Blood Red

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.