Tarotica Page 11

  A corpulent woman with skin the color of India inkberries brought them menus and glasses of ice water with lemon slices. “Catfish good t’night,” she said. “Crawfish ettoufée’s always good.”

  Eli studied the menu. “A dozen clams on the half-shell to start. And a bottle of Ménage a Trois White.”

  “That’s the name of a wine?” Miranda asked.

  “It is. Although it sounds French, it’s from Napa Valley.” He winked at her. “I’m still thinking about a three-way with Annalise.”

  She rolled her eyes, closed her menu, and stood up. “I’m going to the ladies’

  room.”

  He caught her wrist and pulled her toward him. “While you’re in there,” he said in a low voice, “take off your panties.”

  “Oh my. What’ve you got in mind?”

  He gave her a look that could’ve scalded crème brulée. “I have a fantasy I’d like to fulfill.”

  When she returned, naked beneath her pink sundress, her underwear shoved into her enormous boho purse, the raw cherrystones and wine sat on the table waiting for her.

  Eli scooped a clam from its shell and fed it to her. Then he forked one into his own mouth and chewed it with obvious relish.

  “I want you to eat these clams while I eat your pussy,” he said.

  “You mean now? Here? ”

  He speared another clam and held it up for her to examine. “Look at this little beauty. Surely you see the resemblance?”

  He ran the tip of his finger along the crustacean’s ridged mouth. Miranda’s pussy tingled in response, as if he were caressing her. Lewdly, he licked the clam, then slipped it in her mouth.

  “Mmm,” she sighed, swallowing the shellfish.

  “When our waitress returns, order blackened redfish for me,” he said, and ducked beneath the table.

  She felt his hands push up her dress and gently spread her legs. When his tongue found her seam, Miranda gasped. Self-consciously, she glanced around at the other patrons. Do they have a clue what’s going on? But they all seemed immersed in their own conversations, oblivious to Eli’s seduction beneath the checkered tablecloth.

  Miranda popped a clam into her mouth as Eli’s tongue flicked her slit. She sucked another juicy morsel while he sucked her clit. As her fingers slid yet another clam into her mouth, his fingers slid into her opening and stroked her g-spot.

  When the rotund black woman returned to take their order, Miranda simply stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending. It took a moment to wrest her thoughts away from her cunt.

  “I’ll have… crawfish etouffeé,” she said finally, struggling to keep her voice steady. “My companion…wants…oh!” Eli’s finger eased into her asshole.

  The waitress frowned at her. “You okay, girl?”

  “Uh, yeah, um.” Miranda ran a hand through her purple-streaked hair and squeezed Eli’s head between her thighs. His hot breath was like a bellows, fanning her flames. She clutched the edge of the table. “He’d like the… blackened redfish.”

  “Y’all want gumbo wid that?”

  Eli‘s lips closed over her clit. Her orgasm banged at the door. “Yes! Oh yes!”

  The waitress raised one eyebrow, then shrugged and turned away as Eli brought Miranda to climax. He pumped two fingers into her, hard and fast. Stifling her cries with her napkin, she ground her pussy against his hand. She was still trembling when he emerged from under the table, his mouth glistening with her juice.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Eli grinned and slurped a clam from its shell. Then he slid one into her gasping mouth.

  “This is what you taste like,” he said. “Sweet, succulent, sublime, with just a hint of the sea. I’ll never again eat clams without thinking of you.”

  * * *

  After dinner, Miranda talked Eli into taking a ride through the French Quarter in a horse-drawn carriage. As they rolled along the streets of the Vieux Carre, music spilled from restaurants and bars.

  “This is even hokier than the River Walk boats in San Antonio,” he complained.

  She snuggled against him. “I think it’s romantic.”

  “Fortunately, we’re not likely to run into anybody we know here.”

  “We’re tourists, doing things tourists do.”

  He slid his hand under her skirt and caressed her bare thigh. “I’d rather be doing things lovers do.”

  “All in good time.”

  He gazed at her breasts, her nipples evident through the thin fabric of her pink sundress. “This heat has one advantage—I get to look at you in skimpy clothing.”

  She giggled, mentally replaying their scene in the restaurant. I can’t believe we did that!

  When the half-hour ride ended, their driver stopped at Jackson Square. Another carriage pulled up behind them. As Miranda started to climb down, she noticed the statue of Andrew Jackson in the center of the park. The dark man on a rearing horse. A sudden spike of fear pierced her heart. She glanced at the carriage behind them. Two men wearing sunglasses and baseball caps had disembarked and were walking quickly toward them. The scene in the crystal!

  “Eli, watch out,” she warned. “Those men coming toward us—”

  One of the men reached for Miranda, but Eli hit him hard in the jaw and sent him reeling. He elbowed the second man in the stomach.

  “Run, Miranda!”

  With his youth and physical strength, Eli could probably outdistance the assailants. But in her strappy sandals, Miranda knew she hadn’t a chance of getting away.

  She stood frozen in place, desperately trying to see a way out of her predicament.

  Suddenly she remembered the golden cord she and Lancelot Lucas had knotted in the magicians’ secret pyramid. Lancelot’s words echoed in her mind. “If ever you need extra strength, all you have to do is untie a knot.” She’d stashed the cord in the bottom of her purse more than a month ago, then forgotten about it. She dragged it out and struggled with a knot, as the man Eli had elbowed lurched toward her.

  Eli grabbed her arm and pulled her after him, shouting, “Run!”

  The knot opened. Energy surged into her feet and legs, the force propelling her forward like a rocket’s thrust. She raced ahead of Eli across Jackson Square, around Saint Louis Cathedral, and down Rue de Royale.

  After several blocks, Miranda spotted a tall, wrought-iron gate standing ajar; it led into a walled courtyard. They ducked inside and slammed the gate behind them. A latch clanked into place. Huddling in the shadows, they gasped for breath, inhaling the heady scent of jasmine that perfumed the air. Slowly her panic subsided.

  When he could talk again, Eli asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, are you?”

  “My hand hurts some, but otherwise I’m fine.” He rubbed the knuckles he’d used to punch their attacker. “Were you the star sprinter on your college track team? I’ve never seen a girl run like that.”

  “Well, not exactly.” Miranda realized she was still clutching the gold cord. It really worked, she thought gratefully as she shoved it back into her purse. “Were those the French guys who are after you?”

  “I think so. With those sunglasses and hats, though, I can’t be certain.”

  “How’d they know where we were?”

  “I guess they must have followed us.” Eli shook his head. “I thought I’d been careful about covering my tracks.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Go to the police.”

  “Do you think they’ll believe us?”

  “I’m sure they’ll believe us. New Orleans has the highest crime rate in the country,” he said. “Catching those assholes is another matter entirely.”

  Miranda dug out her cell phone and dialed 911. “Two men just assaulted me and my friend in Jackson Square…No, we aren’t hurt…We’re on Rue de Royale…” She looked around for a street number or some other identification. An old-fashioned coach lamp burned above a sign on a brick building at one end of the courtyard. “I think we’re in the Garden of Eden
.”

  She hung up and took Eli’s hand. “They’re sending a patrol car to take us to the station so we can make a statement. It might be a while, though. The dispatcher said they’re pretty busy tonight.”

  “The Garden of Eden?”

  “That’s what the sign says.” She pointed at the brick building.

  “I wonder if this is the Tree of Knowledge?” He indicated a nearby tree replete with fragrant white flowers. In the light from the coach lamp, they could make out a number of other trees like it growing in the courtyard.

  Miranda sniffed a blossom. “They smell divine.”

  A door opened in the brick building and a woman wearing a bibbed apron over a long blue dress stepped out. At her side, she cradled a shotgun.

  “Who’s there?” she called.

  Card 14: Temperance

  “Come out of the shadows and show yourselves,” the woman ordered. “Hold your hands up, where I can see them.”

  Miranda and Eli obeyed.

  The woman trained the shotgun on them. “What do you want?”

  “Two men attacked us,” Miranda answered, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “We ran away, and when we saw your open gate, we hid in here.”

  Eli added, “We called the police. They should be here any minute.”

  “Don’t count on it,” the woman said. “Who are you?”

  Miranda introduced herself and Eli. “We’re just tourists on vacation. I’m from Massachusetts and he’s from California.”

  “Can we put our hands down?” Eli asked. “We’re not armed or dangerous.”

  The woman considered it a moment, then nodded, but kept her weapon ready.

  Miranda’s fear shifted to indignation. “Your sign says this is the Garden of Eden.

  Shouldn’t it be a peaceful haven? We’re seeking sanctuary, not more violence.”

  “Come over here.” The woman motioned with the shotgun, indicating the door to the brick building. “Go inside.”

  They crossed the courtyard warily and entered the building, followed by the woman brandishing the shotgun. It looks like some kind of laboratory, Miranda thought, glancing around the large, brightly lit room. An intoxicating, floral scent filled the space.

  It smelled like the trees outside, only stronger. A stainless steel table held several glass beakers partly filled with simmering water, perched on metal stands above primitive burners. A wad of muslin was stuffed into the neck of each beaker. Bent tubes ran from the beakers into copper vats. Along one wall stood shelves laden with brown bottles.

  “What are you making?” Miranda asked.

  “Perfume.”

  In the light, she appeared to be only in her early twenties, with porcelain-like skin and delicate features. Her long blond curls were tied back with a blue ribbon that matched her eyes. Miranda almost laughed at the odd juxtaposition. An angel with a shotgun.

  The woman reached into one of the vats and withdrew a test tube. She studied it, then returned it to the vat and moved on to the next. When she’d finished checking all the vats, she looked at Miranda.

  “Do you like the scent?”

  “It’s exquisite. What is it?”

  “Jasmine. Made with flowers from the trees in the courtyard.” She pointed to one of the beakers. “The cloth contains loose petals. Steam passes through the cloth, down the delivery tube, and into the test tube. Ice water in the copper vessel chills the steam and condenses it to extract the essential oil.”

  The woman moved to another table on which several brown glass bottles, three cobalt-blue bottles, and a fifth of vodka were arrayed. A measuring cup and funnel sat nearby.

  “If I put my gun down, will you promise to behave yourselves?” she asked. “I have work to do.”

  “We never had any intention of misbehaving,” Eli assured her.

  She laid the weapon on the table, close enough to grab if the need arose. “I’ve been robbed a dozen times since Katrina. The police never do a damned thing about it.”

  “What should I call you?” Miranda asked, trying to establish a connection. She remembered reading that it was harder for someone to kill you if they felt a personal link with you.

  “Nadine.”

  “Well, Nadine, I’d like to know more about making perfume.”

  Nadine sat on a wooden stool and picked up the vodka bottle. “I’d offer you a drink, but I need this for the perfume.”

  She poured two ounces of alcohol in the measuring cup, uncapped a brown bottle, and stuck a funnel in its mouth. Then she trickled the vodka into the funnel. Moving the funnel to the next bottle, she repeated the procedure. When she’d transferred all the alcohol to the brown bottles, she opened one of the blue bottles.

  Miranda leaned her elbows on the table and watched, curiosity replacing her apprehension. “What’s that?”

  “Jasmine oil.”

  Nadine pinched the eyedropper cap and counted out twenty-five drops into one of the brown bottles. She added twenty-five drops to the next bottle, and the next, until she’d infused each one. When she’d finished, she opened a second blue bottle.

  “This is essential oil of ginger,” she explained as she dripped a tiny bit of liquid into each of the brown bottles. “Its crispness complements the sweet jasmine.”

  She unscrewed the cap of the third blue bottle and squeezed a few drops into each brown bottle.

  “What are you adding now?” Miranda asked.

  “My secret ingredient.” Nadine smiled. “Most of my concoctions contain a blend of at least three oils. When you first dab one on, you notice the perfume’s top note. Just as it starts to fade, the middle note kicks in. After that’s run its course, what remains is the base note. Making perfume is all about creating a perfect balance of scents. It’s a very delicate process.”

  “May I try some?” Miranda asked.

  “Oh no. It has to age a while, to allow the scents to ripen.” Nadine capped the brown bottles and shook each one to blend the ingredients. “You need patience—you can’t rush the process.”

  “Sounds like winemaking,” Eli said.

  “I guess it is.” She glanced from him to Miranda, as if assessing them and their relationship. “Over time, the ingredients mingle and bring out the best in each other. It’s like what happens in a good partnership—the scents marry.”

  After sticking labels on the bottles, Nadine collected them on a tray and carried them over to arrange on the shelves. “Perfume makers consider some scents masculine and some feminine. Sharp, spicy scents—like the ginger I used—are masculine. Sweet florals—like jasmine—are feminine. To produce a harmonious blend, you need both.”

  Like love, Miranda mused.

  A loud knock interrupted them. Nadine picked up the shotgun and went to the door. She put her eye to the peephole, then unlocked the door and opened it. A jowly, middle-aged policeman with café-au-lait skin and a sprinkling of rusty freckles across his 137

  broad nose ambled into the lab. His leisurely gait and air of disinterest implied he was simply putting in his time until retirement.

  Eyeing Nadine’s weapon, he said, “Mind putting that down, ma’am?”

  She laid it on the table and stepped back.

  “Y’all called about an attack?”

  “We did,” Eli said. “Two men assaulted us in Jackson Square.”

  The cop studied each of them in turn. “Anybody hurt?”

  Miranda shook her head. “No, we’re fine.”

  “I’ll give y’all a ride to the station. You’ll have to fill out some paperwork.”

  Eli took Miranda’s arm. “Okay.”

  Miranda turned to Nadine. “I enjoyed learning about your perfume.”

  “Here, try this.” She handed a small, dark green bottle to Miranda. “I hope you like it.”

  “Thanks, I’m sure I will.” Miranda read the label: Eve’s Sin. “Oh my.”

  Nadine laughed. “Go easy. That potion’s potent.”

  * * *

  They took a
cab from the police station back to the B&B and checked out.

  “I wanted to stay in New Orleans another day or two,” Miranda complained as they drove away from the city.

  “It’s too dangerous,” Eli said. “The cops aren’t going to find those guys. They’re still on the loose, looking for us.”

  “How can you be sure? You said yourself you couldn’t positively identify them.

  Maybe they were just ordinary thieves trying to rob us.”

  “Maybe. But I can’t put you at risk. In fact, it might be better for us to separate in the morning, for safety’s sake.”

  “You’re abandoning me?”

  “I’m not abandoning you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’ve traveled thousands of miles by myself, escaped bad guys and a flash flood.

  I’m not some helpless female.” Besides, there are still about a dozen knots in that golden cord.

  “You may be as fleet as a cheetah,” he admitted. “Still, I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me. I’m truly sorry I got you involved in this whole mess.”

  “Well, now that you’ve dragged me into it, don’t you think you should stick around to protect me?” Miranda argued. “I mean, if you’re really concerned about my safety? Now those guys know who I am, too.”

  “Not necessarily. You could simply have been my date for the evening, or somebody I met in a bar. They might not suspect you know anything. Besides, it’s me they’re after. If you’re not with me, I doubt they’ll bother you.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  Eli ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I have no fucking idea.”

  * * *

  About two hours north of the Big Easy, they stopped at a motel just off the highway.

  “This looks like one of those places you rent by the hour,” Miranda said.

  “It’s certainly not what you’d call posh,” he agreed. “But it’s late and we both need to get some sleep.”