Any Way You Want It (5 page)

“Oh,” she said, pink coloring her cheeks. “Right. I didn’t mean to—”

He couldn’t listen to her apology when she had no reason for making one. “I just didn’t realize the time. And I have a long night tomorrow.”

“Right,” she said again. Then she glanced around her, and for a moment he wondered what she was searching for. Then he recalled her friends.

The two women appeared as if they’d been watching. They stepped out of the bar to join them on the street, right at her side once they were aware Maggie needed them.

Ren liked that they’d remained close. New Orleans could be a dangerous city. It made him feel better to know his butterfly wasn’t alone.

They flanked their friend like tall, lovely bodyguards.

“Maggie,” the one with short brown hair asked, “who’s your friend?”

Ren could tell the friend’s inquiry was really just a way to gauge Maggie’s feelings. He watched Maggie closely too, even though he knew her emotions. He could feel them in the air—she was embarrassed. He hated that feeling on her. It was like a noxious perfume, as noxious as her wariness. More so—because embarrassment also involved pain.

But he managed to remain stoic as he offered a hand to the friend.

“Hi, I’m Ren.”

“Jo,” she said, not offering him a smile and only accepting his hand for a moment.

Jo wasn’t a vampire, but she obviously could sense her friend was uncomfortable. Of course, Maggie’s emotions were easy to read, every one of them flashing in her eyes.

“And I’m Erika,” the black-haired one said, regarding him with a small smile, and a look that was more speculative than judging.

But both women were ready to protect their friend. That should have made him feel a lot better, but instead he was filled with an odd desire to join her friends’ ranks. Maggie seemed to need protection.

Yeah, from you more than anyone, he thought.

He immediately decided he’d been wrong to even approach this woman. She wasn’t his type.

Totally wrong. He should have chatted up the buxom babes who’d shimmied on the dance floor all night.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to find them. Then he looked back into Maggie’s big eyes, and a sinking feeling told him it was already way too late.

“Nice to meet you all,” he said, stepping back from the women. “I hope you have a great time in New Orleans.” He didn’t even bother to temper the abrupt good-bye. The whole point was to make sure she didn’t return.

Maggie Gallagher was a risk he couldn’t take. Who knew a butterfly could be so dangerous?

M aggie picked up the beignet, taking a huge bite. Powdered sugar dotted the front of her shirt, and she didn’t rush to brush the powder away. Instead, she closed her eyes and savored the mixture of chewy dough, sweet sugar, and just enough grease to make the pastry heavenly. Yes, she was comfort-eating, and she really did not care.

“That guy was a twit,” Jo said, pulling off a corner of her beignet and popping it in her mouth.

Erika nodded, doing the same thing with her pastry. Neither of them had a speck of sugar on their clothes. Damn them.

“What was his name again? Ren? What kind of name is that?” Erika rolled her eyes as if the man’s name was an offense to the human race, rather than just a little different.

“And his eye was weird,” Jo added.

Maggie swallowed and reached for a napkin. “It was unusual, but I didn’t think it was weird.” She brushed away the dusting, glad the peasant blouse she wore was mostly white.

Jo shrugged. “Whatever. You can do better.”

Maggie didn’t argue—but she didn’t agree either. Truthfully, she hadn’t talked to the man long enough to know what he was like, really. She did know that he seemed to run in varying degrees of hot and cold, but she wasn’t sure that was justification to hate him. After all, he hadn’t done anything particularly wrong.

Oh, she’d definitely felt mortified at his abrupt aloofness and departure. But really it wasn’t that strange.

She wasn’t a man-magnet, and he’d likely realized that very quickly once they’d gotten outside.

She’d made conversation as if English was her second language. Her body had gone into overdrive every time he’d looked at her, as if she was some inexperienced schoolgirl.

“I cannot believe he made you wait around like that, then just took off after a couple minutes’ talk,”

Jo continued, tearing off another bite of beignet with more force than the poor pastry deserved.

Maggie glanced at Erika, who smiled in silent agreement with Maggie’s look. They both knew Jo was no longer discussing the musician. Jo had crawled out of bed after only a few hours’ sleep to meet one of the sailors for breakfast at a place called Petunia’s, but the guy had never shown. Jo was not pleased.

Apparently her irritation applied to all men at the moment.

Maggie took another bite of her beignet, chewing thoughtfully. She had to admit she wasn’t upset with Ren. After all, she didn’t even know him. But she was upset with herself—for several reasons. Primarily because she’d actually thought he might be interested, and for wanting him to be interested.

Thank goodness she hadn’t flirted back. If she was mortified now, imagine how she’d feel if she’d attempted flirting and then he’d fled.

Of course, maybe if she had, he might have become interested. She was hopeless, eternally doomed to be devoid of feminine wiles.

“I was thinking we should get our fortunes told today,” Erika suggested, obviously trying to change the atmosphere around the table. “I saw a place over on Chartres that looks great. All new-agey and cool.”

Jo shook her head, pushing her remaining beignets away from her. Hopeful pigeons landed on the backs of chairs at a nearby table, gauging their chances of swooping in to steal a beignet…

the drawback of an open-air café. Maggie pulled her plate closer.

“All they are going to tell me is that I wasted my whole morning waiting for some guy to not show up. And I’m cranky from lack of sleep.” Jo took a sip of her café au lait.

Erika laughed. “Actually, that’s past and present. Fortune-tellers tell your future.”

“Well, my future involves a nap,” Jo said, pushing away from the table. The pigeons fluttered loudly into flight at the sudden movement. “I have to get some sleep or I’m going to be grumpy all night, too.”

Maggie nodded sympathetically. She could use a nap, but she knew it wasn’t going to happen. As tired as she was, the weird energy she’d felt since arriving still filled her. Last night, she’d gotten, maybe, three hours of sleep, then had finally given up.

She couldn’t relax. She thought about Peter. She thought about Ren. She thought about that music. Now she wasn’t sure if he’d been playing the song currently locked away in the safe in her office. But the melody of what he had been playing kept haunting her.

Several times during the night, she’d been sure her initial thoughts were right—but then, not. The strange energy of the city seemed to cloud everything. So far, everything had felt surreal, like living smack in the middle of a lucid dream. Of course, that could be the lack of sleep too.

“So what about you?” Erika asked Maggie. “Will you go with me? I want my tea leaves read.”

Maggie nodded. “Sure.” She brushed more sugar from her shirtfront. She might as well go find out what her future held; it had to be better than her recent past.

“So you want your tea leaves read?”

Maggie turned slightly in the rickety ladder-back chair as an older woman pushed aside the curtain that covered the doorway.

Maggie’s first impression was witch. Long, coarse gray hair, streaked in places, vaguely hinted at what had once been its original color. She was easily in her sixties, maybe in her seventies.

She navigated through the space, which wasn’t much more than a booth, really, dodging two small tables scattered with mystical bric-a-brac, and took a seat across from Maggie.

She waited, a look of patient anticipation on her face. Then Maggie realized she had asked her a question.

“Yes. Tea leaves. Thank you.” Maggie considered herself polite, but she suddenly felt the need to be extra polite to this woman. After all, she was going to tell her the secrets of her future.

The older woman nodded and began preparing for the reading, placing down a paper towel, arranging a yellowed tea cup on a saucer on top of that.

“My name is Hattie,” she said as she worked. “I’ve had my ability to see the future since I was a child.”

Maggie nodded, not sure what she was supposed to say to that.

Hattie paused from pouring tea into the cup. “And I am very good, very in tune with the ether—but I think it would just be easier if you told me your name.”

A laugh escaped Maggie. “I’m sorry. I’m Maggie.”

“Hello, Maggie.” Hattie didn’t offer her hand, but did offer a smile that revealed slightly yellowed teeth, and a warmth in her blue eyes. The witch impression was immediately transformed into a grandmotherly one.

Maggie found herself relaxing her posture, just a bit.

“So are you visiting us from someplace else?”

Maggie realized that was always one of the first questions people asked here. First sign of a tourist town, she guessed.

“Yes. From D.C.”

Hattie nodded. “I went there years ago. Weird aura there. Must be all the politicians.”

Maggie smiled, and realized she actually agreed. She couldn’t deny that while New Orleans had a strong energy, it was a nice feeling. An almost giddy feeling. Whereas D.C. felt oddly cold and…

well, like Hattie said, weird. And she supposed the abundance of politicians was as good an explanation as any.

Maggie paused. When had she ever considered such things? She’d never thought about the energy of a place. She wasn’t so cosmic—yet after two days of being in this city, she was starting to think there could be a certain mystic quality to a place.

Still, she didn’t really believe a person could tell her future. First of all, why would this woman get a vision of her life from the other side? Maggie wasn’t interesting enough to merit spirits or energies or whatever taking the time to send visions to Hattie. At best, Hattie would get images of her bent over a desk, studying crumbling sheet music for hours on end.

Maggie watched as Hattie finished pouring the tea and laying things out in a systematic order. A dozen bangles on her left arm jangled as she worked. But aside from the bangles and the long, graying hair, Maggie realized Hattie didn’t look particularly like a fortune-teller. She wore a turtleneck and tweed trousers

“Relax, Maggie,” she said offering another warm-eyed smile. “Just enjoy yourself. You don’t have to believe what I tell you, anyway.”

Apparently Maggie looked every bit the nervous skeptic.

“Okay,” Hattie said, “think of a question or a concern and turn over the cup.”

Maggie considered what she might want to know. For the briefest moment, the musician from last night popped into her head. She’d love to know what he’d thought about her. Then she pushed that thought aside. She suspected she did know—and it wasn’t flattering.

She considered again and decided to go with work. Work was always safe. And maybe Hattie would tell her some exciting story. Like she’d discover something truly amazing. A composer long lost and recognized only by her.

“Okay,” Maggie said. She carefully picked up the cup, and tipped it over so the teacup was facedown on the saucer. She flipped it back over, and watched as Hattie lifted the cup and peered inside.

Hattie’s eyes lost some of their warmth as she focused, totally engrossed by what she saw in the cup. Her lips tugged down at the corners.

“You work a lot.”

Maggie’s own eyes widened. Okay, it was a little spooky that she went right to the topic of work.

But then work was central to many people’s lives. Plus she had no wedding ring—and what did woman her age who weren’t married do?

Work.

“You actually hide in your work. Use it to avoid things like past failures, lack of love life.”

Maggie remained still. Okay, see, that was the line of thought she’d just followed herself. Safe deductions.

Hattie turned the cup slightly. “And I see that you were engaged. But that didn’t work out.”

Again, given her age, Maggie supposed that was a safe guess too.

She turned the cup again, as if she was reading the information like a book. “He was a liar. But his lies weren’t the worst of it, were they? It was how he lied to you—and also how he revealed his lies. Very painful.”

Maggie didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Hattie nodded as if she was silently agreeing with Maggie’s thoughts. She looked up from the cup. “You were lucky to escape him. Not a nice person. You are too sweet to have to deal with someone like him. Best to just let him go.”

Hattie shook her head as if she couldn’t quite believe how awful what she was seeing in the leaves had been. Maggie hadn’t believed it either, and she had a hard time imagining a scattering of wet tea leaves could do the whole fiasco justice.

For her, it had made her realize that you couldn’t know a person. Not totally.

“But that is definitely the past and you need to move on. You can’t let it make you bitter, or take the blame. You didn’t do anything to deserve what happened,” Hattie said, looking up to give her a stern look. “You didn’t deserve it. What happened was due to the type of person he was, not the type of person you are.”

Somehow Hattie’s emphatic words helped. The tightness Maggie didn’t even realize she had in her chest lessened. It was good to hear, even from a perfect stranger.

Hattie peered back into the cup, then made an approving noise. “I see music. Lots of music. You work with music, don’t you?”

Before Maggie could answer, Hattie added, “You don’t play music. You study it.”

Maggie nodded, even though Hattie didn’t look up to see if she confirmed or denied the statement. Instead, the fortune-teller turned the cup, and made an appreciative sound in the back of her throat.

“Hmm, I see a man. A new man.” Hattie glanced up at her. “Not the liar.”

Maggie’s breath caught for a second. Ren? Then she disregarded the idea. Of course she saw a man—didn’t all fortune-tellers see love in the cards? Or in the leaves, as the case may be.