“And Glapion?”

My lawyer sighed. It was a tight, percussive sound.

“We’re looking, but the records in New Orleans weren’t anything to be proud of even before Katrina. We have the addresses I’ve already given you. None of the business records have other addresses. I’ve put alerts on all their accounts, so if there are any transfers of funds big enough to require reporting, I can find that for you.”

“But she’s got to be in New Orleans,” I said, trying not to whine.

“And if you want to live in an under-the-table economy, there’s probably no better place,” she said. “There are any number of people there who are living entirely off the books. There always have been. It’s New Orleans.”

“Okay,” I said. “All right, can you just… let me know if you find anything?”

“Absolutely. And I have some inquiries that I’m waiting to hear back on. If I get anything substantive, I’ll be with you immediately.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful, dear.”

“I will.”

I hung up. Chogyi Jake closed his cell phone as Aubrey returned with two paper cups of coffee and one of green tea. A four-pack of identically tied businessmen looked over at us with an air of disapproval. It was petty of me, but I hoped they were on our flight. And in coach.

“Still nothing?” I said.

“He isn’t answering,” Chogyi Jake said. “Either he doesn’t have the phone with him, or he’s chosen to ignore us, or…”

“Or Karen has done something to keep him out of contact,” Aubrey said. “Anyone care to bet? What about the lawyers?”

I lifted my cell phone.

“No joy,” I said.

“Shit,” Aubrey said conversationally.

“Yeah.”

“They may still be using the safe house,” Chogyi Jake said. “The wards are still in place. It would give Karen the protection she wanted.”

“That would be nice,” I said. “In that sort of what-are-we-going-to-do-now way.”

“It’s one rider,” Aubrey said. “We can take it.”

“It’s not just a rider,” I said. “It’s a rider and Karen Black. She may be demon-ridden, but she’s still smart and trained and better at this than any of us. And part of what she’s trained at is shooting people. This wasp picked itself a really good caterpillar.”

“Caterpillar?” Chogyi Jake asked.

While Aubrey explained about the parasitic wasps and the caterpillars who love them, I pulled up my laptop and checked e-mail. I was hoping for something from Ex, but instead I got a raft of spam. And one other message.

It was from my little brother, Curt, replying to the note I’d almost forgotten sending. I opened it.

Hey, good to hear from you. What are you up to these days, anyway? Parental Force is acting like they never had a daughter. Creeptastic. I’m good, except school bites. I got busted cutting class. It was like they’d caught me with a crack pipe up my nose.

There’s a new pastor. Mom thinks he’s great, Dad’s not so sure. I figure he’ll be busted for kiddie porn in three… two… one… As long as he keeps his queer-ass hands off me, I don’t care.

Anyway. It’s good to know there’s life out there. With you and Jay gone, I’ve got to Praise the Lord for all of us. Ugh! Whatchaupto anyway?

I read the e-mail twice with a growing sense of vertigo. There wasn’t anything new in it, except that somewhere between the time that I’d left home and now, my baby brother had turned into a teenager. The little kid with the black hair and dark eyes, the serious expression, would never have written that e-mail. When I’d left, he was the only one of the three of us who would pray without being told, the only one who didn’t push back at getting up early for church, the only one who’d seemed like maybe all that God and angels stuff really meant something to him. And now he was joking about pornography and cocaine.

Now he was sounding like me, and I was surprised how much it bothered me.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, waiting for some idea what I could say that wouldn’t seem moralistic or simplistic or like the sort of thing a grownup would say to a kid. I was lost. Hey, little brother. Got more money than God, busy fighting demons and unhealthy love triangles. And no one says “queer-ass” anymore. Hey! OMFG! Mom screwed around!

What had I expected? That everything back at home would stay just the way it had been when I left, a picture of the paternalistic, creepy American family trapped in amber? That my little brother would always be little? I’d made my break, gone to a secular university on my own money, and failed. I wondered whether Curt thought that was cool of me. I wondered whether I did.

Maybe I should have… not stayed there, no. But kept in touch. Something.

“Jayné?” Aubrey said. “Are you all right?”

“My brother,” I said, and shook my head. “It’s just some family business.”

I looked at the screen again. Somewhere down the concourse, a baby started crying and then stopped. I typed without thinking, my hands moving of their own accord.

Hey, little brother. I’m okay. Made some friends I actually like this time. Got some kind of big stuff going on, but it’ll be cool.

Take care of yourself, okay? I love you.

My fingers stopped. There had to be more to say, something wise or solemn or even just useful, but I couldn’t think of anything. It struck me that just the way the Curt I’d known when I left home would never have written the e-mail he’d sent, the Jayné I’d been would never have told him she loved him. So maybe we were both different people now. Maybe that was the point.

I hit send and closed the laptop.

“Are they boarding yet?” I said.

“Another twenty minutes,” Chogyi Jake said.

I muttered something obscene and scooped up my coffee cup. I wondered how much money it would have taken to charter a jet of my own, and whether it would have taken more time or less. I closed my eyes.

Of course, I was doing it again. We were rushing off into the teeth of God-knew-what without a plan, without preparation, without actually knowing what we were up against. It was the same mistake I’d made the last time I’d flown into New Orleans. It struck me for the first time that I wasn’t just risking myself and Aubrey and Chogyi Jake. I was also putting Curt’s big sister on the line, and oddly that had some weight to it. I made myself relax, and once relaxed, think.

The sounds of the concourse seemed to fade, my breath slowing in the centering meditation Chogyi Jake had taught me lo these many months ago. My muscles released a little. My mind didn’t stop jumping around, but it slowed. Like mud settling to the bottom of a pool, my thinking started to clear.

I really couldn’t see taking on Karen directly. I was still feeling the pain from the last fight. Aubrey wasn’t healed from his exorcism, for that matter. If we were going to take on Carrefour and Karen both and have a hope of getting Ex out alive, we had to have more than the address of the safe house and some good intentions. There had to be a plan.

I had to know Carrefour’s weaknesses. I needed someone who’d taken the rider on and beaten it.

Put that way, it was obvious.

“I hate this job,” I said out loud.

“Sorry?” Aubrey said. I opened my eyes.

“This job,” I said. “It looks like crime. It smells like crime. It makes me associate with criminals.”

“What did we do?” Aubrey said.

“Apart from help hide a great big pile of bodies like the day after I met you?” I said with a grin.

“Yeah, besides that.” Aubrey smiled back.

“Well, not much,” I said. “But you’re not who I was thinking about.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Chogyi Jake said. “The enemy of my enemy.”

“Exactly,” I said.

“Am I being dim here?” Aubrey said. “What are we talking about?”

“We need your friendly neighborhood serial killer,” I said. “We need Mfume.”