A knock came at the front door, and I raced away to answer it. Eli stood in dawn’s dark, blinking against the porch light, and I jerked the bag from him, hoping it was my clothes. “Wait out here,” I demanded, and slammed the door in his face. Buying time, I hoped. I was doing a lot of hopeful things, but I had a feeling things were not going my way.
I raced to the tiny powder room and slammed that door too. It wasn’t the first time that Eli had come to my rescue with clothes and a ride, but it was the first time he’d been to the One Feathers’, and I’d just as soon keep them all separate. But I could feel disaster lurking.
I shoved my legs into my panties and jeans and my old, worn black boots, not bothering with the socks in my haste. Yanked on bra and shirt and raced out. And was too freaking late. Eli was sitting at the kitchen table, the Kid to his left, chatting with the two women. And the dang kitten sat on Eli’s lap.
“We do not have time in our lives for a pet,” I said.
“He’s cute,” the Kid said.
“And one does not turn down the gift of an elder of the people,” Eli said, obviously quoting information he had just been given, and not bothering to hide his evil twisted grin. He stood, cradling the kitten in his arm. “Thank you for the gift, Mizez One Feathers. We’ll take good care of her.”
I rolled my eyes; it was childish, but I couldn’t help it. Yet I still remembered my manners, the ones pounded into me at the Christian children’s home where I grew up. I forced out the proper words. “Thank you for the sweat and the dreams, Egini Agayvlge i. And thank you for the hospitality of your home and food, Uni lisi. You have been most gracious hostesses. And”—I plastered a smile onto my face and lied through my teeth—“thank you for the kitten.” If it sounded as if I was cussing instead of offering thanks, who could blame me?
“You welcome,” Uni lisi said, standing, patting my face. “You a good girl.”
? ? ?
“You’ll need to buy a litter box and cat food,” I said as we crossed the Mississippi River on the way home. Rain splashed at the windshield, and Eli turned on the wipers and the heat. I slouched against the front passenger door and shoved the kitten off my thigh and into the backseat. “And don’t look to me to feed it or clean the box. I’m not gonna.”
“I’ll take care of it,” the Kid said. “And hey, call Jodi.” He handed me my official cell, which seemed to have survived the accident. I checked my messages and saw that Jodi had called four times. I hit the button and the fancy cell dialed her private line at NOPD. I knew that Leo and any of his people would now know I was back in service, as he kept tabs on me through the electronics he paid for, but there was nothing I could do about that. Leo was like a big black spider spinning his web into everything, even my soul home.
“Detective Richoux.”
“Yellowrock here.”
“So you aren’t dead.” She didn’t sound happy about me being alive.
“No. Sorry about the mess.”
Jodi laughed roughly, and I could nearly see her rubbing her head as if she had a headache. “Yeah. Well. Your good-looking roommate cleaned most of it up. He taken?”
“Yes. By a cop in Natchez. But if they have a spat, I’ll send him your way. He likes crappy coffee and guns.”
“My kinda guy.”
Eli slanted his eyes my way. “You pimping me out, Legs?”
You should be so lucky, I mouthed at him.
“I told you last night that I have info for you. I started a search on your missing working girls, something I could do because of Bliss’ connection to witches,” Jodi said.
“You found Bliss?”
“No. Just info. I discovered that she was adopted at the age of two, and when she reached puberty and her gifts started to express themselves, her parents kicked her out. I have an address for you if you want.”
I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see the gesture. “I’m not interested in talking to people who would kick out a kid for being who and what she is. Even if the kid is torturing cats, she needs help, not kicking out.”
“Okay. So anyway, just today, when researching Bliss’ connection to other witches, I found a link to somebody you might be interested in. Someone who relates to Molly. Shiloh Everhart Stone. Name ring a bell?”
I sat up slowly, fingers tightening on the cell. Shiloh was Evangelina Everhart Stone’s missing daughter, a runaway who went missing, here in New Orleans ages ago, and who had been dead for years. She was also Molly’s niece. Shiloh? Pieces started dropping like dominoes falling, but I couldn’t quite see the picture they made. “Tell me,” I breathed.
“We thought we had identified her body back last decade. We were wrong. The dentals didn’t match and we didn’t catch it. Change of investigators. It fell through the cracks.” Her breath made a moaning sound over the line, an electronic, mournful noise. “We never found her body.”
I hadn’t known they had an ID. I hadn’t known they were wrong. But it all fit the picture that I couldn’t quite see. “Okay.”
“She might be alive.”