Claire blinked in surprise. She’d never heard Allegra speak so passionately about anything.
But that didn’t mean she was right.
Claire thought about her mother, saw her kneeling in front of the altar, her face smooth and calm. Claire didn’t know about anyone else’s parents, but her mother still practiced the craft. Still believed. It was hard to imagine that she didn’t want others to believe, too.
“Actually,” Sasha said, sounding surprised, “I kind of agree with you.”
“Right?” Allegra leaned forward, her excitement at finding a sympathetic ear apparent on her face. “Did either of you ask your parents about the panther blood? About what the Guild planned to do about it?”
“I did,” Claire said.
“What did they say?” Allegra kept going. “Let me guess; we’ve got it all under control. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
“Not exactly,” Claire said.
“Did they give you answers?” Allegra asked. “Even after you attended the meeting?”
“No,” Claire admitted.
“Right. Because they don’t have any. They’re going to look the other way and pretend this—whatever it is—isn’t happening, because the truth is they don’t know what to do about it. They don’t want to know.” She leaned back in her chair, looking at Claire. “I think we should find out what the letters mean before we tell anyone else. Maybe then we’ll be able to figure out what’s going on.”
Claire wondered when “we” had become not only her and Xander and Sasha, but Allegra, too.
“I guess you have a point,” Sasha conceded. “But how? I’ve never heard of this woman named Sorina. And to call the letters vague is the understatement of the century.”
“True,” Claire admitted. “But they’re all we have.” She looked at her phone, checking the time. Xander was waiting for her call. Waiting to hear how it had gone with Sasha. “I have to call—” She stopped herself, remembering that she and Sasha weren’t alone.
Allegra raised her eyebrows. “Xander?” She rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve known about you two forever.”
FOURTEEN
“You know you can’t tell anyone about this, right?”
Xander was sitting next to Claire at the Muddy Cup. It had taken her fifteen minutes on the phone to convince him that there was no point keeping Allegra out of things. He’d finally agreed to meet them when Claire swore she hadn’t said a word about the possible connection between Estelle and Maximilian.
“I’m on your side,” Allegra said. “Anything we give the Guild will just disappear into the Cone of Silence.”
Sasha laughed.
“Seriously,” Allegra continued. “We’d never know what, if anything, they’d done with the information. And the truth is, it probably wouldn’t be much. I don’t even think most of them are that powerful. Working potions for love and protection is a whole different thing than dealing with black magic and a threat that could involve all of us. I just don’t think they’re equipped, you know?”
“Okay,” Claire said, shuffling through the letters. “The only thing we have to go on is this woman named Sorina and the spell she and Marie were talking about.”
“The Cold Blood spell,” Sasha said.
Claire looked around nervously before nodding. “Right. I’m thinking we start at home, check out our family resource material for any mention of Sorina or this spell. Between the four of us, we have some serious voodoo history right under our own roofs.”
“My mom keeps some really old recipe books locked up in our ritual room,” Allegra said. “I’ll see if I can get a look at them.”
“Just remember, nobody says anything to the Guild until we all agree,” Xander said.
“We can meet here tomorrow and compare notes,” Claire suggested.
“Sounds like a plan,” Sasha said.
They talked for a few more minutes before Allegra and Sasha got up to leave, Allegra talking nonstop as they moved away from the table. They were almost to the door when Sasha glanced back, mouthing the words, “Help me.”
Claire laughed, picking up her bag and following Xander outside.
“I’ll give you a ride,” he said. “We can throw your bike in the back.”
“No thanks,” she squeezed his hand. “I want to think, clear my head.”
“I’m not crazy about the idea of you riding around the city by yourself with everything that’s going on.”
She smiled. “I’m fine. It’s not that far. Besides, it’s not like the firstborns are being snatched off the street. With all the break-ins, I’m probably in more danger at home.”
“Great. I feel so much better now,” he said sarcastically.
“I love you.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “But you worry too much.” She lifted her leg over the bike, glancing back at him. “I’ll text you when I get home.”
She started pedaling. A couple of minutes later, she left the busy streets behind and was gliding through the shade of the towering oaks in the residential district. She wasn’t the only one taking advantage of summer. In one front yard, two toddlers ran through sprinklers, squealing and giggling while their mother sat on the porch, flipping the pages of a magazine with a glass of iced tea by her side. Claire passed a couple of girls about her age, deep in discussion as they traversed the cracked, uneven sidewalk. Somewhere in the distance, a lawn mower hummed the sound track to every summer she could remember.
She wondered if it would be different in New York or New Hampshire or Connecticut. If kids ran through sprinklers, if teenage girls shared their secrets on long walks, if everyone mowed their lawn. For a minute, she felt a pang of loss so powerful her heart hurt. The truth was, no matter how much she wanted to get away, New Orleans was her home.
She would miss it.
She was thinking about the people at the house on Dauphine, wondering what could bring such an odd group of people halfway around the world to the Guild’s doorstep, when she glanced to the left to make sure she was clear for a turn.
That’s when she noticed the car behind her.
In this part of town, the Range Rover stood out like a sore thumb. It was black, just like the one Eugenia and the men had gotten out of in front of the house on Dauphine. Claire looked again, trying to make it casual as she tried to get a glimpse at who was driving. It was hopeless. The windows were tinted just enough to make identifying the driver impossible.
She made the turn, watching in her peripheral vision to see if the car followed her. It did, and her heartbeat picked up its pace, beads of sweat jumping out on her forehead as panic hit her system.
She calculated the distance to home. Probably less than a mile.
She was relieved to see a balding man in plaid pants brushing a fresh coat of white paint on the columns fronting his porch. Across the street, a woman was bent over a flower bed, planting a row of azaleas from under the shade of her wide-brimmed hat.
Claire tried to calm herself with the knowledge of their presence. It’s not like whoever was in the Rover would do something to her with witnesses around. Would they?
She focused on the road, on the swiftly closing distance between where she was and her house, now only two streets over. When she turned right at the next corner, she dared a glance behind her, hoping the car wouldn’t follow.
It did.