Out of Sight (5 page)

“Why didn’t you call me?” Poppy said.

“I did. The number’s not in use, it says.”

Poppy shook her head. “You can’t be using the right
number.” She marched past Liam to enter the club. She was grateful for the cool in the foyer.

Sykes and Liam followed her, both tall, both dark-haired, and Liam’s eyes were an intense navy blue. Her brother was another heart-stopper, but he genuinely didn’t seem to have any idea of the effect he had on women.

Liam taught history at Tulane. He also helped back up Poppy with the club management, mainly dealing with immediate financial issues while Ben oversaw all of the family’s business interests. Their youngest brother, Ethan, was a lawyer.

The blue inside of the club enveloped them. It seemed strange not to hear live music at once. They rarely used anything canned.

“No sign of Nat Archer yet?” Sykes said. “You know Nat. He’s joining us here for coffee.”

Poppy half listened to Sykes. It was Liam whose expression confused her. He had relaxed and now he hovered, put his hands in his pockets, took them out again. Back in again.

He nodded and rolled from his heels to his toes.

Poppy frowned at him. “You okay?” she asked.

His grin was very un-Liam-like. “Great. Just great. It just never crossed my mind, is all. I mean you never said anything one way or the other. Not either of you.”

Sykes had switched on one of the fiber-optic globes that were in the center of each table. They all joked about how hokey the idea was but they had been a fixture for years.

“I’ll call Ethan and tell him to get back here,” Liam said. “You’ll want us together. Huh! When I saw you running down the street like that, hand in hand… Well, it didn’t come to me right off, but you know how slow I am about some things.”

Poppy and Sykes frowned at each other.

“Worldly things, so they tell me.” Liam chuckled. “It never crossed my mind—you two being together. Hmm. If I’d known you were with Sykes, Poppy, I wouldn’t have worried. Is it too early for champagne?”

I
n the attic above J. Clive Millet, Antiques, Jude Millet passed through the curtain that separated him from the living world.

The heaviness he felt was of the mind. Of the spirit…he laughed silently at the thought. Physically he had no weight. At last he was desperate to finish what had started three centuries earlier. Yes, he had married an Embran woman without any idea what she was. But he had just lost the only woman he had ever really loved and he wanted peace, a quiet home, children.

He had got chaos, whispered suggestions that Mrs. Jude Millet was a witch, that she and her family were conspiring to bring down the booming merchant town of Bruges in Brussels for their own gain.

The flight to London had been cruel on the Millets. Mrs. Jude Millet wasn’t with them, she had disappeared. But that didn’t stop the persecution that eventually chased the family to New Orleans where other paranormal families had helped them settle and estab
lish themselves with the considerable possessions they had been fortunate enough to rescue.

What they had not rescued was what they thought was almost within their grasp before the disastrous marriage: the angel who would lead them to the Ultimate Power, and the secret to why they had a wide spectrum of paranormal talents and even on occasion passed from life into a quiet place of contemplation that was not death, either. This had happened to Jude. He was certain he could not be the only one to experience this seemingly endless existence yet, so far, he had not been contacted by any others.

The Embran woman had been called Astrid, or so he knew her. Somewhere, even now, she existed although he believed she was deteriorating, rotting around whatever held her shape-shifting body together. And she was blamed for bringing slow disintegration to the rest of her kind.

That was the past, the present was for finishing at least this one task. He would do whatever he must to help his progeny find the sweet angel, the Book of the Way, which contained the master rules for their kind, and eventually the Harmony and the precious Ultimate Power it contained.

As yet Sykes—and it was Sykes who mattered most—knew little about the Ultimate Power or the Harmony that held it.

The greatest obstacle, those without conscience and with their own immortality at stake, were to be stopped: the Embran.

And he, Jude, would become more involved as the Mentor. Changes were already in motion.

An opportunity had arrived in the Quarter, a stranger to him. He had decided on a daring path because he had needed a fresh slant on the problem they faced in New Orleans. He had decided to play a dangerous, possibly disastrous game; to give a practitioner of talents foreign to him a chance to intermingle with the paranormal powers he was familiar with.

Desperation has pushed him to take the chance. If it was as he had always believed and these other elements were no more than myth, then there would be no benefit, but also no harm done.

He hoped.

But this new candidate was unique, and he had begun to take it more seriously that a combination of highly developed intuition, magical practices and the manipulation of minds through suggestion—voodoo in this case—might complicate the fight against the Embran. He had no way of knowing this until the two came in contact.

On the other hand, if these magical skills were real and they could complement the paranormal powers present in such advanced forms in this city, among the Millets, the Fortunes, the Montrachets and others, then the answer to winning might be moving much closer.

Once more he had lost—at least temporarily—his intermediary, a small and unusual intermediary it was true, but also an efficient one. Jude was in the process
of giving another subject a trial although this one showed far too many signs of an unpredictable and selfish spirit.

But he would persevere—there must be a way for him to directly achieve small tasks involving the family and their friends. Although he found it simple to approach them as an apparition and prod the more evolved of his progeny onward, there were some things he could not do. He could not dig around where the results of his movements, if not his person, would be seen while he searched for more of the keys that were part of that damnable mechanism in the Harmony that must be dealt with.

And he had to hope that Sykes would discover the message he had sent him within the green and gold stone. If and when—if—the real angel was found, Sykes must remember that stone and realize what he was really looking for: the Harmony and the Ultimate Power.

He was bored with his one view from the dormer window in the attic. Although he would rather not admit it, even to himself, he was…well, not exactly tired of his descendants, but impatient with their slow progress.

That was wrong. They couldn’t move faster than the information revealed to them. Unfortunately he was coming to believe that parts of their history might have been lost, hidden or destroyed.

Almost worse, what if they had been robbed?

Driven by an unfamiliar agitation, Jude passed through the door that led into the attic room. He had not been at the top of the staircase leading down in front of him for centuries.

He descended very slowly, using one of his many extraordinary gifts: he could hear at great distances and clearly. Jude was, however, a gentleman in all things and did not take unnecessary liberties with his advantages.

Pascal was in the shop, in his office behind the mahogany desk to be precise. He sat at his elegant desk staring, without seeing, through the windows that gave him a vantage point on every area in the showrooms.

Jude engaged his other sight for just a moment to delight in a glance at some of the most beautiful pieces from his own day and even before. The new things, the stock from the Regency, the Victorian and the periods that became progressively uglier, did not interest him.

He cut off the sight and concentrated on Pascal again.

The man’s intense agitation surprised him. Pascal was given to histrionics but usually his spirit was calm, calculating even—although he never failed to put his surrogate family first.

Jude curled his lip at the thought of that disappointment, Antoine and his weak wife leaving Antoine’s unmarried brother to bring up their brood of five and shoulder the responsibilities of the family.

What was this with Pascal now?

It could not be so. Pascal was unshakable, a man to be relied on regardless of his dramatic outbursts declaring that he was tired of the burdens he had never sought.

Jude drifted back a little. He was mistaken. What he was picking up merely reflected Pascal’s deep worry as he anticipated the return of the Embran and worried about where they would strike.

The instant before he passed into the attic again, Jude paused. He gazed downward and brought Pascal’s face into focus. The man had shaved his fine head of thick, dark red hair in protest of its helping make him eligible to take the place that should eventually have belonged to Sykes. Fine, jade green eyes stared ahead just as they had since Jude started to look into the showroom. Those eyes were deeply worried.

Jude raised his chin and attempted to follow the muddle of thoughts in Pascal’s mind.

Something was coming? That much Jude knew. Pascal was afraid of it. That was not like the Pascal Jude knew.

Perhaps this was the reassurance he needed that the experiment he was encouraging had been a wise decision.

Paranormal powers, magic and voodoo.

They would all see.

L
iam beamed at Poppy and gave her a hug. He didn’t seem to notice that throwing his arms around a sticker bush might be more comfortable.

Laughing this off would be the best thing, Sykes decided, only he didn’t feel like laughing.

“Ben and Ethan and I have always thought you two would make a great couple,” Liam said. “There’s that old thing about love and hate being real close together. Or feeding off each other or whatever. You two have argued forever, but we knew there was a spark there, somewhere.”

Sykes looked at Poppy and the shadow of sadness he saw in her eyes gave him a jolt of guilt—and confusion. She was probably just sorry the two of them couldn’t seem to get along, and that she had made things hard for Ben and Willow when they had never wanted anything but good for her.

Or…no, Poppy didn’t wish the two of them were together the way Liam thought they were.

Did she?

Did he want her to want him? An urge to touch her caught him off guard, not that it was the first time he had felt physically drawn to her.

“Sykes has been very kind to me,” Poppy said.

“I guess we just had to give the pair of you time,” Liam said, smiling. He rocked from his heels up on to the balls of his sneakers. “Ethan will be back shortly.”

“Oh, for …” Poppy threw herself into a blue leather chair. “Just stop it, Liam. You of all people. Dr. Cold when it comes to women. Why would you jump to such a stupid, embarrassing conclusion?”

Now Sykes felt embarrassed for Liam. “Poppy’s uptight,” he said. “Hearing the terrible news when she and Ward are so close—”

“Shut up,”
Poppy said, pressing her palms to her cheeks. “Both of you, please be quiet. You don’t know what you’re talking about, either of you. We don’t know exactly what’s supposed to have gone down at Ward’s.”

“Nothing good,” Liam said quietly. “Sorry if I said the wrong thing. It was just that you looked so…together. Um, how come you were together this morning?” He clasped his hands behind his back and glanced around at patrons sitting in groups or alone. None of them looked in their direction.

Sykes held the peace a moment and Poppy jumped in. “I went looking for Sykes,” she said flatly. “And I found him.”

“Tell us what you’ve heard, Liam,” Sykes said.

“Not a lot, except that a woman died and it sounds like she had help doing it.”

“You mean she was murdered,” Poppy said coldly. “If it was Sonia Gardner. She performed at the party last night. She’s so—was so alive. It’s unbelievable. This has got to be a mistake.”

They were quiet a few moments before Liam said, “You sure you don’t want a drink? By the way, nice of you to bring Poppy over, Sykes.”

“Nothing for me,” Sykes said. “I’m glad to be with Poppy.” Oh, hell, nothing came out right.

Poppy spread her arms along the flared back of the seat. “He’s trying to help me out with Ward.”

“Okay,” Liam said. “But I want you to stay away from Ward, Poppy.”

“Liam’s right,” Sykes said and rolled his eyes.
Dumb comment.

“What have you got against Ward? Either of you. You don’t know him.”

“It could be moot anyway,” Liam said. “The police are moving fast and if they’ve got their man, Ward won’t be a problem anymore.”

“Liam!” Poppy leaned forward abruptly.

“It’s okay,” Sykes said. “We’re all off balance. Nat Archer should be here any moment.”

“Is it his case?” Liam said.

Sykes sat down close to Poppy. “I don’t know. But he’ll try to help us out if he can.”

“Why is it our business?” Liam said. He didn’t take
his eyes off his sister. “Let it go, Poppy. It was a bad idea to contact Nat Archer in the first place. It only draws attention to you—to all of us. You know they’re just looking for reasons to breathe down our necks again.”

“Ward is my friend.” Poppy’s fingertips dug into the leather chair.

“He’s a customer who wants you as a friend,” Liam said. “He wants you as more than a friend. I’ve been worried about him and so has Ethan. He’s big time and he’s not your kind.”

Sykes winced, waiting for Poppy’s comback.

It didn’t take long.

“What does that mean? The only people who should be interested in me are nobodies going nowhere? C’mon, Liam, explain.” She opened her eyes wider at Sykes. “Is that what Sykes is? Nobody? You were happy when you were jumping to conclusions about us.”

“You’re being difficult,” Liam said. “There’s a certain type of operator and Ward’s one of them. You’ve always liked real people.”

“I like Ward,” Poppy said. “He is not what you call an
operator.
He’s kind and he’s passionate about making important changes for Louisiana. When did that make him some sort of monster? Anyway, this will all shake down as a mistake. Wait and see.”

Nat Archer walked into the club, his fedora in one hand, the jacket of his suit slung over the opposite
shoulder. In front of him came the woman Sykes had kind of met in passing once, Wazoo from Toussaint, the apparent love of Nat’s life.

Sykes heard little bells tinkling somewhere, but couldn’t look away from Wazoo to find out where the noise was coming from.

“Hey,” Nat said. “Sorry we’re a bit late. Wazoo…we wanted to get something on the way.”

The “something” was a huge bunch of orange lilies, which Wazoo walked straight to Poppy to hand over. “They go real good with a day like this,” she said. Her voice, husky with the promise of a chuckle at any moment, riveted Sykes. So did the way she concentrated on Poppy.

“Thank you,” Poppy said. “I love them.”

“I just knew you would,” Wazoo said, bouncing on her toes. “Nat told me about you, and I could see you with day lilies. Bright flowers help when things aren’t so easy.”

“Put them on the table,” Liam said. “I’ll get one of the staff to bring a vase.”

Sykes realized the faint tinkle of bells was coming from somewhere on Wazoo’s person, although the source wasn’t obvious.

The two women looked at each other with perfect understanding. They were instantly comfortable together. Sykes let his consciousness sink away a little and opened another layer of his senses.

Just as he thought, Wazoo was no ordinary pet psy
chologist from Toussaint or whatever she was supposed to be. She was psychic, but tightly controlled. She was open to whatever might come her way. At the moment Wazoo seemed to be analyzing Poppy.

A small, very slim woman, Wazoo’s blue-black hair sprang past her shoulders in unruly curls that suited her exotic appearance. Very pale skin, thick-lashed eyes about as black as her hair, pointed features and a deft hand with dramatic makeup—the whole package was, Sykes supposed, appealing in a fragile and unlikely way. A high-necked, long-sleeved black lace blouse fitted a very nice body. Since her full skirt, with a hint of red showing at the bottom, reached her ankles he had no idea what the rest of her might look like, other than slight. She fascinated him.

What fascinated him even more was that this woman was the object of Nat’s affection, the center of all his female interest. And Nat, well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, athletic and with a face any camera would have a ball with, couldn’t be less of an obvious match for Wazoo.

He felt eyes on him and turned to look into Nat’s face. The other man raised his brows. Nat had seen Sykes looking at Wazoo, for a long time.

Sykes grinned and nodded. He moved a step closer and said, “You are an interesting man, bro. Be careful you don’t break her.”

Nat showed his very white teeth in a soundless laugh.
He sobered. “Ward Bienville’s still at the station,” he said. “It’s not my case but it could be if I want it.”

“Why would you?” Sykes stared into the other man’s eyes.

“If it meant enough to all of you. I might prefer to be the one keeping a close eye on things.”

“What’s that?” Poppy said. “Nat? What are you and Sykes talking about?”

“How many times have I warned you not to whisper, Nat,” Wazoo said. “We women can just sense it when you whisper and it always means you’re bein’ secretive.”

They all laughed.

“I can’t get away with a thing,” Nat said. “Sykes and I are going to talk boring stuff. If you ladies want to—”

“Listen to your boring stuff, we can?” Poppy said for him. She indicated a group of seating around a brass table with the currently dark globe in the center. “Let’s sit down. What will everyone have? Are you hungry? I’m told our lunch menu is worth considering. The kitchen’s open.”

“A cup of coffee would do it for me,” Nat said.

“Not a crawfish omelet? Just a little one? Or a roast beef po’ boy?”

Sykes grinned at Nat’s expression. He deliberately waited for Poppy to sit so he could be beside her.

“Is there lots of mayo on that po’boy?” Wazoo said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Gravy made from the bones?” Wazoo seemed in a
semi-trance. “Of course there is. I’ll have one of those, please. If you’re eatin’, too. And Nat never passed up a crawfish omelet in his life.”

Poppy called a waiter over and gave him their order. She ordered Sykes a muffuletta and he opened his mouth to ask how she knew he wanted one.

She gave him a tight little smile. “I must be mind reading, right? Or don’t you eat them for lunch most days anymore?”

“Thanks,” he said. “I still do.”

His thigh brushed hers and they looked at each other sharply. Static electricity, it had to be. The charge suffused his leg and his belly. Poppy moved an inch away and Sykes didn’t know if he was glad.

Her cheeks were pink and she looked at her own knees, pressed tightly together now.

Liam came back and picked up the lilies. “Okay if we put these on the bar? You’ll want to see each other while you talk.”

He was letting them know he wouldn’t stick around.

Sykes decided he would fill Liam in later if there was anything to say.

“So you can take the case Poppy and Sykes are interested in, Nat?” Wazoo said. “If they want you to?”

The lady had good ears.

“We can get to that after lunch,” Sykes said, certain Nat wouldn’t want to talk police business in front of…He might not want to discuss it at all.

“It’s okay,” Nat said. He touched a single forefinger
to the back of Wazoo’s hand and rubbed slowly back and forth. “You all will let me know what’s on your mind. If I can help, I will. Ward Bienville was brought in around six this morning. Word is he’s a reasonable guy.”

“Reasonable?” Sykes said. “What the hell does that mean here?”

“Woken up from a sound sleep by a screaming housekeeper. Dead woman in the foyer. Hauled down to headquarters for questioning and he’s still being polite.”

Sykes looked sideways at Poppy and caught her frowning. “You’re surprised he’s polite, Poppy?” he said.

She shook her head. “Just worried about him, is all. How did Sonia Gardner die?”

“I’m sure that’ll get around soon enough,” Nat said. “It’s a bit early for word from Dr. Blades.”

Blades was the Medical Examiner. And in other words, they could discuss anything as long as it had no substance.

“Lots of blood,” Wazoo said, mostly to herself. “But the worst wounds don’t show.”

Silence followed, which Wazoo ignored while she drank the coffee she had been brought.

It surprised Sykes that Nat would discuss police business with his girlfriend. Another moment of intense concentration on the woman startled Sykes. In the most fleeting impression, he thought he saw what she saw:
a woman in a silver dress sprawled on the ground—with a lot of blood on her legs. The pianist from last night had worn a silver dress.

Then the image was gone. Nat hadn’t necessarily told Wazoo anything.

“I’d be obliged if you didn’t repeat what you just heard,” Nat said.

Poppy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just between the four of us,” she said. “Wazoo has great instincts, don’t you?” The next look she gave Wazoo seemed unfocused, as if her eyes concentrated around, rather than on the other woman.

“Some people say they’re amazin’,” Wazoo said. “But they’re no better than yours, Ms. Poppy Fortune. You and me got to get together and compare some things.”

“God help us,” Nat muttered.

Was “Ms. Poppy Fortune” getting a similar insight into Wazoo as Sykes had? Or was she reading auras and brain patterns?

“Lunch is here,” Poppy said at the top of her voice.

The waiter moved the low table closer to them but when he set down the po’boy, oozing thick beef gravy at the seams, Wazoo plopped to sit on the floor close to the table and dissected the huge sandwich into portions with the skill of long practice.

She ate tidily but with gusto, chewing steadily and efficiently through a meal a lot of men might not finish.

Nat, absorbed with his omelet, took no notice but Poppy and Sykes grinned at each other.

Sykes felt his own expression fade to serious, but he didn’t look away from Poppy. He frowned at her but she only stared. Then he knew what she was doing. Poppy had chosen this moment to work on her telepathic skills. He opened his mind wide and listened.

I want to talk to you,
she said.

Without looking away from her, he sipped coffee.

Wazoo is psychic.

He heard so clearly he coughed.

But she also has different skills from…ours.

Yes!
he told her, but she had lowered her gaze. She had unwittingly shielded her mind again. He saw her disappointment. She didn’t think she had made contact with him. He would have to wait to put that idea right.

“Did you know Bienville and Sonia were lovers?” Nat said, offhand.

No one answered.

“Supposedly some months ago now, but she didn’t want it to be over.”

“How do you know that?” Poppy said.

Curious, Sykes watched her reaction carefully but she was good at covering what she felt if she wanted to be.

“One of his friends told us,” Nat said to her.

Poppy snorted. “What
friend?
”

“It’s not important. We check everything out. Nothing is taken at face value.”

“I’m sure it’s not.” Poppy didn’t look convinced.

“The autopsy is being done now,” Nat said, popping
a crawfish tail into his mouth and squeezing out a fragment of shell. “The housekeeper said the front door wasn’t locked. Was that a habit of his, Poppy?”