"No more than if you ran into a smuggler, an illegal alien, or a millionaire," Griffen said. "I can feel them, but that's a new skill I'm just picking up. Some humans have it, too. I used to call it the sixth sense, but it's more than that. And there are a lot of people with just a little blood from one of the groups. Plenty of them don't know they have it, like me and Val."
"You mean there's half vampires out there? Half swamp creatures?"
Griffen grinned at the mental picture of a half-flora, half-fauna baby in diapers in a crib shaking a catalpa-pod rattle. "Maybe. Some types can't interbreed. Some of them can have sex with other beings but can't have children with them. We don't all know about each other. I got thrown into this only a few months ago. I'm learning it just ahead of you."
Harrison had plenty of other questions. Griffen was impressed, as always, by the detective's shrewd intelligence. Griffen found himself telling him about the conclave, who had what kind of powers, who got along with whom, and whether they lived in New Orleans or not.
"Now here's a special just for you from the dessert chef," Edwin announced. Griffen got off his elbows and made room for the dessert, a tower of pastry with caramel sauce and a chocolate cutout for each of them.
Both men dove into the confection with spoons. It tasted of vanilla, with a hint of coffee and chili. Harrison deconstructed it as he might a case and cut into each piece, dipping it in the creme anglaise in the center. Griffen felt his waistband tightening with every bite. He was going to have a stomachache later, but he couldn't stop eating. The chef had his own magic.
"That one who died, Slim? What was he? A shape-changer?"
"No. He had power over animals. They loved him."
"Then why was he posing as a statue for tips in Jackson Square? Seems like a waste. Could have been world-famous with an animal act. A real Doctor Dolittle."
Griffen shook his head. "Because he respected the animals as you would respect other people," Griffen said. "He wouldn't exploit them any more than you'd line up a bunch of humans and make them dance to earn a profit for you. He was very responsible with his power. I didn't understand that at first. The animal-control talents are very touchy, and they have reason to be. I want to save you the trouble of making the same mistake I did."
"Point taken," Harrison said. "Just seems like a lot of people would use a talent like that to make money."
"They would. Slim didn't like it. He did his best to protect animals from others. Like me." Admitting that reopened an old wound. "I made a lot of the same assumptions you did. He taught me better. I wish . . . I wish it had gone differently."
"You and me both," Harrison said, polishing off the last bite of pastry. "Well, if you are all such good citizens, then I need help. Did any of them see what happened to Jesse Lee? Anyone who has leads on open cases can let me know. I don't care where the information comes from."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"That's damned right, I don't," Harrison said. "But I have confidential informants you wouldn't meet in broad daylight with an army at your back. How much worse could your kind be?"
Griffen winced. "Don't even ask. But I'll put it out there. I got to know some people during the conclave who consider themselves good citizens."
"And some who don't?"
"Not as much as they don't consider themselves to be part of civilization if they can help it. We're all ruining their environment for them."
"Everybody's a rampant greenie these days," Harrison growled.
"Some literally," Griffen said. "At the conclave . . ."
"How was the food?" the waiter asked.
"Five stars," Harrison said. "Mr. McCandles here wasn't giving me BS when he said this was the best place. The tournedos de boeuf were perfect, red inside but done exactly to temperature. The panko crust suited the flounder. Don't need more seasoning than a little thyme and a sprinkle of salt. Your chef got that on the nose. Dill would have overpowered that and the beef."
"Yes, sir. He knows his fish. I saw that you appreciated our turtle soup."
"Flaming the sherry was an inspiration. Added a little smoky, aged flavor that just gave it another dimension. I have got to try that myself. Don't get a chance to really do any fancy cooking on my schedule, but I get a vacation once a year. Does he saute the meat before he simmers it, or does he start with raw?"
"You better not overcook turtle, Detective," Edwin said, warningly. The two of them dropped into incomprehensible jargon including such terms as "the Maillard effect" and "sous vide." Griffen was slack-jawed.
"I get the Food Network," Harrison said, defensively. "You can't live in this city and not become a food fan."
"Damm it, take the card!" A too-loud voice interrupted the restaurant review. All of them turned. A red-faced man in a light brown suit glared up at a waiter. Griffen could see from where he sat that the man's eyes were red, too. In fact, he looked a lot like the steak Griffen had just eaten. "It's fine! Run it again!"
"Sir," the waiter said, dropping his voice and leaning close, "I am very sorry, but it was declined."
"Declined, hell! You're just running it wrong! Do it again!"
"We did, sir. Would you happen to have some other means of settling your bill?"
The belligerent expression on the man's face told Griffen he was between tipsy and drunk. "That's the way I'm paying. Now, run the slip, because I am walking out of here in exactly sixty seconds whether you do or not."
"Sir, that won't do. They won't pay."
"Tough shit. What are you gonna do? You gonna call the cops?"
"No, I'm already here," Harrison said, striding to the man's side. The diner jumped. Harrison put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into his chair. Griffen followed along just to see the show. "I was just having a nice dinner, and I heard the commotion. I'm not gonna bust you up in here. Place is too nice for that, and it would just embarrass the hosts you were trying to stiff."
"The card's good!" the man protested.
"Instead of blaming the staff, you tried calling the credit-card company? Gimme your cell phone," he said to Griffen. Griffen immediately surrendered it. Harrison dialed the number on the back of the card and thrust it at the man. "Ask 'em."
The man recited his number into the receiver and waited. "What do you mean I'm over my limit? I had three thousand dollars credit before we left . . ."
Harrison took the phone. "Who'm I talking to? Well, ma'am, I'm Detective Harrison of the New Orleans Police Department. Yes, ma'am, good evening. No, I know you can't tell me anything about his account. But how about you tell Mr."--he glanced at the card--"Tadeuz if there was any big purchase recently? Uh-huh. You have a nice night." He handed the phone to the embarrassed tourist, who listened closely.
"The car rental," he told his scarlet-faced wife. "We declined the insurance, so they took a deposit on our credit card. But that's not fair!"
"You signed the agreement," Harrison said, his voice low and just on the soft side of threatening. "So maybe you remember that you have enough money in your wallet to pay cash. Otherwise, there're crimes known as theft of service, theft by deception, and a bunch of other charges that I could read out. I am sure you would rather pay your money for this excellent food and wine than for bail money." The guy was slightly drunk but not insensible. He got the point. His face was scarlet as he opened his wallet and counted cash out into the small black tray on the table.
"And the tip," Harrison said. "These people treated you really nice. Don't take it out on them."
Very grudgingly, the man put another bill on top of the others.