“I’ll see what I can do about pills for Cat,” Don said once he’d recovered. “I should be able to have something made that could help.”

Juan exited off the interstate and pulled up to the first gas station on the right, which was a Shell.

“Ah, here we are. Juan, vaya con dios, and Don”—Bones held out his hand—“take care of yourself.”

Don shook Bones’s hand. “I’ll have those pills researched immediately.”

I gave my uncle a hug goodbye, even though we weren’t big on displays of affection for each other. Still, who knew when I’d see him again? Aside from my mother, Don was all the family I had.

“Thanks for coming along for the ride, Don. It must have played hell with your schedule.”

“My appointments could wait until later.” Don squeezed my shoulder. “Be careful, Cat.”

“I promise.”

Hopscotch and Band-Aid were the first out of the car. They did a quick perusal of the gas station’s perimeter, then indicated with a thumbs-up that it seemed clear. Bones went over to a maroon SUV, exchanging a greeting with the driver. Must be our new ride.

I got out and went around to the driver’s side of the limo. “No hug, buddy?”

Juan put the vehicle in park but kept the motor running, climbing out to give me a bear hug devoid of his usual ass-grab. “Hombre is in a foul mood,” he murmured.

“He just hasn’t slept. We’ll be fine.”

“Kitten.” Bones tapped his foot. “Very out in the open here. Let’s not linger.”

“Right.” I gave Juan one last smile. “Stay out of trouble.”

“You too, querida.”

I headed toward the door marked WOMEN on the exterior of the gas station, giving Bones a mental directive that he didn’t need to stand guard outside the bathroom. The interior was gross, in a word, but I didn’t have much choice. If I really never wanted to grace a public bathroom again, I’d change into a vampire. Since I’d chosen to remain half-human, there was no one but myself to blame for the inconveniences that involved.

By the time we crossed the twenty-two-mile bridge leading to New Orleans, it was evening again. I’d never been here before since it hadn’t been necessary during my tenure with Don. The Big Easy might not be low on crime, but surprisingly enough, they seemed to be of the human persuasion, not rogue vampires or ghouls.

Bones refused to nap during the five-hour drive from Tallahassee to New Orleans. My guess was he was afraid I’d nod off if he wasn’t watching me like a hawk. Hopscotch drove, with Band-Aid in the passenger seat. As we crossed the bridge, I finally asked why we were paying a visit to the famous city.

“I need to speak with the Queen of Orleans,” Bones replied. “She’d be a powerful ally to have on our side if things escalate with Gregor, but she doesn’t fancy phone calls when someone’s asking for her assistance.”

“Another queen?” Europe had less royalty than the undead.

He cast me a sideways look. “New Orleans’s queen is Marie Laveau, though she goes by the name Majestic now. Marie’s one of the most powerful ghouls in the nation. Those rumors of voodoo? They weren’t rumors, pet.”

I didn’t like the sound of this. The last queen I’d met with mystical powers had almost killed all of us. Women were scarier than men, in my opinion.

“Is it safe to see her if she’s into the dark arts and all that?”

“Marie holds herself to a very strict etiquette. If she grants you a visit, you have safe passage to, during, and from that visit. She may tell you she’ll slaughter you first chance she gets afterward, but she’ll let you walk out unharmed. Then, of course, it’s a right fine idea to keep walking.”

“She might be a polite hostess, but what about every other pulseless person in the city? You know, ‘Oops, Majestic, I offed some tourists’?”

Bones gave a grim snort. “There is no ‘oops’ with Marie. If she sides with us, no one will dare attack within the Quarter. Even Gregor.”

“Are we staying at a hotel?”

“I have a house here, but I seldom use it anymore. An old friend lives there, keeps things tidy. Not sure how long we’ll stay since my meeting with Marie hasn’t been scheduled yet. Marie prefers to have people here if she decides to see them.”

The streets grew narrower. By the time we approached the French Quarter, they were all one-way. Brick and stone replaced stucco and plaster as the city seemed to age in an instant. Yet the most striking feature had nothing to do with architecture.

“Bones.” My head whipped around in amazement. “My God, look at them…”

His lip quirked. “Quite something, aren’t they? Don’t strike up a conversation with any of them; they’ll talk your bloody ear off.”

The ghosts were everywhere. Hovering over the rooftops, strolling down the sidewalks, sitting on benches next to (or on top of) unwitting tourists. As we stopped at a red light, our car was next to a group of people on a tour, ironically about the haunted history of New Orleans. I watched as three spirits argued over the errors in the guide’s narration. One of the ghosts was so incensed, he kept flying through the tour guide’s midsection, causing the man to burp over and over. Poor bastard probably thought he had indigestion. What he had was a pissed-off spook in his gut.

I’d seen ghosts before, but never in such magnitude. Somehow, with the vibe the place gave off, apparent even through the car, they seemed to belong here.

“It’s beautiful,” I said at last. “I love it.”

That made Bones smile, easing the strain from his face. “Ah, Kitten, I thought you would.”

The SUV stopped at an intersection past the busiest part of the Quarter. Bones leapt out and came to my side of the vehicle, holding the door open.

“We’re here.”

Rows of what appeared to be town houses dotted the street, but few had front doors.

“It’s the way they were designed,” Bones replied to my mental questions, as Band-Aid drove away, and Hopscotch stayed with us. “Creole families found them pretentious. You enter through the side.”

He went through a gate at the entrance to a narrow alley and opened a door along the wall. I followed Bones inside, struck by how opulent the interior was in comparison to the somewhat grungy exterior.

“Liza,” Bones called out. “We’re here.”

I whirled, polite smile in place, to see a girl coming down the staircase.

“How lovely to meet you, chère,” she greeted me in a lightly accented voice.

“Um…” I held out my hand, tripping over my reply. Liza was a ghoul, so she probably had socks older than me, but good God, she looked about fourteen in human years.

Her hand was thin and delicate, like the rest of her. Liza was five-two, if I wanted to round up, and had to weigh no more than ninety pounds soaking wet. Black hair that looked too heavy for her swayed when she stepped up to Bones.

“Mon cher…”

One glance at her face when she looked at him was all I needed to confirm my suspicion of their former relationship. You’re a pig, Bones. I always suspected it, but this is absolute proof.

Bones hugged her. Liza practically disappeared in his arms, but I caught a glimpse of her face. A beatific smile lit her features. She was pretty, I realized. I hadn’t caught that at first.

He released her, and she backed away, returning her attention to me.

“I have food prepared for you, Cat, and coffee. It was my guess you would prefer caffeine?”

“Yeah, a lot of it.” If I hadn’t been so tired, I’d have already hit Bones. She didn’t even look old enough to see an R-rated movie. “Thank you.”

I suppressed an urge to tell Liza to sit down, before the air-conditioning blew her over. Instead of the usual, instant dislike I felt for any woman Bones had slept with, I had a strangely protective feeling about Liza, absurd as that was. One, she was dead, so she didn’t need my protection. Two, judging from the discreet flashes of her gaze at Bones, she was in love with him.