Page 47 of Scout’s Honor

Dallas broke the kiss and stared at Bonhi with some new emotion in his eyes. She smiled back, feeling light and happy, almost like they were on vacation.

Dallas found them a taxi and piled the bags in the trunk, and then they were off to the city! Bonhi watched out the window, eager to see everything, holding hands with Dallas. At first they sped over a highway alongside a canal and over dense wetlands, then through a swampy basin littered with strip malls and billboards. They exited right onto a city street with cars and people packed all around, and skyscrapers reaching up.

Bonhi squeezed Dallas’ hand and turned to look at him. He was relaxed and watching her with a satisfied smile on his face. They turned onto Canal Street toward the historic district, and the skyscrapers gave way to ancient-looking storefronts. The driver turned down a single-lane road and stopped near a wrought iron sign that read Le Jardin de Nouvelle-Orléans.

Bonhi gazed up at the narrow, tall 3-story antique brick building, loving it instantly. “Is this our hotel?” she breathed, eyeing the ornate, black filigree wrought iron balconies and copper gas lamps.

“Sure is,” Dallas told her.

“It’s beautiful,” Bonhi breathed.

“You are,” Dallas purred.

Bonhi laughed and smiled at him, feeling at ease with everything in that moment. Dallas had that effect on her and she loved it. She got out of the taxi and waited for Dallas to grab their two small bags. They entered a peach-colored door and walked ten feet through red-brick archways lined with fine mahogany woodwork.

“Oooh,” Bonhi said, taking her bag from Dallas so she could hold his hand. “Elegant.”

Dallas bent and whispered in her ear, “I agree,” his deep voice making her insides melt.

She squeezed his hand and smiled at him. The archway opened into a lush, jungle-like courtyard with a central fountain, the sound of the water falling drowning out the sounds of the city. Bonhi checked every flower, reading the cards next to the plants in the garden, while Dallas got them checked in. After a few minutes he was by her side, moving her to the elevators, where he pressed the button for the third floor.

Bonhi leaned against Dallas while they rode up, and he kissed the top of her head. The doors opened and they walked to their room.

Inside was a standard hotel room with one king bed, a couch, and a tiny kitchenette.

He motioned at the bed. “One bed, huh?”

She shrugged. “Safer that way.”

He put the bags down and caught her around the waist, kissing her, until his stomach growled.

Bonhi laughed. “Late lunch?”

“Let’s do it.”

Half an hour later, they sat on the patio of a small restaurant at the edge of the French Quarter, eating steamed shrimp and planning their next steps. Dallas had a map of all the voodoo shops in the area, where they planned to sniff out Mama Soline. Bonhi ate one more piece of shrimp and then shoved the bucket away.

Their waitress came over to drop off the check. Bonhi smiled at her. “Where would you go if you wanted to find a real voodoo priestess?”

The waitress tapped her pen against her chin and said, “The best ones are in the Tremé district.” She pointed to the northwest, smiled, took the money Dallas laid down, and walked away.

Dallas stood and held out his hand. Bonhi shivered with excitement, feeling very much like she was on an adventure.

They found the Tremé district on the map app, then left the restaurant and headed that way. The sun was setting in front of them, the sky orange and pink. Dallas took Bonhi’s hand. She tucked herself closer, so their arms touched all the way to their shoulders, taking in the beautiful street lined with wrought iron railings and old-fashioned lamps.

“New Orleans has never been romantic for me before,” Dallas said. He squeezed her hand, making her stomach flutter. “Feels romantic now.”

“It’s the company,” Bonhi said.

Dallas grinned at her. “It sure is.”

They walked down the sidewalk hand in hand, and Bonhi savored every step like it was vacation. She was enjoying herself, and she definitely was enjoying Dallas.

The shops were thick on both sides of the street, and they came to a sign reading Maison de Marie Laveau, and a smaller chalkboard next to it said, Authentic Voodoo House.

“Let’s check it out,” Dallas said, motioning her inside, where skulls, shrunken heads, incense, beads, and voodoo dolls were everywhere. A goth teenager sat behind the counter scrolling on her phone, long black hair covering her face.

“Welcome,” she said, not looking up.