Blood Red. Heather Graham
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had powder blue eyes, platinum hair and a smile a mile wild, the kind that coerced you into a good humor whether you wanted to feel cheerful or not. That grin was a little lopsided now, but just a little. They hadn’t been drinking to the point of saturation, only enough not to feel any pain.
“We can walk around, look them all over,” she suggested.
Lookswise, Deanna was the opposite of Heidi, with almond dark eyes, sleek, almost blue-black hair, and now she decided to take charge. “I’ve got it. We’ll walk around the entire Square to start. And then, if we don’t see someone Lauren likes, we’ll walk the entire French Quarter.”
Lauren wondered if Deanna really had that much energy, or if she thought Lauren would decide more quickly if the alternative involved endless walking, since she was already—and obviously—exhausted They had arrived that morning on the red-eye from Los Angeles, and they hadn’t stopped since. Lauren always felt very much at home in New Orleans, since she came from Baton Rouge, but Deanna had grown up in NewYork, and Heidi was from Boston. They had come often after becoming friends in college, but neither Heidi nor Deanna knew the little quirks and twists and turns of the place the way she did. They’d hit the casino early; then she’d been assigned to lead them to every little shop in the French Quarter, every place that wasn’t part of a chain. Now she was tired and just wanted to get this over with.
“There,” she said, pointing completely at random.
The woman she had chosen was sitting at a small portable table, facing the Cathedral. She appeared to be older than they were, but beyond that, her age was indeterminate. Her hair was tied back with a scarf, and she wore a white peasant shirt and skirt. Her face was stunning, with strong features and skin a beautiful shade of gold that spoke of a multi-ethnic heritage. She was speaking earnestly to a man in the chair across from her, pointing to the tarot cards she was laying out before her as she spoke. She might have been at a Renaissance fair, rather than the French Quarter of New Orleans. Behind her was a small red tent that would have looked at home on a medieval battlefield. There was a table just inside it, covered with a cloth that depicted the moon and the stars. On the table was a crystal ball.
“She already has a customer,” Deanna noted.
“I’m sure he won’t take that long,” Lauren said with a shrug. She wasn’t sure why she had pointed to the woman, but now that she had, she was suddenly determined. Suddenly she realized that she did know why—she would have liked to draw the woman. Her face was so arresting.
“We could go to Madame Zorba right there,” Heidi teased, inclining her head toward a younger woman just a few feet away.
Lauren grinned. Madame Zorba was definitely a college student. “I like the woman over there,” Lauren insisted.
“There’s a good-looking gypsy guy up the street,” Heidi said.
“You’re engaged,” Deanna teased her.
“Yeah, but you and Lauren could use a guy,” Heidi said.
“Wow. Thanks,” Deanna said.
“Just what I need, a gypsy,” Lauren said. She didn’t let her smile falter. Heidi, damn it, you know I’m not looking to meet a guy.
“You don’t have to fall in love, pack him up and take him home with you,” Heidi told her. Then she added softly, “But you could date. We’re talking well over a year here.”
“Thanks for the advice, Mom,” Lauren murmured. She paused, shivering suddenly, looking up. The night sky seemed to have clouded over; it had suddenly become cooler. There was a moon trying to come out, she thought, but it was shadowed by the clouds. She frowned. It was strange. There was a red glow where the moon should have been. “We may get rain tomorrow,” she said.
“It’s supposed to be clear all weekend,” Deanna said.
Lauren shrugged. “Look at the sky.”
“Um, well…could be smog,” Deanna said.
“Hey, we’re not in L.A.,” Heidi said with a laugh.
“What—is it just called pollution when you’re not in L.A.?” Deanna asked.
“It’s just an angry red sky,” Lauren murmured.
Heidi groaned. “Oh, Lord, we haven’t even gotten to the fortune teller yet, and she’s talking about poetic doom.”
“It’s just strange,” Lauren said.
“Is there anything weird in the wind?” Heidi teased.
“As a matter of fact, it’s gotten a bit cooler,” Lauren said.
“Thank God,” Deanna breathed.
“You know, we could just go have another drink,” Lauren suggested.
Heidi giggled. “The guy is gone. Let’s go.”
Lauren let out a sigh of impatience. “Just remember, you two wanted to do this. I’ll do whatever you want, but I want it on record that I’m against such silliness.”
“This trip is all about silliness,” Heidi reminded her. “I’m going to get married. No more wild weekendss with the girls. No more adventurous vacations. I mean, Barry is great, and he’d never care if I wanted a few days away with you guys, but…well, you know. And I guarantee you he’s going to have one of those wild bachelor parties with strippers, and his idiot brother is going to make sure he has a lap dance—”
”I’ll be happy to get you a lap dance,” Lauren said.
Heidi laughled. “I don’t want a lap dance. Now humor me, slave,” she told Lauren.
“I’m all humor,” Lauren muttered. “Let’s go.”
As they approached the woman, Lauren decided that she must look as on edge as she felt. Either that or she had talked herself into some kind of ridiculous paranoia, because it seemed as if the woman frowned when she saw them, as if she looked worried. Still, Lauren couldn’t help noticing the strength of her features, and she wondered if she dared ask to do a sketch of her at some point.
There was no nameplate, nothing like Madame X or Madame Zenia or any other cliché, on her table. She rose, stretching out an elegant arm and offering a slender hand with elegantly polished nails. “Hello,” she said simply.
“Hi,” Heidi said cheerfully.
The woman stared at Heidi gravely. “You seek the future?”
“Absolutely,” Heidi said, introducing herself. “I’m Heidi Weiss, and I’m about to be married. I’d love some advice.”
The woman nodded, but her expression said that she read in Heidi’s polite words the simple fact that she didn’t really believe in what she was doing. It was all for fun.
“I’m Deanna Marin,” Deanna said, stepping forward. “And this is Lauren Crow.”
The woman arched a brow slightly, studying Lauren. “Crow?”
“I’ve been told that my great-grandfather was Cherokee,” Lauren said, taking the woman’s hand. There was strength in her grip. It offered a strange assurance.
“I, too, have Cherokee blood. We have the same green eyes.”
“So we do,” Lauren agreed, though she wasn’t sure green eyes came from the Cherokee part of her background.
“You’re tall…five-ten?”
“Around there. Another grandfather was from the Orkney Islands. A big tall guy, so I was told. Some Norse, some Scots.”
“Ah, and thus you are redheaded.”
“I like to think auburn.”
The woman smiled. Lauren had to admit, she liked her, but more than ever, she didn’t want a reading, didn’t want to know what the future supposedly held. She wanted