy.

“Again?” he asked sharply.

Irritation filled her, along with an uncanny sense of fear. “The fortune teller gave me the same line of bull. We’re here for a bachelorette party, Mr. Davidson. Pure and simple. Heidi is about to get married, and the three of us have been planning this trip for ages. I can’t imagine why you—a stranger—would want to ruin it for us.”

He was quiet, leaning back. She could read little from his expression, because his sunglasses suddenly seemed as dark as night. She knew she should just ask him to leave her alone.

Somehow, she couldn’t.

He was still touching her hand, but that wasn’t what was stopping her. It was simply his presence that she couldn’t resist.

“I swear to you,” he said very softly, “I want nothing more than your complete safety.”

“I’m not in any danger.”

“Yes, you are. You saw this morning’s headline.”

She shook her head, a chill snaking through her. “Does that mean every single woman anywhere near the Mississippi River is in danger?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, please!”

“There’s a killer working the area,” he said with such assurance that she felt an ever greater sense of being encompassed of ice, despite the heat of the day.

“Are you a cop?” she asked sharply.

“No.”

“FBI?”

“No.”

“So exactly what are you?”

“I told you. A writer and a musician.”

“Oh, well, that answers that, then. I’m sure you know all about serial killers, not to mention exactly how and why my friends and I are in danger.”

She was stunned when he replied calmly and in a tone of such level and deep authority that it was the scariest part of it all. “I do.”

She just stared at him.

The waitress brought his tea, and he thanked her, bringing Lauren back to the moment.

“I’m going to leave now,” she said. “And you are going to leave my friends and me alone,” she told him firmly.

He ignored her words when he spoke. “I know who the killer is. I’ve known about him for a very long time now. He was responsible for the death of my fiancée.”

Lauren couldn’t believe it of herself, but she didn’t move. She remembered what he had said when she crashed into him the night before. The name he had spoken.

“Katie?” she said, then hesitated before going on. “The woman you think I resemble.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not your Katie,” she told him.

A rueful smile curled his lips. “I know that,” he said.

“But you think this man…killed her?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“She died here, in New Orleans?” Lauren asked.

“No,” he admitted.

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. Katie did see him here, on a trip. And now I’m afraid he’s after you—just as he was after her.”

She sighed, looking down.

He was just as attractive and possessed of all the raw sex appeal as she had thought from the beginning—and he was completely crazy. Maybe even a murderer himself.

He could be stalking her, for all she knew.

She was finally about to get up when he asked, “Did you all stay in your cottage last night, locked in, once you got home?”

“I saw you out on the street, watching us,” she accused him, instead of answering.

“Did you stay in?” he repeated.

“Yes, which is none of your business,” she lied.

He still seemed concerned. “I only asked because it’s important,” he told her quietly.

She felt oddly uncertain and was angry with herself, but for some reason she couldn’t seem to walk away with things hanging between them.

And Deanna had been outside, sleepwalking, something she’d never done before in her life, and Lauren had been out there with her. Not only that, she’d felt as if someone else had been out there, too, and that somehow this man knew about it.

And at the edge of her consciousness was the memory of how she had dreamed about him, and the ridiculous longing somewhere inside that, against all the evidence, he would turn out not to be crazy.

She forced a casual smile onto her face. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why is so important?”

Instead of answering, he reached into his shirt pocket. “I’d like to give you something.”

“Please, I can’t accept anything from you.”

He smiled then, a charming smile that also managed to convey amusement. “No strings attached,” he assured her.

She was almost bowled over by the unconscious sensuality of his appeal. God, how she wished he were normal. She had never met anyone like him, hadn’t even dreamed that she could meet anyone like him, since she had lost Ken. The sound of his voice was alluring, his body language subtly provocative. If she’d met him anywhere else under any other circumstances…

“This was Katie’s,” he said.

She looked down at the item he’d produced from his pocket. It was a silver cross, beautifully designed and obviously antique.

“I definitely can’t take that,” she told him, staring across the table at him.

“Please.”

“It’s valuable.”

“I would never sell it in a thousand years,” he said.

She shook her head. “I can’t take it.”

He grinned at her suddenly. “If you were to take it and wear it, I’d feel better about you being out on the streets of New Orleans. I might even quit being such a pest.”

“I think you really are crazy,” she told him frankly.

“I’m not. Honestly.”

She picked up her tea and took a long sip, suddenly aware that she had both elbows on the table now and was leaning closer to him. “Okay, look at all this from my point of view. First I run into you in a bar. Then I see you standing out on my street.”

“My street, too.”

“Coincidence, huh?”

He shrugged.

“Okay. Then I’m sitting here drinking tea, and suddenly there you are, too, with a crazy tale about trailing a killer. Don’t you think you should go to the police if you know who the killer is?”

“Probably. I’m just not sure yet how to explain what I know.”

“Because it’s crazy,” she suggested softly.

“I swear to you, I only want you to be safe,” he said.

She groaned, looking down at her hands. “I’ve heard a piece of your story, and I’m not at all sure I want to hear the rest. Please…you’re very attractive. But I…I really have to ask you to stay away from me.”

There. She had managed it; she had said the words and told him to leave her alone.

He pulled away, straightening, his expression both resigned and regretful.

Suddenly she heard Heidi’s voice. “There you are! Lauren, why haven’t you been answering your phone? Oh, hi, Mark. Okay, now I know why you haven’t been answering. Can we join you? Or should we get lost?”

And Heidi wasn’t alone.

Deanna was with her.

Heidi’s voice was, teasing, the day sunny, everything normal. And yet…

4

Mark Davidson was charming, and of course both Heidi and Deanna were outrageous flirts when they wanted to be.

First, though, Lauren demanded to know where her friend had been. Deanna seemed surprised that Lauren had been so worried just because she’d wandered off and told her, “Shopping. And I’m perfectly capable of going in and out of stores alone. You’re the one who left us high and dry, you know.”

Ignoring that, Lauren asked, “Did you take a carriage ride?”

“A carriage ride? Why would I have taken a carriage ride?”

So whatever had so disturbed her was really nothing, Lauren thought. Maybe she needed to start worrying about herself.

Over a couple of really po’boys, Mark entertained them with tales of his travels, his writing—and his playing.

“So are you good?” Heidi asked good-naturedly.

“I leave that to the listener to decide.”

“I’d love to hear you play sometime,” Lauren said.

He justshrugged. “So, tell me more about your business,” he said.

He had quite a knack for turning the conversation away from himself, she thought—and decided not to allow it. “Mark lost a fianceé, too,” she said. “Her name was Katie, and she looked like me. Or I look like her.”

The table went dead silent.

“I’m so sorry,” Heidi said.

“Me too,” Deanna told him. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

Lauren noted the way he studied her in return. Not lasciviously, more as if he were searching for something, expecting her to give herself away somehow.

“He’s worried about us,” Lauren added.

“Why?” Heidi asked.

“Because of that body they found in the Mississippi,” Lauren said.

To her surprise, Heidi bestowed a tremendous smile on the man. “That is so sweet of you!”

“Imagine. We go on vacation and find a handsome protector,” Deanna said. She turned to Lauren. “And he’s in the cottage right next to ours.”

They were both crazy, Lauren decided. The sun was too much for them. And the way they were flirt…She wasn’t sure whether to scream or vomit.

“He thinks he knows who the killer is, that it’s the same man who killed his fianceé.”

“Oh, my God!” Deanna said, leaning forward and touching him gently, real concern in her eyes.

“I didn’t actually say that he killed her, but he was responsible for her death,” Mark said, frowning at Lauren.

“You should go to the police if you have any information at all,” Heidi told him.

“You’re right, I should,” he said. To Lauren’s surprise, he stood. “I think I’ll take a stroll down to the station right now. Thanks so much for letting me join you for lunch,” he said. “And I’m in cottage six, if you need me.”

“Are you two insane!” Lauren asked in a vehement whisper as he walked away. When he looked back with a glance of amusement; she knew that, even at a distance, he had heard her, and she blushed.

“What is the matter with you?” Heidi demanded. “He’s unbelievable.”

“That would be the point,” Lauren muttered.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Heidi announced. “He obviously has the hots for you, but if you’re going to be an idiot and turn down a good man, let Deanna have a crack at him.”

“Lauren, if you’re not interested in him, you’re going off the deep end,” Deanna told her.

“Hey, I wasn’t the one sleepwalking,” she snapped. “And he’s lying—I’ll be you he’s lying. He isn’t going to the police station.”

“We can follow him and find out,” Deanna suggested.

“Yeah—right after we pay the check. He joined us for lunch and walked out,” Lauren reminded them, waved a hand to signal the waitress.

“May we have the check, please?” Lauren asked when the woman came over.

“The gentleman gave me his credit card before he joined you,” she said. “You don’t have a check.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Lauren said, staring at her blankly.

“I’ll leave the tip,” Heidi offered.

“He was really generous,” the waitress said. “You don’t need to. Honestly.”

“Thanks,” Heidi told her. “We’ll…we’ll just add to it,” she said lamely.

Lauren rose along with Deanna, as their friend dug in her purse, then laid a bill on the table. “Hey, look at this.” Heidi said.

It was the beautiful antique cross. He’d left it on the table, Lauren realized.

“Where did this come from?” Heidi asked curiously.

“Mr. Gorgeous left it,” Lauren said. She shook her head, but took the cross from Heidi. “Come on, I’m going to prove to you both that he’s full of shit.”

She led them quickly through the French Quarter, for once ignoring the architecture that never failed to enthrall her and the street musicians who somehow always sounded so good. When they reached the police station. Lauren opened the door to go in, then froze.

Mark Davidson was there, talking to the desk sergeant.

She backed out of the doorway, stunned.

“Ouch,” Heidi protested, as Lauren stepped on her foot.

“I take it Mr. Davidson is inside?” Deanna said dryly.

“Yes,” Lauren said, puzzled.

“See?” Deanna said.

“Something’s still…not right,” Lauren said.

“You always think something not right,” Deanna told her. “Lauren, you can’t live your life with nothing ever being right,” she added gently.

“You don’t understand,” Lauren tried to explain.

“Yes, we do.” Both of them spoke in unison, looking at her in concern. They were convinced that she couldn’t get beyond the past, and that she desperately needed to.

“No,” she insisted. “I’m fine—these days. I would love to meet the right guy…or even a decent enough wrong guy. Movies, dinner…music,” she said. “Honestly, I know you don’t have to plan a lifetime with someone to enjoy his company.”

“You know what she needs?” Heidi said gravely to Deanna.

“I do,” Deanna said.

“And that would be…?” Lauren asked.

“Sex. Wild, hot, passionate sex,” Deanna said.

“Oh, please!”

“Spontaneous. Wicked,” Heidi said, agreeing with Deanna.

“Can we move on?” Lauren said.

“Look—she’s blushing. She is attracted to him,” Deanna said triumphantly.

“How could she not be?” Heidi said.

“Look,” Lauren insisted, “something just isn’t right here.”

“The fortune-teller,” Deanna told Heidi gravely.

Heidi linked an arm through Lauren’s. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with you. Wait! Brainstorm! I do know what we’re going to do. I’m having a vision. It’s me, and I’m standing at a craps table.”

“You lose at craps all the time,” Lauren said.

“And I have a hell of a good time doing it. Come on, slave, let’s trot on back over to Harrah’s. I see us sunning in the late afternoon sun later. A dip in the pool will be followed by dinner. K-Paul’s tonight. Then we’ll hit Bourbon Street for music and jazz. Cool?”

“Cool,” Lauren said, though she didn’t sound convinced. Then she looked at Deanna and frowned. “You’re sure you didn’t take a carriage ride today? I could have sworn I saw you with a tall, dark-haired guy, like the one I saw you talking to in the bar last night.”

“The cute guy?” Deanna said.

“Yeah. Were you in a carriage with him?”

“No,” Deanna said.

It could be difficult to tell if Deanna was blushing, because her skin was such a beautiful shade of copper, but Lauren thought she had reddened.

As if she were lying.

“Hey, pay attention here, slaves,” Heidi demanded.

They both looked at her. “Harrah’s,” she ordered.

Lauren let out a breath, still staring at Deanna. “Right. Harrah’s,” she said.

And she started to walk.

Mark had known the women would follow him, egged on by Lauren.

Luckily, they had quickly departed.

And he had gotten more of a response at the police station than he had been expecting. Of course, it had been some time since he’d been in New Orleans. Things here had changed.

At the desk, he’d informed the sergeant that he didn’t have any solid information, but he knew of a European national now in the country who had been linked to various crimes overseas—crimes that left victims resembling the woman found in the Mississippi.

He had expected to give information to a bored paper-chasing officer in a cubicle somewhere.

To his surprise, he was ushered into the office of Lieutenant Sean Canady, an impressive man with steel blue eyes and a rock-hard chin.

“I understand you have information regarding the body in the river?” Canady said, taking his seat after a handshake and indicating a chair across from his desk.

“Not exactly,” Mark corrected. “But I do have reason to believe that the crime may be associated with a man named Stephan??? who I believe is in this area now.”

“I see.” Canady’s hands were folded on his desk. “Sadly, Mr. Davidson, murder isn’t unusual. Nor is decapitation, though I admit it’s somewhat less common.”

“No.”

“So…?”

Mark took a deep breath. “There are a number of ancient beliefs that suggest decapitation will prevent someone from becoming a vampire. And there’s a modern belief that some vampires are careful to dispose of victims they aren’t entirely…sure of. Population control, if you will. Survival of the…”

“Hottest? Most clever?” Canady said.

The man must think he was an idiot, Mark realized. “Yes.”

Canady’s eyes didn’t flicker. He was either trying to humor him until the padded wagon bound for the asylum arrived, or…

Or nothing surprised him at all.

Or maybe…

He’d had previous experience with vampires.

“Your suggesting there’s a vampire loose in the New Orleans?” Canady said.

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