"Do you find much in common here with your music?" Verona asked, with a lift of her brows. "N'Awlins is a kind of a mix of Acadian French style with Afro-Caribbean rhythms. Jazz is like nothing else in all the world, honey. I have all Green Fire's recordings, Fionna, and you'll forgive me for saying so, but they don't sound a thing alike to me."

"They all come from the same place," Fionna said, pounding her fist to her chest. "The heart. I've seen some people here, they've got nothing at all in all the world but their music. It's lovely. It's the same way I was as a child. I had nothing else, so I put my heart into the beauty I could hear."

That was rich, Elizabeth thought. For someone who'd gone through finishing school, Oxford University and at least fifty thousand pounds of Daddy's money, Fionna/Phoebe was very convincing as a North Dublin waif. She talked touchingly about her fictional childhood, her poverty, and the spirit that she felt that wouldn't let her stop until she could share her songs with the rest of the world.

The radio presenter took it all nonjudgmentally, though, and led Fionna through a good interview, bringing out interesting facets of her career and the founding of Green Fire. She'd certainly done her homework. At five minutes to the hour, Verona looked at Fionna confidingly.

"And now, I've got to ask you, darling, why all the magical themes in your music? Is it a sincere interest on your part, or just a little something you throw in to please the fans? Because, I warn you, N'Awlins is a very magical place. If you fool around with the spirits, they're goin' to gitcha."

"It's sincerely meant," Fionna said, her large eyes wide with something akin to alarm. She certainly was very superstitious. Elizabeth thought her hands trembled. "I have a great respect for the powers that be."

"Wise words," said Verona, turning back to her console. "We've been talking to Fionna Kenmare. Remember, everyone, that's Green Fire at the Superdome at 7:30 on Saturday night. Hey, same time as the fireworks display over the river sponsored by WBOY. Tough choice, folks," she said, with a wry wink at Fionna. "Me, I'll be at the concert. I'll be back right after these words."

The engineer pointed to Verona, and hit a square button. Verona took off her headset. "Very nice, Ms. Kenmare. Thank you so very much for coming. I'm looking forward to the concert. Will any of us be able to sneak backstage and congratulate you afterwards?"

Fionna looked at Nigel Peters. "Should be, love," the manager said, noncommittally, shaking the announcer's hand and turning to the producer. "We'll see you're on the invitation list for the party to follow. Thanks for a good show."

Fionna rose and graciously offered Verona her hand. "Thanks, lovely. You made me feel very welcome. I hope the rest of the city's as warm as yourself."

"We're happy to see you, darling," Verona said, standing up and tossing her headset onto her desk. "And you!" She turned to Boo-Boo. "It's been a long time, you good-looking man. Where've you been?" She enveloped him in a huge hug.

"Oh, I've been around," Boo-Boo admitted.

"Do you know everyone in this city?" Elizabeth asked, with a wry grin, as they left the studio.

"Near abouts," said Boo-Boo.

Clinging to Lloyd, Fionna swirled ahead of them in a cloud of gauzy black skirts, and looked plaintively over her shoulder at Nigel. "Can we get something to eat? I'm hollow."

Nigel looked at his watch. "Pat, Laura and I have got to get over to the Superdome, but there's no reason you can't find yourselves a meal, my dear. Perhaps Mr. Boudreau will oblige?"

"I'd be delighted to," Boo-Boo said graciously.

"You are supposed to be our native guide, aren't you?" Lloyd asked, striding along in Boo-Boo's wake after they'd left the limo at the curb near the Royal Sonesta. "So where can we get a bite to eat before we go over to the arena?"

Liz winced at the barely concealed sneer in Lloyd's voice, but Boo didn't seem to notice.

"There's a pretty good restaurant right in the hotel you're stayin' at. It would give the ladies a chance to freshen up before—"

"We're going to be living on hotel food through most of this tour," the security man interrupted. "I rather hoped you could do better than that."

"Well, we do have one or two pretty nice eatin' places here in the Quarter," Boo said with a shrug. "Let's see if I can't find somethin' that'll suit you."

He started off up the street with the others trailing along behind.

"Something a little different, I hope," Lloyd said, raising his voice to get in the last word. "Lord knows we have enough ordinary restaurants in England and Ireland."

"I think I know just the place," Boo called back over his shoulder.

"Not too far away, I hope," Liz said, stepping up beside him. "I still can't believe how hot it is down here."

In truth, she was having difficulty even thinking straight. Within half a dozen steps of their leaving the studio's air conditioning, she was drenched in sweat, and things seemed to weave and swim in the bright glare. It was like wearing a hot, wet, sweat suit in a steam bath... a very bright steam bath.

"Don't you worry none, darlin'," Boo reassured her. "We'll have you back inside in a jiffy. It's just around the corner up ahead."

"I feel I should apologize for Mr. Preston," Liz said, lowering her voice slightly. "He's being a bit of a prig. Not all of us are like that."

"We get people from all over down here." Boo smiled. "Both as visitors and them that settle down here. Near as I can tell, a certain percentage of people are light on manners, no matter where they come from."

In spite of her discomfort, Liz had to smile.

"I never thought of it that way, but you're right. I guess I just worry too much."

"No harm in worryin'," Boo said. "Just so long as it doesn't interfere with thinkin'."

Liz shot him a glance, but her partner's face was bland and guileless.

"That's it up ahead," he said, turning to the pair behind them. "It's new and folks say it's the latest thing. It's called Lucky Chang's."

He started to reach for the door, but Lloyd slid into the doorway ahead of him and barred their progress with his body.

"Okay, here's how it is," the security man said firmly, glaring down at them. "I know you're just trying to do your jobs, but the lady here would just as soon have a quiet meal without too many people hovering around her. She's going to have plenty of that once we reach the Superdome. Why don't you two find someplace else to have lunch, and we'll meet you back at the hotel."

"Now just a minute..." Liz began, but Boo laid a restraining hand on her arm.

"Works for me, he said. "You're sure you can find your way back to the hotel by yourselves?"

"Positive," Lloyd said, holding the door for Fionna. "If we get lost, we'll just take a cab."

"Okay. You two enjoy your meal now," Boo called, but the door was already shutting behind the pair.

"Well I never," Liz fumed. "I know we were just talking about manners, but that was rude no matter how you look at it."

"I'd have to say we're lookin' at it the same way, then," Boo said, taking her by the arm. "C'mon. Let's get you somethin' to eat. There's a place just across the street here I think you'll like."

Liz glanced at the white-fronted building Boo was steering her toward, then pulled up short as she caught sight of the sign.

"Antoine's?" she said. "I think I've heard of this place."

"It's been around for a while," Boo agreed, pointing at a sign that read SINCE 1840. New Orleans seemed to have the same gift of understatement as Scotland, where a "wee while" could be four hundred years.

"But isn't it kind of fancy?" Liz hesitated, glancing at Boo's somewhat bedraggled outfit.