Garden of Dreams and Desires

by Kristen Painter

  “As soon as I hear from the cab company, I’ll let you know.” Sasha turned to go. “There’s also a crew headed to his hotel room. They’ll let you know about whatever evidence they find.”

  “Thanks.” Grantham kept his gaze on Augustine as she left. “I should know by tomorrow morning if the room search turns up anything interesting. I’ll keep you posted on it all the same. In the meantime, I need some more coffee if I’m going to make it through the rest of these files.”

  “I hope you find something that ties Giselle into all this.” Augustine stood as Grantham did the same. “Let me ask you—if you consider the witches othernaturals, does that mean I have jurisdiction?”

  Grantham answered right away. “So long as any guilty parties are properly dealt with, yes.”

  “And if witches are othernaturals, what do you consider those who practice voodoo?”

  Grantham rubbed one hand over the fight-scarred knuckles of the other. “Your people don’t regulate voodoo like you do witchcraft.”

  “We’ve never had a reason to, but that might change depending on a few factors.”

  Grantham’s dark gaze held both distress and a sense of helplessness. “Then I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  He made to leave but Augustine stopped him. “I’m not talking about Jewelia, just so you know. I’m talking about Father Ogun.”

  “But what affects one, affects all.” Grantham sighed, then raised his head to look at Augustine straight on. “Tell you what. Ogun gets in your way, whatever happens, happens.”

  “I take it you don’t like him any more than I do.”

  “He gives those who do good with the practice a bad name. Like my grandmother.” He raised his brows. “I want her kept clean of all this, you hear me? I know she’s helping you with something, but if that help drags her into some kind of mess…”

  “You have my word. She’s got nothing to fear.” Augustine gestured toward the door. Jewelia’s bokura had made it possible for him to talk to Harlow. He wasn’t about to do anything to hurt the mambo. “Good luck with those files. I’m going to go see a certain witch and see what information I can get out of her.”

  Grantham gave him a stern look. “You give me your word you’ll be back to speak to Pellimento’s recovery team?”

  “I’ll try, but I’ve got other fae business to deal with. That has to take precedence.”

  “That’s not good enough. You don’t show for that meeting and the senator is going to be all over you like stink on a pig.”

  “I’ll deal with her if and when the time comes. But that time might not be today.” He wasn’t about to abandon Harlow for the senator’s missing kid. Not when Augustine had a pretty good idea Robert Pellimento was already dead.

  Ava Mae strolled toward St. Jacques Bistro for her lunch date. She spotted Rufus Ogun immediately. He was inside and already at a table, reading the paper. Waiting for her. Her pulse jumped a tick at the thought that very soon, with the help he was about to give her, she would permanently reside in this body.

  Not if I have anything to do with it.

  Settle down, Sister. This is for the best.

  Ditching me is for the best? Like hell. It’s my body!

  You had your chance to behave but your constant bitterness and fighting is too much. You brought this on yourself.

  I wish you were still dead!

  Harlow’s shout spiked anger through Ava Mae, causing her arm to jerk and her purse to slip from her shoulder. She glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. She closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated on pushing Harlow down.

  Harlow barely budged.

  Ava Mae ignored the twinge of panic her failure brought on. She fought harder and this time succeeded in wresting back control. With a shuddering breath, she yanked the strap of her purse onto her shoulder and hurried into the restaurant. There was no time to waste. She smiled brightly as she approached the table. “Rufus, you beat me here.”

  He looked up from his paper and met her smile with one of his own. He folded the paper and set it aside. “Don’t you look lovely. I’m so glad you could join me. I’ve ordered a couple of Sazeracs. Have you had one before?”

  She sat, shaking her head. “No, what is it?”

  “My dear, it’s the signature drink of New Orleans. It was invented right here in the French Quarter. I thought it might be a nice way to celebrate our new friendship.”

  She struggled to hold on to her smile. Her past experiences with alcohol weren’t very good. What if something bad happened this time? What if he was trying to get her drunk? He wouldn’t do that, would he? He had no reason to. Plus it would be rude to turn down the drink. And she needed his help. “I agree. To new friends.”

  A server arrived with the drinks. She stared at hers.

  He picked his up to toast, then hesitated. “You seem nervous.”

  “I think I’m what you’d call a lightweight.”

  “I see.” He put his glass down, his smile gentle and warm. “Then why don’t you skip it? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  “You don’t care if I don’t drink it?”

  “Not at all.” His smile widened. “Although, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to drink mine.” He laughed. “In fact, I’m probably going to have another.”

  She was making a big deal about nothing. She picked up her glass. “Here’s to friends.”

  He lifted his as well. “All right then. To friends and a future that brings us both what we desire.”

  She sipped the tawny liquid, the sweet but bitter taste swirling over her tongue. “Not bad.”

  “You’d probably like something more fruity.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t drink enough to know, really. My mother liked mint juleps. That’s not a bad drink.” She quickly put her hand up like a stop sign. “Not that I want one.”

  He chuckled and leaned forward. “They make a great raspberry tea here. Let me get you one of those.” He waved the server over and ordered.

  Lunch was as light and pleasant as she’d hoped. Rufus knew everything there was to know about the city and told the most amazing stories. By the end of the meal, she felt like she’d known him for years. But they still hadn’t talked much about her problem and what he could do to help. Every time she brought the subject up, he danced around it.

  Finally, lunch was over, the bill paid—something she’d argued with him about, but he’d insisted on picking up the tab—and it was time to go. Other than Harlow’s silent irritation, her presence had been almost forgettable. Ava Mae and Ogun left together.

  As they hit the sidewalk Ogun tipped his hat back, a straw fedora with a bright blue band, and took a long look around them, eyeing each passerby with suspicion. “I know you want to talk about your situation, but I don’t trust open spaces. How about we go for a walk to somewhere I like better?”

  “Okay.” Anywhere he felt comfortable was fine with her. She matched his pace.

  “We’re not far and it’s a spot you should see anyway. Lot of history in where we’re headed.”

  “Is there any place around here that doesn’t have history?”

  He laughed. “No, I guess not.” They walked a few blocks, finally approaching a large compound surrounded by a high plastered wall. Behind the wall, the second and third stories of a large, rectangular building were visible. He pushed open an arched wooden gate for her to go through. “Here we are. The Ursuline Convent.”

  She paused, her feet still on the sidewalk. “Can you… that is, your… people, can they go in places like this?”

  He snorted. “Child, I’m a voodoo doctor, not a vampire. We hold dear to the church.” He waved a hand through the air, pushing her comment away. “But I suppose this is all new to you. Even your Augustine’s a religious man. Well, he was. Not sure about that lately. His mother, now there’s a woman who clings to the cross.”

  Ava Mae walked through the gate. “Really?” This was interesting. Anything
she could learn about Augustine that might bring them closer was a good thing. Perhaps Harlow felt the same way, as she’d gone oddly quiet. Like she was listening intently.

  Rufus followed her, then took the path leading to a small shop. “Oh, yes. His mother hates all things fae. But then I’m sure he’s mentioned that.”

  “Not much.” Not at all that she could remember.

  Rufus paid the admission then led her into the main building, the huge white rectangle she’d seen outside the wall. It was a simple, austere building. The third story’s windows were shuttered. The building’s inside matched its exterior, with crisp white walls and dark wood floors that were beautiful but restrained. Their steps echoed on the thick planks, but upstairs the voices of children and adults could be heard. He gestured around the space. “They keep the convent open to the public, but it’s a working school so the only areas we can access are the grounds and the path to the chapel, which is fine. That’s the place I want to show you.”

  He led the way until they came into a huge open space with a soaring ceiling painted with a blue sky complete with angels. White marble columns surrounded the altar, gilded here and there with touches of gold and more intricate painting. The quiet was so profound it pressed against her ears.

  She took a few steps in, immediately ill at ease for reasons she didn’t understand. She had as much right to be here as the next person.

  He walked them back a few pews and gestured for her to sit. She slid across the polished wood until she was under one of the large crystal chandeliers hanging from the ornate ceiling. Even with the chandeliers, the space beyond the altar was dim. It felt… sacred. Cool, quiet. Nothing like the space the lightning tree inhabited. Nothing like being part of the tree. She shoved those memories down and took a breath. The slight smell of something perfumey lingered in the air. Incense maybe?

  Rufus sat beside her and spread his hands wide. “See,” he said softly. “Not a soul. The perfect place to talk.”

  “It’s very pretty.” And it was, despite the way the small hairs on the back of her neck had raised the moment they’d entered. She tucked her hands under her thighs and stared at the altar and the two large angels flanking it.

  A small noise near the entrance captured their attention. A wizened nun in white and blue robes made her way to the altar gate and kneeled to pray. Ava Mae looked at Rufus, tipping her head toward the old woman.

  He smirked. “Nothing to worry about.” He kept his voice to a whisper as he sat back. “What kind of help do you want from me? What exactly is going on?”

  She had no choice but to trust him if she wanted to accomplish her goal. With that in mind, she told him exactly what she wanted. “I need some kind of spell or potion or whatever you can do to make sure my soul stays in my body.” She watched him, waiting for the look that told her he thought she was insane. It never came.

  He nodded, squinting off toward the distance. “That seems like it might be an issue, does it? Keeping one’s soul in one’s body isn’t the type of request I usually get.”

  “Does that mean you can’t help me?” Panic edged along her spine.

  Harlow latched on to that feeling. Nothing good can come of this.

  “No, but knowing a little more will help me create the spell. Why do you feel like this is something you need help with?”

  She took a breath. “Because mine is not the only soul in this body.”

  That’s right, tell him how you’re an interloper.

  He nodded again, appearing unshaken by what she’d said. “I see.” He was quiet a moment. The old nun kept her place at the rail, her head bent. Rufus turned in Ava Mae’s direction. “That other soul giving you trouble?”

  “Yes.”

  Hah! You’re the only soul in trouble. Messing with voodoo is going to come back to haunt you. Just like I will if you try to ditch me.

  His brows lifted knowingly. “Because it was the original owner of the body?”

  She stared at him, a little unsettled by what he’d surmised. Harlow’s bitter laughter rang in Ava Mae’s ears. “Can you help me or not?”

  “No.” He held up a finger. “But I know who can.” He kept his gaze on her. “I’m your friend, child. Whatever you say to me, stays with me. I want you to know that and trust that.”

  “Thank you.” But words were easily broken. She’d believe him when she got what she wanted. “This person you know who can help me, who is it?”

  “A friend.” He smiled coyly. “I can take you to her, if you like.”

  A woman? That was somewhat reassuring. “When?”

  He looked at his watch. “She should be home. Let me text her and see if she can meet us now. If that works for you.”

  Ava Mae smiled, mostly out of relief that Ogun hadn’t told her what she needed was impossible. “That works perfectly.”

  The sooner, the better.

  Chapter Eight

  Giselle looked up from a set of blueprints to see Augustine stomping through the demolished insides of her house. How he’d known to find her at her father’s old place, she had no idea. Wretched fae intuition. She had to get rid of him before Ogun showed up. “What are you doing here?”

  The angry glitter in his stormy eyes told her it wasn’t a friendly visit. Typical. He only came to see her when he wanted to accuse her of something. “You’re lucky I don’t haul you in for questioning. Actually, I might, depending on how things go.”

  “What now, Guardian? I’m busy. And not with anything that needs fae interference.” She put a hammer on one side of the blueprints and a level on the other to keep the paper from rolling back together, then crossed her arms and glared at him. “Someone put a curse on you and you need me to remove it? I have to say I’m surprised it’s taken this long.”

  His expression didn’t change. “What do you know about the missing tourists?”

  Her smile almost faltered. “I didn’t even know there were missing tourists. A little too much Mardi Gras fun, perhaps?” She reached for the blueprints. “That’s neither a crime nor witchcraft, so if you’ll excuse me—”

  He smacked his hand down on top of them, six fingers splayed against the blue and white drawings. “Do not play cute with me, witch.”

  Cute was the last thing she wanted to be with him. She stopped smiling and brushed an errant fleck of sawdust off the sleeve of her white linen jacket. “I’ve answered your question. What else is it going to take to get you out of my house?”

  “The last tourist that went missing was seen getting his fortune told by you in Jackson Square.” He lifted his hand from the blueprints to jab his index finger at her. “And before you try to tell me you don’t work the square anymore, I already know better, so save your breath.”

  She crossed her arms again. It helped keep her fingers still, which were itching to fling spells at him. “No, I do still set up shop there on occasion, but not with the same regularity that I used to. I’m high priestess of the coven now, you know.”

  He snorted. “I’m aware.”

  She waved her hand toward the pile of discarded lumber in one corner. “Plus, as you can see, I’m busy remodeling this place and—” Her LMD buzzed. She pulled it out and looked at the screen. Incoming text from Ogun. Damn it. He must be on his way. “Just a moment, I have to deal with this.”

  Her fingers flew over the screen. Change in plans. Take the package to Zara’s. She sent that text, then sent another to Ian, who was currently upstairs overseeing the installation of the granite countertops in the master bath. Augustine is here. I sent Ogun to Zara’s. Text her, then get over there. Will join you as soon as able.

  Ogun’s reply came first. Will do.

  Then Ian’s. Done. On my way. Will wait on your arrival.

  She tucked the LMD back into her pocket and smiled. “You know how remodeling is, all the contractors need an answer at the same time. So if you’ll excuse me, I really should get back to work. Besides this job, I still have a coven to run.”

  He pu
lled his own LMD out, flipped it around and showed her the screen. “Do you recognize this man?”

  She studied the face of the last tourist they’d fed to the well of souls. The one she’d known was a calculated, but brilliant risk. “He looks vaguely familiar.” She nodded and pointed at the picture. “That’s one of the missing tourists, I assume? I guess he looks familiar because I either saw him in the square, on one of the news reports or I could have even read his fortune. I can’t really say which.”

  He tucked the LMD into his pocket. “Try harder. We have the two of you on video together.”

  “Then I guess I did read his fortune, but I can’t give you more than that. I don’t ask for the names of those I read for. I prefer to let the crystals speak for themselves.” She held back the curse prying at her lips. Those damn surveillance cameras. They infested the city like a plague. How much could they have really gotten? “Let me see the picture again.”

  He showed her the photo a second time.

  She stared at it, buying herself some time to think. She squinted as if recalling even a few details took effort. “I can tell you from what I read off him and the way he was dressed, he comes from a family of money and influence.”

  Augustine nodded. “Good read.” He lifted the LMD higher. “This is Senator Irene Pellimento’s son.”

  She leaned forward, the buzz of a saw in the next room causing her to raise her voice. “Why should that mean anything to me?”

  Augustine shouted over the din. “If you don’t know, maybe we should go somewhere you can think better. One of the holding cells at the Pelcrum should do nicely.”

  “On what grounds? I’ve done nothing.” The saw went mercifully quiet.

  “On the grounds that you’re a witch and I don’t give a fet’ka what you think. I’m so tired of dealing with the problems you create. You’re a thorn in my side and I’d like to yank you out and be done with you.”