“Hey,” I said. “Isn’t that—what’s her name—she’s a singer.”

The quartet had just vanished around the building when a Hummer pulled up and disgorged two young men in undertaker suits. They followed the same path as the bridal party.

“So much for keeping a low profile,” Cassandra muttered.

“At least we found out where the door is,” I said.

Cassandra shook her head and we circled the building in search of an entrance.

Keeping Up with the Times

WHEN WE GOT TO THE OTHER SIDE, WE STILL COULDN’T find a door.

“This is ridiculous,” Cassandra said, pacing along the building. “Are we blind?”

“I don’t know about you,” I said. “But I can’t see in the dark. Should I risk a light spell?”

“Go ahead. From the looks of those fools going inside, I doubt they’d notice if you lit up the whole neighborhood.”

Before I could begin the incantation, an ivy-covered trellis moved and a shadow emerged from behind it. A girl, no more than a teenager, stumbled out, her white face and hands floating, disembodied, through the air. I blinked, then saw that she was dressed in a long black gown; together with her black hair it blended into the backdrop of the building.

When she saw us, she swayed and mumbled something. As she staggered past, Cassandra’s head whipped around to follow, eyes narrowing, the green irises glinting. Her lips parted, then snapped shut. Before she tore her gaze away, I followed it to the girl’s arm. Black gauze encircled her bare forearm. Around the edges, blood smeared her pale skin.

“She’s hurt,” I said as the girl reeled onto the road. “Wait here. I’ll see if she needs help.”

“You do that. I think Aaron is right. You should wait outside.”

I stopped. My gaze went to the girl, tottering along the side of the road. Drunk or stoned, but not mortally wounded. Whatever was going on inside might be worse, and I couldn’t rely on Cassandra to handle it. I reached past her and tugged on the trellis.

“I meant it, Paige,” Cassandra said. “See to the girl. You’re not coming in.”

I found the handle, pushed the door open, and squeezed past Cassandra. Inside, the place was as dark as its exterior. I touched walls on either side, so I knew I was in a hallway. Feeling my way along, I moved forward. I got about five steps before smacking into a wall of muscle. A beefy face glowered down at me. The man shone a flashlight over us, and smirked.

“Sorry, ladies,” he said. “You got the wrong place. Bourbon Street is that way.”

He lifted his flashlight to point, swinging it near Cassandra’s face. She swatted it down.

“Who’s in tonight?” she demanded. “Hans? Brigid? Ronald?”

“Uh, all three,” thebouncer said, stepping back.

“Tell them Cassandra’s here.”

“Cassandra who?”

He shone the flashlight beam in her face. Cassandra snatched it from his hand.

“Just Cassandra. Now go.”

He reached for his light. “Can I have my flash—?”

“No.”

He hesitated, then turned, banged into the wall, cursed, and headed off into the darkness.

“Fools,” Cassandra muttered. “What are they playing at here? When did they do all this?”

“Uh, when’s the last time you visited?”

“It can’t be more than a year—” She paused. “Maybe a few years. Not that long.”

The door opened so fast that the man behind it nearly fell at our feet. Mid-forties, not much taller than my five-foot-two, he was pudgy with soft features and gray-flecked hair tied back with a velvet ribbon. He wore a puffy shirt straight out of Seinfeld, the top three buttons undone, revealing a hairless chest. His pants were ill-fitting black velvet, tucked into high-top boots. He looked like a middle-aged accountant heading off to a Pirates of Penzance audition.

He righted himself and blinked owlishly into Cassandra’s flashlight beam. I gestured toward the exit. He didn’t seem to see me, but stood gawking up at Cassandra.

“Cass—Cassandra. So—so good of you—”

“What the hell are you wearing, Ronald? Please tell me Fridays are Masquerade Night here.”

Ronald looked down at his outfit and frowned.

“Where’s John?” Cassandra said.

“J—John? You mean Hans? He’s, uh, inside.” When Cassandra turned toward the door, Ronald jumped in front of it. “We didn’t expect—we’re honored of course. Very honored.”

“Get your tongue off my boots, Ronald, and get out of my way. I came to speak to John.”

“Y—yes, of course. But it’s been so long. I’m just so pleased to see you. There’s a blues bar just a few blocks over. Very nice. We could go there, and Hans could join us—”

Cassandra shoved Ronald aside and reached for the door handle.

“W—wait,” Ronald said. “We weren’t ready for you, Cassandra. The place, it’s a mess. You don’t want to go in there.”

She tugged open the door and walked through. I grabbed it before it closed. Ronald blinked at me, as if I’d materialized from nowhere.

“I’m with her,” I said.

He grabbed the door edge, then paused, uncertain. I tugged it open enough to slip through into what looked like another, longer hallway. Ronald scurried after us. He passed me and jostled Cassandra’s heels. At a glare from her, he backed off, but only a step.