the bags under my eyes. I didn’t need any more reminders that I wasn’t getting enough sleep.
The hotel valet hailed a cab for me and I went straight to the nearest rental car agency. Maya had made it onto Beau’s list of trustworthy people, but I figured it was safer to be as independent as possible. I rented a boring Toyota sedan and followed my cell phone’s GPS to Tallulah Finch’s house.
I could finally look around Atlanta without being disturbed by the remnants, but I paid little attention to my surroundings. I was busy mulling over my conversation with Beau the night before, trying to figure out what I was going to ask Tallulah Finch. I was picturing someone like Hazel Pellar: earthy, powerful, foreboding. I wanted to be prepared.
When I arrived at my destination and looked around, however, I realized I was on a street of nearly identical suburban mansions. Every yard was immaculate, and there were no cars in driveways or bikes dumped on sidewalks. The whole neighborhood looked like it had been designed by a focus group of rich white people with an unlimited budget. It definitely did not look like any witch’s house I’d ever been to.
There was nobody on the street at this time of day—it was probably a bit late for the gardeners and housekeepers to be arriving, and too early for people coming home from work—but the door to the Finch house swung open as I pulled into the driveway. A woman in her early fifties stepped onto the front porch, lifting a manicured hand to shade her eyes. She wore white linen pants and a floral blouse, with a wristful of bangles and two beaded necklaces that perfectly matched the blouse. Long brown hair with carefully expensive highlights tumbled over her shoulders in perfect waves, and her flawlessly made-up face broke into a smile.
“Why, hello there,” she drawled as I climbed out of the rental car. Her voice was a gentle southern purr. “You must be Allison Luther. Please come right in.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling oddly nervous. And underdressed.
As I walked up, she held out her hand, knuckles up as though she were royalty. Enormous diamond rings glittered on two of her fingers. “Tallulah Finch.”
“I’m Lex.” Awkwardly, I took her hand and turned my wrist to shake it. Her handshake didn’t match the rest of her—despite the manicure, I could feel calluses on her hands, serious ones. Interesting.
“I’ve got sweet tea set up in the parlor, unless you’d prefer lemonade or Coca-Cola?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Well then, come right this way,” Tallulah said gaily, ushering me into the foyer.
The inside of the house was as meticulously designed as the exterior, with the walls and accents done in warm, sunny shades of yellow and blue. Unlike most of the family homes I was used to, there was no clutter on any of the surfaces. In fact, there were very few loose objects at all, other than a handmade woven basket on one table, filled with expensive-looking balls of yarn and a pair of knitting needles. I wondered if they were purely decorative.
Tallulah led me down the hall to an open door, where I could see a tray of iced drinks resting on a coffee table. As we crossed the room to the sofa set, I noticed the large framed portrait over the fireplace: Tallulah with a jowly middle-aged man and two children: a boy in his early teens and a girl about college age. I paused to look. On either side of the family photo, there were a few smaller frames with individual shots—including one of the girl with her arm around Odessa Calhoun. The two of them were dressed in demure summer dresses, standing in front of an enormous fountain.
Tallulah saw me focusing on the picture. “My daughter, Whitney,” she said proudly. “She’s a freshman at Emory this year.”
“She and Odessa are friends?”
Tallulah had picked up the pitcher of sweet tea, which hovered in the air as she nodded at me. “Since they were little,” she said, smiling. “Dessa was . . . oh, ten or eleven when her parents passed. Beau needed quite a bit of advice on how to raise a little girl.” She poured the first glass of tea, then a second.
I came and sat down. “Do you mind if I ask what happened to Odessa’s parents?”
“Not at all.” Tallulah lifted her glass and took a leisurely sip of the tea. I didn’t touch mine. “It’s not a secret,”