Garden of Dreams and Desires - Kristen Painter Page 0,7
be grasping at straws but right now, straws are all we have.”
Augustine grimaced. “Maybe there’s someone else we can talk to then. My mother isn’t going to help us. That bridge isn’t just burned, it’s gone. Besides, if there is any way around it, I will not put Harlow through an exorcism.”
He stared at the enormous fleur-de-lis inlaid in the table’s center, memories churning through his mind. His mother had done that to him as a child. He’d been terrified by the process, somewhat because of the mysticism surrounding it but more by the idea that he was possessed by something evil. All because he’d been born blatantly fae, unlike his half-human, half-smokesinger mother, who could easily pass for human. Not long after kicking him out of her home for being too fae, she’d gone to live at the Ursuline Convent. She still lived there, doing menial labor in exchange for her room and board.
Her faith had become her Guardian, but her son, who was Guardian of the entire city, she ignored. The irony was not lost on him.
“I’m sorry,” Fenton said quietly. “I knew you’d… that is, I didn’t mean to stir up your past.”
The fact that Fenton knew what Augustine’s mother had done to him those many years ago didn’t surprise him. The cypher fae knew everything. “I know you didn’t. Anything else?”
“Yes. I had a feeling you’d respond to my suggestion about contacting your mother the way you did, so I reached out to Detective Grantham—”
“What’s he got to do with Harlow’s situation?”
“Nothing directly, but he did tell us his grandmother was a mambo.”
“I remember. She was the one who verified the powder we found in Dreich’s home after his death was bokura, the zombie dust.” The light clicked on in Augustine’s mind. A mambo was a voodoo priestess and voodoo had many religious elements in it. “You’re thinking a mambo could very well know how to handle a possession.”
“I am.”
Typically the fae avoided voodoo the same way they did witchcraft, but this was a special case. And perhaps, in some ways, a new age. What difference did it make where the help came from? “Is his grandmother well? I thought she’d been sick.”
“She had been, but she’s better now.”
“Did you ask Grantham about her helping us?”
Fenton nodded. “I did. He talked to her and she agreed to meet with you, so long as Grantham is there, too. I’m sure she’s as trepidatious about meeting you as you are about mixing voodoo into this situation.”
“If it helps Harlow, I’m all for it.”
“Good. You’re to meet him at her house in a couple hours. She lives out in Treme.”
“Near Father Ogun?”
“In that neighborhood, yes.” Fenton tapped his LMD. “I’m sending you the directions now.”
Augustine’s LMD buzzed with the incoming info. “Thank you for setting that up.”
“You’re welcome, but it’s not exactly free. Grantham needs our help with something, too, so you can expect to talk to him afterwards.”
“Quid pro quo. What’s he need?”
“Tourists have been disappearing.”
“Sounds like a job for City Hall. Or the tourism board.”
Fenton shook his head. “I don’t mean tourism’s down, I mean tourists have literally gone missing.”
“Mardi Gras was two days ago. They’re probably just sleeping it off somewhere.”
Fenton shook his head. “Six tourists in three days. Valuables left in their hotel rooms, except for the things they might have been carrying on their person. This isn’t just a case of someone passing out by the river, or in the wrong hotel room. And to make matters worse, it seems one of the tourists is Robbie Pellimento.”
“The senator’s son? You said seems. Does that mean you don’t know if he’s actually missing?”
“Correct. Robbie has a reputation as being quite the party animal. It could be he is actually sleeping it off somewhere. Or still partying. Or trying to avoid his mother, the senator. Whatever the case, Senator Pellimento was scheduled to arrive in two days to dedicate that new statue in Audubon Park.” Fenton heaved out an unhappy breath. “However, since Robbie has been incommunicado, she’s arriving today.”
“And that’s a concern because?”
“While it’s pretty common knowledge that Irene Pellimento is on track to be the next president of the Southern Union, what’s not well known is her hatred of othernaturals. If she had her way, we’d all be rounded up into camps. And we might be, if she ends up president.”
Augustine frowned. “I’m not saying I doubt you, but this is the first time I’ve heard about this. Not that I follow human politics