? ? ?
Since I’d gotten my answer, which was much less dramatic than I thought it would be, I bound the magic into the box again, and she finally let me eat.
We made our way downstairs, where darkness had fallen over the Quarter, and prepared to finish off the bread, the carrots, a jar of pickles Gavin unearthed from one of the kitchen cabinets, and a bottle of wine I’d been saving. This seemed as good a time as any to indulge.
We divvied up the food, poured the wine into my mismatched jars, and made a kind-of meal at the cypress table. We skipped the lights for a few dim candles. The less light, the less would be visible to curious people on the street.
“You know what I’d like?” Gavin asked, sipping his wine. “A steak. A big steak with a baked potato slathered in butter and sour cream.”
“You could get those things outside the Zone,” Nix pointed out.
Gavin looked at her. “There are a lot of things outside the Zone that aren’t here. But that doesn’t make that world any better.”
Since that comment was clearly meant for Nix—and about Nix—and not for our ears, I looked away and caught Liam’s gaze. He rolled his eyes with amusement.
“What about you, Nix? What do you miss most about the Beyond?”
She looked surprised by the question. I’d thought about asking if she had a favorite food, but she hadn’t really joined the conversation, so I guessed her thoughts were on other things, other memories.
“Everything,” she finally said. “I miss everything. It was my home, my heart. Where I came from. I would like to go home again.”
“What was it like?” I asked.
“My land was green. Beautifully green, with rolling hills that dropped into the deepest sea, and deep forests so thick and dark that sunlight only barely filtered through to the floor. Crystal blue lakes, snow-covered peaks. It is a land of extremes, but a beautiful and fertile one.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. It was the only thing I could think to say.
She nodded. “Not all of us feel the same. Some dread the dissension, war, that is probably still waging there.”
I nodded, sipped my wine in the silence that had descended heavily again. Probably time to change the subject, I thought, and looked at the brothers Quinn. “We know about the Arsenaults. What about the Quinns? Where did they come from?”
“The bottom of a rum and Coke,” Gavin said, and he and Liam clinked glasses.
“Let’s just say my mother made a bad choice when she hooked up with a jazz-playin’, hard-drinkin’ Cajun named Buddy Quinn,” Liam said.
“Which Arsenault daughter was your mother?” There’d been five of them, all beautiful girls with dark hair and blue eyes.
“Juliet,” Liam said. “The oldest.”
I smiled. “I forgot they all had Shakespearean names.”
“Thierry Arsenault loved Shakespeare,” Gavin said, then held out his hands. “Had one of those big all-in-one volumes of it. Used to read it after dinner. He was a complicated man. An interesting one.”
I nodded. The clock chimed, struck ten. We all looked over, watched as Little Red Riding Hood moved through the forest.
“The wolf doesn’t come out until midnight,” I said when the clock struck ten and she disappeared into the workings again.
“Some werewolves came through the Veil,” Liam said. “At least, I’m pretty sure I saw one. I was at the Arsenaults’ cabin—one of the last nights I spent there.”
“Because of the werewolf infestation?” I asked.
“You joke,” he said with one of his surprising, dimpled grins. “Wait until you’ve seen the horde descending on you.”
“They are monsters in both worlds,” Nix agreed. “And friends of neither.”
That was good to know. I made a note to check the phases of the moon next time I wandered around in the dark.
Liam stood. “We should go. I want to take a look around the Garden District again. We still haven’t found two male wraiths.”
This time, I didn’t offer to go. I needed some space, and Liam and I being in close quarters again wasn’t going to help.
Gavin pushed back his chair, rose. “Get some sleep,” he said. “You’re going to need it after the work you did.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
Nix followed him to the door, then Liam. I blew out the candles—I knew the store well enough to move around it in the dark—and met them at the threshold.
There was a small card on the floor in front of the door, apparently slipped into the mail slot. It was a business card. The cream stock was old and worn at the edges. KING SUGAR COMPANY was written across it in tidy block letters, along with an address in Chalmette. That was downriver, and the spot where the original Battle of New Orleans had been fought.
There was a note on the card: LIAM AND CLAIRE, MIDNIGHT.
“What’s that?” Liam asked.
“I think it’s an invitation,” I said, and handed it to him.