Winds of the Storm (16 page)

She assigned two house maids, Suzette, from St. Augustine, Florida, and Clare, from Boston, to handle Isenbaum's servants. “Find out which market they patronize and who their delivery people are—maybe that knowledge can get us a quick way in. We need to know about the house's interior. Specifically the location of his study and bedroom. If he has a Death Book in his possession, it's likely to be in one of those two places. Everyone else here without a specific task will be asked to comb the streets for whatever clues may be out there.”

She scanned the men and women and noted the serious set of their faces. Once again she wondered if any of them would be Judas. “Does anyone have questions?”

Silence.

“Okay. You have your assignments. Please keep Alfred or myself aware of your comings and goings. If you get into trouble, we want to be able to send help as quickly as possible.”

The meeting adjourned, and Alfred and Zahra were left alone in the parlor. She looked to him and said, “You know, Carnival season begins soon. Most of our targets will be attending balls in the evenings, and their homes will be empty. Be a perfect time for the two of us to do a little nosing around, don't you think?”

He smiled. “I think, yes.”

Zahra felt as if the meeting had gone well.

 

Archer, Raimond, and Raimond's beautiful wife, Sable, were having lunch in the restaurant inside Archer's hotel. Waiting for their food to come, they passed the time in pleasant conversation. Sable was well known around the city for her work with orphans and was about to tell them about a fund-raiser she had planned when a hush fell over the crowded room. A confused Archer looked around to find the cause, and there stood Domino, talking with the nearly swooning André Renaud. Archer froze.

”Is that her?” Sable whispered.

Archer nodded while wondering how a woman whose face he'd never seen could be more beautiful with each passing day.

“She looks very mysterious,” Sable said to Archer. “I love the emerald gown. Who's her dressmaker?”

Raimond looked at her as if she'd lost her mind.

Archer, his eyes still locked on Domino, replied, “Wilma Gray. New shop.”

Sable smiled. “Archer, I've never known you to look so struck, and I must know why. Invite the lady over to join us. I wish to meet her.”

Raimond raised his coffee cup and said, “
Ma reine,
the woman's a whore.”

“And so was my best friend, Brigitte, for a portion of her life, and as I recall, you've never complained about the things I learned from her.”

Raimond spit his coffee onto his plate. Sable ignored him.

Archer was ignoring them both; André was escorting Domino towards the table, and she was all he could see. The confident way she held her head, coupled with her beauty and enigmatic manner, had every man in the room mesmerized.

Archer was already standing when Domino and André reached the table. Sable planted a subtle elbow in her husband's ribs, and a stormy-faced Raimond rose to his feet as well.

Archer spoke first. “Good afternoon, Domino.”

“Archer.”

“Would you care to join us?”

“I wouldn't think of imposing. I simply wish to speak to Aristide about a birthday cake for the twins. Mr. Renaud seemed to think I should interrupt you, though, and say hello.”

Archer said, “This is my brother, Raimond. His wife, Sable.”

She nodded a masked greeting, then said, “Please pardon my interruption. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“No,” Sable insisted. “Please, join us. Have you eaten?”

Attempting to gauge the woman's intent, Zahra studied her for a moment. Seeing nothing but friendliness in the green eyes, she replied with as much respect as she could muster, “Mrs. Le Veq, the gossips will tear you apart should I accept your invitation.”

“Madame Domino, I am an escaped slave who married into the storied House of Le Veq. There is nothing they can say that hasn't already been said.” Sable gestured her to a vacant seat.

A smile touched Domino's lips. “Okay. If you
put it that way.” Offering a nod of thanks, Domino joined them.

“So,” Sable said, once they were all settled in, “welcome to New Orleans. Are you enjoying the city?”

“I am. It's very vibrant here.” That Sable had once been enslaved made Zahra alter her preconceptions about the
gens de coleur
Le Veq family. She looked over to find Archer watching her, and her core tightened of its own accord. She looked away only to behold the still grim face of his eldest brother, Raimond. Unlike his wife, the dark-skinned Le Veq didn't appear to be happy with the charitable invitation.

Zahra told him, “Mr. Le Veq. My apologies for embarrassing you. I know you are a member of high standing in this city, and my dining with you has to be awkward.”

“It is,” he said, meeting her eyes, “and I appreciate that you at least realize it, even if no one else here does.” He glowered at Sable and Archer.

Her mind made up, Zahra gracefully pushed back from the table, then stood. “Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Le Veq, but I must go.”

“But I thought you were going to join us.”

“I did too, but I can't. You shouldn't be sullying yourselves with the likes of me.” Zahra turned to Archer. “Which way is the kitchen?”

He stood, saying, “This way. Come, I'll show you.”

“Thank you.” Domino then said to Raimond and Sable, “It was nice meeting you both.”

They inclined their heads, and Zahra let Archer escort her away.

Once Domino and Archer disappeared through the kitchen door, Raimond said to his wife, “Oddly enough, I like her.”

“I do, as well, and I don't believe she's a real whore either. Let's hope Archer can get it all sorted out. She'd make a nice sister-in-law, I'm thinking.”

Raimond stared. Sable smiled serenely, then turned her attention to the waiter arriving with their food.

In the kitchen, Archer stood back and watched Domino make the usual ill-tempered Aristide melt like pralines in her hand. That Aristide seemed as awed by her as every other male in the city was always surprising, because as far as Archer knew, Aristide was awed only by Aristide, yet he fawned over Domino like royalty come to visit. She then thanked him with a kiss on the cheek that made the fair-skinned chef turn apple red.

She was still smiling when she met Archer's eyes, and he thought his heart would swell out of his chest. Her smiles were as rare as diamonds on the streets of the city and twice as priceless to a man who had no business wanting her.

Archer offered to drive her home. “Unless the giant is outside waiting.”

She shook her head, and her eyes sparkled from within the emerald mask. “No, he isn't, I took a cab. So a ride back would be appreciated.” Zahra wondered if he or his brother knew anything about the Death Books. Because of their government connections and their prominence in the city it was highly possible that they might, but
until she could devise a way to ask without giving everything away, she chose to rely on the plans she'd already set into motion.

Outside, the day was bright and sunny, and the temperature higher than it had been in weeks. By no means was it close to being summertime, but at least the cold winds seemed to have disappeared. Riding with him through the crowded streets, she basked in the warmth of the sunshine. “It's a beautiful day.”

“It is indeed.” For Archer everything seemed even brighter with her at his side. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

The uncontrollable warmth his presence always seemed to ignite rose in immediate response. “Your place or mine?”

“Mine.”

“Then your place it is.”

Their smiles met, and he turned his attention back to his driving.

When they reached the house, there seemed to be some kind of commotion on the steps. The girls were yelling and arguing with, of all people, Lynette Dubois and an older woman dressed in a black mantilla and a black gown, whom Zahra did not recognize. “Looks like we have guests,” she drawled. Alfred and the men were out in the streets of the city searching for clues to the Death Books, but the girls appeared to be holding their own in the argument.

As soon as he pulled the brake, Zahra threw the door open and stepped out. “What's going on here?” she demanded as she walked up.

Matilda said, “We found these two sneaking around outside the house.”

“They were trying to hide this in the rose garden,” Chloe said, showing Zahra a small urn. Zahra lifted the top and saw what appeared to be ashes.

“Then there's this,” Stella added, handing Zahra a brown porcelain jug. Zahra removed the top and saw something wedged inside. She fished it out and held up a small, crude doll wearing an even cruder domino where the eyes should be.

“You're much prettier,” Adair tossed out, sipping coffee from the cup in her hand. She then made a face. “Fooling with them has made my coffee go cold.”

Zahra assessed Lynette's angry face, then turned and showed the items to Archer, silently asking for an explanation.

He walked up. Giving Lynette a withering look, he said, “It's called Doll in a Jug. The jug with the doll is supposed to be taken to a cemetery and buried in the breast of a grave. What's in the urn?”

“Ashes.”

He turned cold eyes on Lynette. She curled her lip but looked away. “The ashes are supposed to be buried in the backyard of the victim to hasten the spell.”

“What's it supposed to do?”

“Kill you.”

The old woman, her face lined by time, asked the simmering Lynette, “Is this the whore?”

Lynette met Zahra's eyes. “Yes,
Tante.
”

The old woman began murmuring a singsong incantation accompanied by movements of her hands. Before her performance could gain any momentum, Zahra reached for the coffee mug Adair was holding and calmly tossed the lukewarm contents in the crone's face.

The woman howled with outrage, and the wide-eyed, angry Lynette looked about to pounce until Zahra pressed a gleaming, pearl-handled, straight-edge razor against Lynette's trembling, pale neck.

“Now,” Zahra said to her softly, “if you come around here again with this silliness, this root in my hand will come to your house in the middle of the night and slit your childish throat. Do you understand me?”

Lynette nodded elaborately.

“Good. Now take this old woman home before she comes to harm.”

The two left hurriedly. Both were furious, but Zahra was putting the now-folded razor back in the sheath she wore below her garter and didn't care.

Straightening, she noticed that the girls were all staring in wonder and awe. “What?” she asked.

Adair said, “Domino, if I ever questioned whether you were a real madame or not, I do beg your pardon.”

Everyone laughed.

Zahra met Archer's eyes and saw that he was watching her, too, but what he might be thinking was impossible to tell.

The girls flowed back into the house, happily rehashing the incident, leaving Zahra and Archer alone.

He said, “A pistol, and now a razor. Are you always so well armed?”

“Most times.”

“You're a formidable woman.”

“These are formidable times.”

“Do you still wish to have dinner?”

“Yes, but it will have to be after we close.”

“You can't slip away.”

“The last time I slipped away with you, I wound up trysting in the rose garden.”

“Is that such a bad memory?”

Desire licked at her like a flame. “Not in the least, but slipping away with you always involves something else.”

He gave her that grin. “I told you before, you were made for pleasure.”

Her senses bloomed under his intense dark eyes. “Are all of your brothers as audacious as you?”

“Yes, madame. It's in our blood.”

Zahra had to admit she'd never met a man quite like him. She gave him a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for driving me home. I'll see you this evening.”

Once she was in her room, Zahra stripped off her gloves and tossed them onto the vanity table. Her anger over her confrontation with Lynette still simmered. Being from the swamps, Zahra had plenty of respect for the old ways and those who lived their lives according to the tenets, but Lynette and her bumbling attempt to manipulate
the forces of life and death drew nothing but Zahra's contempt. She hoped she'd scared the young woman into thinking twice before trying to hex someone else, because if it happened again, Zahra was not going to be nice.

That evening the house opened for business and the customers began arriving with grins and handshakes for their male acquaintances, and smiles and kisses on the cheeks for the scantily glad girls. Zahra standing on the balcony noted the entrance of Mitchell Isenbaum. As usual, he was alone. According to Matilda, he was twenty-five years old and unmarried. He'd grown up the wealthy scion of one of the state's largest sugarcane plantations and boasted of having owned three hundred slaves before the war.

Zahra watched him approach Matilda, who greeted him with her patented sultry smile. Isenbaum, with his dark eyes and curling hair, was quite handsome, Zahra had to admit, but only on the outside. His ties to the White League made him ancillary to the deaths of hundreds of Blacks in the state, and the numbers were rising daily. The New Orleans newspapers were filled with reports of the killings and atrocities committed in the name of supremacy, yet Isenbaum appeared as cool and detached as a prince of the realm.

He whispered something in Matilda's ear that made them both smile, then she took his hand and led him away. Now that Zahra and her people were shadowing his moves, it wouldn't be necessary for Matilda to continue her discreet search for information. Zahra would tell her that in the
morning, but in the meantime, Zahra planned to keep an eye on him.