“It was.”

The last time I’d been to New Orleans was a few months after Hurricane Katrina. I’d avoided going back ever since. My mom and I had lived in the Big Easy for a couple of years, and seeing it post-disaster—the devastation and slow recovery—had depressed and infuriated me. Now it was starting to look a little more like its old self.

The address for the pay phone took us to an area that looked as if it hadn’t escaped the hurricane’s wrath, but wasn’t hit hard enough to get much recovery funding. Many buildings were vacant, including the one Bryce’s trail led to, a block from the pay phone.

It looked like an old house that had been converted into units, and still showed the bones of an old manor house, despite decades of reconstruction. A NOW LEASED! sign promised new life, but unlike other buildings with similar signs, there was no indication that this one would be ready to open soon. Through a partly boarded window, I could see a lone workman inside. He seemed to be painting, but at the rate he was moving, he wasn’t going to be done for a while. I think that was the point.

We’d split up to look less obvious as we scoped out the area. Adam had climbed onto the roof of the neighboring building. I was walking along the street, mingling with strolling office workers, so I didn’t stand out, in case anyone was watching from our target building. Jeremy circled the block. And Jaime sat in an open-air café out of harm’s way, while my father scouted.

When I was done with my part, I sat with Jaime.

“You know what I need?” I said. “Ghosts. Then I could sit back and let them do the dirty work.”

“Hardly. Ghosts can’t get dirty.” She shifted her chair out of the shade and leaned back, light reflecting off her sunglasses. “I’ll admit, though, it is nice to order your father around. He’s done it to me for years.”

I shook my head and snatched a beignet from her plate. “There’s something going on in that place, but they’re doing a good job of hiding it. We may have to wait until dark to get in.” I checked my watch. “Which is a very long wait.”

She was about to reply when she looked up suddenly. I turned, saw empty air, and tugged over a chair for my father. Not that he really needed it, but it would be easier for Jaime to talk to him if she wasn’t gaping up at the sky.

I ordered a coffee as Jaime listened to my father.

When the server left, Jaime said, “Good news first or bad?”

“Bad.”

“The place is warded. Your dad can’t get inside.”

“And there’s good news?”

“They haven’t warded the whole building. Too much energy to keep the spell up. So we have a good idea where you’ll find Bryce. Your dad’s narrowed it down to a few rooms, and he’s found a way in.”

“The roof.” Adam walked over and reached for the empty chair.

I waved him to another spot before he sat on my father’s lap.

“Right,” Adam said. “Sorry.”

“He’s used to it,” Jaime said. “There’s no personal space cushion when you’re a ghost.”

“So the roof?” I said.

Adam explained what he’d found from the outside, and my father added—through Jaime—some details of the inside layout. Together we devised a plan.

“Your dad says we should probably break up this coffee club,” Jaime said. “Before someone connected to these people wanders past and thinks one of us looks familiar.”

“Call Jeremy then,” I said. “Tell him you’ll meet him on the roof.” She lifted her leg, showing off three-inch heels.

“Haven’t you learned your lesson about wearing those on a mission?”

“Yes. And the lesson is that I should always wear these, so no one asks me to do anything crazy like climb onto a roof.”

“But you have to play interpreter between us and my father.”

“Which I can do using the wonderful technology of text messaging.”

“It’d be easier to talk to him if you were on the roof. You’d be less conspicuous.”

“It’s New Orleans. The one city in the world where I can talk to ghosts and no one looks twice. Go on. Jeremy will meet you there.”

thirty-five

Jeremy didn’t complain about climbing on roofs. He may be sixty-one—or was it sixty-two?—but being a werewolf means he’s in excellent shape, and looks about forty-five. And being werewolf Alpha means he doesn’t get to do a lot of roof-climbing so he’s happy for the chance.

We started on the neighboring roof, which Adam had scouted. It came with a convenient fire escape, meaning we could clamber up and across without being seen. From there it was only a two-foot jump across to the roof we needed.

While an access door would have been very sweet, they’re a lot less common than I’d like. Instead, there was an ancient balcony off the top floor. The construction was first-rate, though, and it didn’t so much as tremor as we proceeded, one at a time, onto it and through the balcony door.

That door had needed a lock-pick. There was also an electronic security system, but my father assured us that only the lower level doors were protected.

Other than the fake workman, my father hadn’t seen anyone else while he’d walked the perimeter of the warded area. Whatever this place was, it didn’t seem to be a major hub of activity for the group. Definitely not the compound where they’d been holding me, though I’d known that—I hadn’t gone from Louisiana to Indiana on the relatively short van ride before I’d escaped.

We’d come through into a bedroom on the third floor. It was unbearably stuffy, and peeling layers of wallpaper said it hadn’t been used in decades. The one piece of furniture—a filing cabinet—had only been left behind because it was so old and heavy that it had sunk into the floor.

We made our way into the hall, Jeremy in the lead, using his werewolf sense of hearing and smell to check for occupants. I cast sensing spells. I wasn’t sure they worked, but it helped me clear my head and focus.

After one quick sniff around the top floor—and several stifled sneezes from the dust—Jeremy said no one had been up there in a while. So we proceeded down the stairs. Normally I’d lead there, knockback spell prepped, but Adam took it instead, his flaming fingers a quicker weapon than Jeremy’s brute strength.