Waking the Dead. Heather Graham

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter Three

      NATASHA, ALSO REFERRED to as Mistress LaBelle, was a renowned voodoo priestess in the Quarter. Danni had known her as long as she could remember—and loved her like a wonderful, eccentric aunt for every one of those years.

      These days she realized that Natasha had more than just an understanding of people. Natasha’s faith was strong. She knew that spirits traveled in the world—and everything wasn’t plainly visible for the eye to see.

      But Natasha also lived in the real world. Her shop was filled with wonders. The scent of incense flowed throughout; there were handcrafted masks on display, along with other artwork, jewelry and all kinds of gris-gris, since Mistress LaBelle catered to tourists, as well as the devout of her flock.

      Natasha had a trusted wingman—Jeziah, who was at the counter when Danni entered the shop. He looked up when the door opened. As a few tourists clustered in a corner, choosing a mask, Jeziah smiled at her.

      Jeziah was often quiet and stoic but he saw everything that went on around him. Danni knew that he gave his total loyalty to Natasha; Jez, she thought, could have done anything in life. He was intelligent and compassionate. He was also striking, his skin a beautiful dark shade and his eyes a brilliant green. Jeziah moved fluidly and with purpose and seemed able to converse on any subject. He was a good friend to have.

      “She’s waiting for you,” Jez told her before she’d come even two feet into the store.

      “You’re kidding me,” Danni said.

      Jez shrugged. “Do I ever kid? She had a dream about you.”

      “Oh?”

      “She’s waiting.”

      Danni could quiz him, but she knew he wouldn’t say any more, so she merely thanked him and walked out to the courtyard.

      There were many beautiful courtyards in the Quarter. Danni particularly loved Natasha’s. Plants grew everywhere, adorned with wind chimes and dream catchers. She kept candles burning by her wrought-iron table, since she gave readings there, usually at night. She was pricey when tourists came calling, but a session with Mistress LaBelle was considered a coup.

      Natasha didn’t rise when she saw Danni arrive. She beckoned her to the table where she sat, a burning sconce on either side.

      Danni took the seat opposite her. Natasha had set out two cups of tea.

      “Where’s Wolf?” she asked.

      “With Billie and Bo Ray,” Danni said, shaking her head. “How do you know when I’m coming?”

      Natasha met her eyes. She was beautiful in a grand way, with nearly perfect bone structure and an ageless face. Tonight she wore a red-and-orange turban that complemented her orange robe and dark mahogany skin.

      “The air tells me, child. The air...you can feel the crackle when something’s up in the city.” She paused. “I’ve also seen the news. There was a massacre today.”

      Danni nodded. “I don’t know much about it yet.”

      “But Quinn was there, at the site.”

      “Yes. That’s why I’m here. He thought you might want to come to my place around seven. We’ll have a meal and talk about it. We—”

      “Drink your tea,” Natasha interrupted.

      “Pardon?”

      “Drink your tea.”

      Natasha was renowned for her palm reading, her insightful reading of tarot cards—and tea leaves.

      Danni shouldn’t have been surprised by Natasha’s insistence. One way or another, she could “read” any situation.

      “Drink up. I have to see what there is to see.”

      “This isn’t like the situation we had with the bust last year,” Danni said “There’s no object that we know of associated with any of this. Quinn was called in by Larue. It may not have anything to do with me.”

      “There’s going to be an object. We just don’t know what it is yet. So drink up.”

      Danni sighed but dutifully drank the tea. When she’d finished, Natasha took her cup and studied the leaves. She shook her head and made a tsking sound; before Danni could groan or ask what she’d seen, she leaned back in her chair, eyes closed.