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“Not me,” said Mary, adjusting her glasses and shifting her I-heart-Poe satchel higher on her shoulder. “I’ve got work in the morning. And in addition to Bennett’s torture device he calls a midterm on Monday, I’ve got one in Sociology too. I need sleep right now.”
“How’s the coffee biz?” asked Malcolm.
“Same ole, same ole. Everyone needs caffeine in a pretty cup with sugary foam on top.”
I was only vaguely tuned in to the conversation as we walked to the parking lot, my mind wandering somewhere it shouldn’t be. I couldn’t help myself.
“How about beignets, Malcolm?” I asked, only half-concerned this might be construed as a mini-date.
“Sure. Awesome! There’s a new café over on St. Charles we could go to.”
“Nah. Let’s get the real deal. Café du Monde.”
“The Quarter? On a Saturday night?” he asked, obviously surprised by my suggestion.
“Y’all have fun,” said Mary, walking toward her car across the lot.
“See ya, Mary,” I called, looking back to Malcolm. “Yeah. Why not?”
I tried to sound casual as I climbed into his Jeep Cherokee. I knew “why not”. Saturday night in the French Quarter meant a number of things—noise, drunks, tourists, street vendors looking for tips, drunks, bachelor parties gone awry, drunks. Need I say more? It was far from what most students would want after several grueling hours of studying.
“I’m in the mood for a little ambiance,” I lied.
“If that’s what you want, Drake, let’s go.”
I settled back into the seat, belted myself in, and tried to ignore the niggling fact that I wanted neither beignets nor Malcolm’s company. My mind registered only two facts in determining our destination. Café du Monde was perfectly positioned with a wide view of Jackson Square. And it was nearly ten o’clock.
7
Thirty minutes later, we were parked near Jax Brewery and walking the few blocks to Café du Monde. Café Maspero’s had a line a mile long wrapped around the corner block of Toulouse. Those waiting for platters of fried seafood, overstuffed po’boys, and the best French onion soup in town sipped on dollar strawberry daiquiris as they waited. My mouth watered, thinking of cold, salty raw oysters with horseradish sauce, but Maspero’s was two blocks away from Jackson Square. Too far away.
A cacophony of noise that was distinctly the French Quarter filled the night—sporadic laughter, plates and glasses tinkling, jazz music, car horns, random shouts, horses clip-clopping as they pulled tourist carriages along Decatur, and the distant horn of merchant ships on the Mississippi River. Café du Monde wasn’t as crowded as usual. A bearded man played an upbeat rendition of “When the Saints Go Marchin’ In” on his saxophone at the entrance.
“Hmph. Wish they’d hurry,” I mumbled.
“What’s that, Drake?”
“Oh, nothing.”
I squeezed past the smiling tourists dropping dollars and coins in his open case and beelined for a table on the outer edge of the awning. Malcolm followed. I winced as my stomach bumped the back of a chair right over my wound, but hid my grimace, not wanting Malcolm to notice.
“Didn’t know you were a fan of this scene,” he said from behind.
“Sometimes.” I smiled tightly, scooting my chair away from bumping the table behind me. They crammed as many teeny-tiny round tables in this place as possible, and usually, every one of them was full.
Malcolm gave me a nervous smile. We’d never been anywhere but class or study group together. I hated lying to him. Worse, I hated using him, but who was I kidding? I wanted to know who this Kat person was. I’d just get a glimpse, and then I’d be satisfied. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
“Order?”
An Asian woman in a white uniform wiped the remains of powdered sugar off the table.
“Two orders of beignets and café au lait,” said Malcolm.
Within six minutes, we were served and enjoying the famous delicacy. Funny thing was, I usually did enjoy the ambiance of the Quarter and its distractions. Tonight, my eyes were peeled for one and only one person.
My Vessel senses prickled along my skin. I smiled inwardly because I could actually feel the slow change. I was becoming aware, as Jude had said. I could feel my Vessel Sense on a primitive level, some secret awakening tickling along the outer edges of my mind and body.
There were Flamma out tonight, but I was either too far away or they were good at hiding. I couldn’t find them in the crowds, but I knew they were there. Still, I felt no immediate threat zoning in on me.
