24—Get a Room
Bonhi was strapped into her airplane seat, thinking about opening up her laptop once they got to altitude and trying to get some work done. Dallas slept beside her, a travel pillow around his neck, his head against the window. He’d conked out as soon as they’d sat down.
They taxied down the runway and lifted off.
Bonhi held Dallas’ hand, but he didn’t stir at the pressure.
His head bounced on the window, causing little snores to come out of him and she tried to reposition him as best she could.
Things got better once they leveled out.
She was able to drop his seat back and wedge his head against the wall in an almost comfortable-looking position.
She held his hand while she thought about everything that had happened.
Dallas believed in her being a magical witch so strongly, she almost believed herself.
And when she’d seen him struggling out there in that empty field surrounded by all the sunflowers, she’d decided to put her own life on hold and do anything she could to help him.
She was falling in love, and she wasn’t even fighting it.
She sighed and studied Dallas’ sleeping face, wondering how things were going to work between them.
Would they find evidence in New Orleans that she could do magic?
And then what? Would she not be a lawyer anymore?
Bonhi shook her head. She loved what she did, and she couldn’t imagine anything making her want to give that up. But she wanted Dallas, too.
She kissed Dallas’ hand and put it on his lap, then pulled out her laptop. The four-hour flight was the perfect time to make sure all her loose ends were wrapped up and she could take a day or two off.
She messaged with her private investigator, who was back to work.
She needed him to get pictures of the cabin.
She told him how to get to it, exactly where the deed was, and what kind of pictures she needed.
He said he would handle it first thing that morning and have pictures to her by that afternoon.
Pleased, Bonhi checked her list of active cases and tasks and settled down to clear some out.
Several hours later, they landed at the Louis Armstrong Airport. Dallas woke when the wheels touched down. He stretched and smiled at her, saying, “Good nap.”
Deplaning went smoothly, and so did getting their bags.
They stepped out of the airport and Bonhi experienced New Orleans’ air for the first time. The humidity hit her first, like she’d been slapped in the face with a hot, wet towel that smelled vaguely of river water and exhaust.
Dallas held her elbow, then pulled her to a stop. He leaned over and kissed her on the busy airport curb, people walking around them in streams. Bonhi was shocked but she liked it, too. She slid one hand into his hair.
Someone jostled them. “Get a room,” the guy said.
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.
Dallas went right to the counter. “We’re looking for someone.”
The teenager looked up and fixated on Dallas’ face, smiling. “Well hello,” she flirted. “I’ll help you any way I can.”
Bonhi snorted and gave her a look, but the smile on the girl’s face said she didn’t give a shit about Bonhi. She never even looked, just kept fawning over Dallas.
Dallas nodded curtly. “Ever heard of a woman named Mama Soline?”
The girl shook her head. “No, but if you give me your number. I’ll ask around and give you a call, yeah?”
“Thanks anyway,” Dallas said. He turned around and took Bonhi’s hand, and out on the street they went. Bonhi couldn’t help but grin at the girl as she scowled at them on their way out.
They tried another shop, and another, until finally someone had heard of Mama Soline.
“She’s dead,” the woman said reverently. She wore a colorful dress, and her black coily hair was tied up under a red wrap. A white stripe graced each of her smooth dark cheeks. The sign on her shop identified her as ‘Priestess Dubois.’
“She died two months back,” Priestess Dubois said. “Her funeral done wrapped around the entire district, so many people came out.”
“Oh!” Bonhi covered her mouth, feeling like crying. Dallas pulled her into his arms, thanked the woman, and walked Bonhi down the street, then into an alleyway, where he leaned against a brick storefront and held her.
“I don’t know why I’m crying over someone I’ve never met,” Bonhi sniffled.
“It felt like a punch in the gut, hearing she’s dead,” Dallas said.
“Yeah,” Bonhi agreed, “It did.” She rested her head on his chest.
“Two months ago was when Thorn got his clothing spell,” he said, his voice hard.
“Oh no, do you think he did something to her?”
“Better not’ve,” Dallas growled.
Bonhi felt like she was being watched, and she looked around while she wiped her tears, meeting eyes with a woman in a nearby shop, just past a tattoo parlor. She stood under a purple sign that read, Queen Mambo, High Priestess of New Orleans.
“Why you crying, bébé?” the woman asked. Her voice was warm and her cadence, lyrical.
Bonhi’s instinct was to say, ‘No reason,’ but Dallas stiffened and whispered in her ear.
“She glows with white light, like my mom.”