Carnival Page 10

  Tarot and palm readings, donation only.

  She hadn’t even gotten comfortable in her chair when her first customer—a forty-year-old woman with thick black eyeliner and a streak of gray through her box-red hair—sat down.

  “Can you do me?” she asked.

  How much? Piper thought, but had the good sense not to make the joke aloud.

  “Tarot or palm?” she asked, and just like that, she was off.

  Piper was six readings in before she had a chance to count the money—$103—and bring out the water bottle from her bag. She drank half of it in one go.

  Two teenage girls with perfect white teeth and ripped jeans came to the table. The blonde placed two fingers on the table’s edge and opened her mouth to speak, but a husky, masculine voice came out instead. “This bitch is closed.”

  Piper lowered the water bottle and found a glorious drag queen standing on the other side of her card table.

  Henry, a longtime friend, stood in six-inch stilettos and a golden brassiere. His ass was—as her mother would have put it—tight enough to bounce a quarter off of, and expertly framed by the fishnet hose pulled over it.

  The hand on his hip had been recently manicured and the long nails gleamed like honey in the square’s streetlights. His other hand was wrapped possessively over the back of the metal chair, preventing either of the girls from sitting down.

  “But—” one of the girls began to object, a deep crease forming between her eyes.

  Yet one look from Henry sent them both scurrying deeper into the square.

  Piper grinned. “Don’t frighten the children, H.”

  “I didn’t come all the way down here in my Louboutins to be stopped by some teenage horndogs.”

  Piper laughed. “Splurging for Louboutins now? Wow, your dances at Wild Cat must be paying well these days.”

  He settled down into the folding chair and crossed one leg over the other. “I thought I’d find your skinny ass here. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

  He pushed out his rouged lower lip.

  Piper offered her hands across the card table. “Sorry, man. I’ve been so busy.”

  He clasped them briefly, giving them a squeeze. His nails grazed her wrist. “I know. So I thought I would come and see you for once. You’re always coming to see me, aren’t you? I’m sure I owe you.”

  Piper withdrew, settling back against the chair. In truth, a short mental break wasn’t totally unwelcome. “It’s good to see you.”

  Henry tilted his head and batted his lengthy eyelashes. “I know.” He flashed her a roguish smile. “Now, tell me what the hell you’ve been up to.”

  Piper gave him the condensed version of her life—investigation, case building, criminal justice classes, day-to-day at the shop, and the status of her apartment, finishing up with the special hell that was Carnival.

  “God, don’t I know it,” Henry said, gesturing at the rambunctious crowd of drunks around them, covered in beads and plastic masks and ridiculous hats. “Let’s hole up in your apartment until it’s over.”

  “You have an open invitation,” she promised.

  She hadn’t made the invitation earlier because one Miss Louie Thorne had a tendency to pop out of dark corners unannounced whenever she pleased, and Piper hadn’t been ready to explain that phenomenon to anyone.

  “At least you aren’t ignoring me because you’re shacking up with some girl.”

  Piper took the money out of her donation box, wrapped it up, and tucked it into the bottom of her backpack. “There’s no girl.”

  “No one on your radar at all?” Henry asked, arching a painted brow. “You haven’t seen a girl for days? Months?”

  Piper noticed his shift in tone and frowned at him. “I had dinner with Dani last night. First time I’d seen her in over a year.”

  She searched his face as she said it, confirming her suspicions.

  “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

  “I’m friends with Tyriqua.” When Piper didn’t register the significance of the name, he said, “The hostess who seated you told me she’d seen you come in.”

  “You’ve got spies in the Quarter.” Piper snorted, shuffling the cards absentmindedly. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Henry, like Piper, had lived in New Orleans all his life.

  “I haven’t seen you, is all. I needed to know you weren’t dead in a ditch or had fallen into prostitution.”

  Piper grinned. “Since when do you have a problem with prostitution?”

  “I don’t. I love prostitutes.” He clasped his hands around his knees, glancing around the square. “It’s kind of cold out here. You just sit out here all night?”

  “Not all night. Just until I make my personal quota.”

  He’s pretending not to care much about Dani, but in a second he’s going to ask—

  “So what’s going on with Dani anyway?” he asked.

  Piper smiled. “Who?”

  Henry rolled his bedazzled eyes. “The journalist who used you for a story and then decided she likes you—probably because you laid her better than she’d ever been laid in her life—and now wants to kiss and make up.”

  Piper felt the heat rise in her face. “We didn’t have sex.”

  Henry arched his brows again. “That speaks volumes all on its own, doesn’t it? Piper, heart-slayer, didn’t bed a gorgeous woman who wanted it? Damn. The world must be ending.”

  “You’re reading too much into it.” Yet Piper wondered why her heart was knocking strangely in her chest.

  “Hmmm,” he said, unconvinced, and let his gaze slide out over the square again. Piper followed his lead, noting the lit lamps, the crowds chattering. People standing around with their cups of booze or hot drinks. A brass band was tuning up to begin their set. The square echoed with laughter and the chatter of dozens of overlapping conversations. One girl holding a hurricane glass looked ready to puke in the shrub beside her.

  Henry pointed at the other tables clustered around. All of them were full with a few hosting lines.

  “You ever get your own cards read?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t have time for that.”

  He checked the clock on his phone, then, seemingly satisfied, reached across the table. He waved his manicured nails. “Hand them over.”

  Piper laughed. “What?”

  “The cards. Give them to me. I’m going to tell your fortune.”

  She drew them back instinctively. “You don’t know how to read cards.”

  “No, but you do. You pick them and I’ll turn them over and you can read them for yourself.”

  She wanted to argue that it wouldn’t actually be him reading the cards, but his face was so determined she laughed and gave up the deck.

  It was incredibly difficult to read one’s own fortune, even if someone else volunteered to do the flipping and shuffling. Everyone had a self-view, and self-beliefs always got in the way of seeing a situation objectively. That’s why it was better to get someone else’s interpretation.

  “This should be interesting,” she said, unaware that she’d folded her arms over her chest.

  Henry watched her with a devilish grin as he shuffled the deck. “Do you have a question?” he asked in a mock fortune teller voice. It was over the top, dramatic, and actually went well with his drag queen persona. The wide eyes helped.

  Piper giggled. “Let’s just do a Celtic cross.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, remaining in character.

  Piper laughed, her knee accidentally bumping the table. It rocked. “You can stop shuffling. Spread them out for me so I can pick ten.”

  Henry did as he was told, and Piper took her time thumbing through the deck. She only picked the cards that made her hesitate, the ones she kept coming back to.

  When she had all ten cards removed from the deck, she moved the pile over to one side and handed the ten to Henry.

  “Keep them in order, like that,” Piper instructed. “Just flip one at a time.”


  He nodded gravely. Piper wondered if maybe he would do a fortune teller skit of some kind for his next drag show. Surely there was a song that would work for it. Didn’t The Rolling Stones also have a song about a fortune teller?

  Despite his long, elegant nails, Henry flipped the cards easily, one at a time, putting them down where Piper instructed him to.

  “Look at all these cups,” he said, batting his eyes at her. “I wonder what they mean?”

  She refrained from rolling her eyes. “The cups suit usually has to do with love and relationships.”

  “Oh,” he said in mock surprise. “Imagine that.”

  “I thought you didn’t know anything about tarot.”

  “I know a little. Enough to know this is all about love.” He tapped The Ace of Cups. Then he plucked one card off the table and held it up at her accusingly. “The Lovers? Come on now.”

  He tapped The Queen of Wands.

  “What about this one?” he asked.

  That’s Dani, she thought. “A strong, independent, and passionate woman.”

  Henry arched a brow. “A reporter, perhaps.”

  And Piper couldn’t argue. The cards she saw spread before her had every indication of a new and promising love. One that, given enough time, could bloom into complete fulfillment. A soulmate connection. But it wasn’t a straight shot to happily ever after. There were obstacles—big ones—that would slow down progress.

  A shiver ran down Piper’s arms.

  He laid another card down and then frowned. “This one looks less cheerful.”

  It was the Five of Swords. Ill-gotten gains. Victory through deceit.

  “It’s a card about double-crossing someone,” Piper told him.

  “She did double-cross you.” He pulled the card close to better see the artistic detail.

  “Yeah,” Piper agreed. But the positions of the cards also mattered. This betrayal was in the future, not the past. In fact, it was just on the horizon.

  Henry threw down the cards, giving Piper a minute to look them over.

  There was the promise of romance, but on the fringe cards something darker lurked. Keep your eyes open, her intuition said. Keep your eyes open for what’s going on around you. Something is happening right under your nose.

  But she couldn’t be sure if that was about Lou, about hunting killers, or her work at the agency. Or if maybe it was about her mother. Or maybe Mel, who she’d been thinking about on and off all day. The way her hands had shaken. That man in the bone choker…

  Pay attention to what? she wondered.

  “Just talk to her,” Henry said at last, misreading her troubled expression. “I’m sure she’s sorry. So she got a little short-sighted in the face of her ambition, but I think an ambitious woman is exactly what you need in your life. You should give her another chance.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can tell you’re super into her, and I can’t let you walk away over something as stupid as her doing her job.”

  Piper gathered up the cards, unable to shake the worry knotting in her guts.

  Pay attention…to what…

  “Earth to Piper.” He clapped his hands.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll text her,” she agreed, shuffling the cards to clear them of her own energy.

  “Good,” Henry said, loving when he won.

  He reached into his golden brassiere and fished out a folded $20 bill. He threw it into Piper’s donation box and leaned forward coquettishly.

  He placed his chin in the palm of his hand. “Now, do me.”

  13

  Lou dreamed. A white t-shirt. Red blooming through cotton as she was lifted by strong, sure hands and thrown into waiting waters. The ghostly face of retribution emerged from the dark like a Carnival mask. A gun turning its black eye on her.

  Pop! Pop! Pop!

  With a gasp she sat up in bed. Her heart knocked against the base of her throat, making it difficult to breathe. The back of her neck was soaked with sweat. When she wiped at her forehead, she found it wet too.

  She slowed her breath. She counted the gold fleur-de-lis emblems embroidered on the green blanket stretched over her legs.

  Green and gold.

  Konstantine’s bed. She turned and saw him sleeping on his back. The sheet cut across his abdomen as his bare chest rose and fell slowly. One hand was tucked under his head, the other in the waistband of his pants.

  She clasped her hands behind her neck and squeezed. It had been a long time since she’d dreamed of her father’s murder.

  What had triggered it now? Why should the terror of that night—a decade and a half behind her—rise up now?

  She slid from the bed as quietly as she could, looking for her clothes. They were still soaked from her time with Ricky Walker, but she didn’t need to wear them. Konstantine had given her a pair of gray sweats and a large white t-shirt that hung off one of her shoulders.

  You’re dry. You’re safe. So why the dream?

  She didn’t want to leave the clothes behind. She grabbed them in both fists and turned to the bed once more.

  Konstantine continued to sleep, but Lou had a sneaking suspicion that he was pretending.

  Why? So she could sneak off without explanation?

  The shadows softened and stretched around her. They thinned for her as they always had, offering her passage.

  Say something. Anything, she thought. Tell him goodbye. Give him a kiss.

  Konstantine’s apartment fell away, and in its place her own apartment formed around her.

  The old-world charm and sounds of a languid canal were exchanged for the bright city lights of downtown St. Louis. The Gateway Arch, illuminated at night, stood guard over the Mississippi River. Lamp posts and skyscrapers twinkled like trapped fallen stars.

  Her bed was as she’d left it, unmade. Its downy comforter was rumpled and bathed in moonlight. Lou admired the skyline for a moment longer before crossing to a laundry basket and tossing in her soaked clothes.

  Gauging by the color of the sky, she’d only slept a few hours after falling into bed with Konstantine. Her GPS watch said it was just past three in the morning here.

  It was too early to pester King or check on Fish again. She could hunt. But she was tired. Her head buzzed and her eyes felt like they had sand in them. She fell onto her mattress and pulled her comforter over her body.

  You’re going to bed? Then why did you leave Konstantine at all? You could’ve slept in his bed as well as yours. Hell, his bed is more comfortable.

  That much was true.

  Lou suspected it was because Konstantine had a proper frame, headboard and all, whereas she had only a mattress on the floor.

  But that didn’t explain the restlessness that filled her.

  It made her legs itch and palms ache. She turned onto one pillow, fluffing it. When that provided no relief, she turned onto the other. She removed the comforter, then added it again.

  She slid her hand into her pillowcase, searching for…

  There.

  She retrieved the 5x8 photo from the pillowcase’s cotton folds and held it up to the moonlight.

  Her father smiled down at her. His hair was wet with ocean water, his eyes bright with his laughter. Lou, no more than eight at the time, was tucked under one of his muscular arms.

  She wondered if she would have forgotten his face—as she had her mother’s—if not for this photo.

  Jack Thorne. He was young when he was murdered by the mafia—by Konstantine’s family.

  The dream pressed in on her again, a white shirt soaking through with blood. The pop-pop-pop of gunfire. Angelo’s phantom face.

  “Stop it,” she whispered to the dark. You didn’t even see him get shot.

  The moment that Angelo had burst through the back gate one late summer night in June, her father had lifted and thrown her into their pool, knowing the waters would save her.

  How often had Lou wondered if, had he simply jumped into the water with her—if only to shi
eld her body with his own—he might have survived. Perhaps she would’ve been able to take them both away.

  But Lou hadn’t been able to successfully carry anything through the dark with her until she was older. That was probably why these fantasies of saving her father were so few and far between these days. No matter how she turned the memory—and hadn’t she turned it every way imaginable?—it always came out the same.

  Jack Thorne had made his choices. And Louie had been left to live with them.

  So why the dreams? she wondered, looking at the swirled patterns in her ceiling.

  Lou knew her mind well enough to know when it was signaling something to her. It was trying to bring something up from its murky depths into the light of Lou’s awareness.

  But the message wasn’t yet clear to her, and forcing it wouldn’t make the revelation come any faster.

  Finding the pillows flat and the comforter suffocating, Lou stood and stretched. She checked the time again.

  4:08.

  She got a drink of water. She placed the empty glass on the counter.

  Without consciously deciding to, she let her apartment dissolve around her once more. The granite countertops and water-stained glass faded from her view. In its place, a shadowed bedroom rose to meet her.

  Coarse carpet formed under her feet. In front of her, a queen bed sat center stage in a small bedroom. Beneath a purple comforter, a blond head poked out. Lou traced the outline of the bed, noting the closed laptop and textbooks covering one side.

  She moved these to the floor, lifted the comforter, and slid in.

  The girl woke immediately.

  “Lou?” Piper raised her head. She blinked and wiped her eyes.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s wrong? Did—”

  “Everything’s fine,” Lou said to counter the girl’s rising alarm.

  “Oh.” Piper’s frown deepened. “You okay?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  Piper lifted the sheets, frowning. “Whose clothes are you wearing? No, don’t tell me. You smell like man.”

  Lou snorted.

  But Piper’s humor didn’t hold. “Seriously, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Lou tucked the pillow under her head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”