Without hesitation, Victoria walked forward, offered a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Her hand was cool, her handshake firm. “You, too,” I said.

“How is she?” Liam asked.

“Today’s been a good day. She’s tired, but she ate some soup.” She chuckled. “There weren’t any good pears in the market today, so we didn’t have any at the clinic, and she didn’t get any for lunch. She was most displeased.”

Liam chuckled. “Typical.”

“Yep.”

“She up for visitors?”

“As much as ever. You know she loves to chat.”

Liam nodded. “You heading back to the clinic?”

“Yeah. Finishing up a double, then off tomorrow. I’m actually leaving a little early, but Maria will be here in half an hour or so.”

Liam nodded. “You want an escort back?”

She lifted her shirt to reveal the gun clipped to the waistband of her pants. “Official issue. Drops a peskie at twenty paces.”

“Then stay twenty-one paces ahead of them,” he said. “Have a good night.”

“You too, Liam. You, too.”

Foster didn’t move from his spot in front of the door, so Victoria stepped over him to get outside, and he sat down morosely when she closed the door again.

“The Devil’s Isle clinic,” Liam explained. “She’s on staff.”

That explained why another human seemed to have free rein in Devil’s Isle. Maybe that was precisely the tone the Commandant was trying to set—humans will always be here, and will always be watching.

“What’s a peskie?” I asked him as I followed him to the staircase, which was covered by a tired running carpet.

“Small, flying Paras. Irritating little assholes that like to bite.”

The hallway at the landing led to several closed doors, I guessed bedrooms from the layout of the house. Liam walked to the last one, knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said a soft and faded voice.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Compared to the rest of the house, which was empty and scarred, the room was a palace. It was a large bedroom with high ceilings and large windows. The floors were wood, and nearly every inch was covered in gorgeous woven rugs. The plaster walls had high crown moldings and were painted a warm, dusky green. Gilded frames held portraits of aristocratic men and women Dad would have wept over, and they were still outshone by gorgeous French empire antiques. There was a small bed, a high chest of drawers, and a round table with chairs. Although it was October, the house was still in summer dress, and gauzy white fabrics covered the furniture.

In a high-backed chair near the window sat a woman in a blue dress, a woven shawl in a rainbow of colors draped around her shoulders. Her skin was warmly colored and well wrinkled, her hair cropped and gray, her eyes hauntingly blue. She was a beautiful woman even now, and had probably been stunning in her youth. And I recognized her.

She was Eleanor Arsenault. The Arsenaults were old New Orleans from an even older Creole family. They’d had a mansion on Esplanade and threw big krewe parties every year. Or at least they had before the war ended those traditions.

She looked toward me, then Liam, and she smiled broadly. Her gaze fell near us, but not upon us, as if she couldn’t see precisely where we were. If she could see, it didn’t look like she could see very well.

“Hello, Eleanor,” he said, walking toward her, and pressing his lips to her cheek.

“Hello, darling. How are you?”

“I’m good. I brought you some tea.”

So that’s what had been in the paper bag. I should have snooped. And I should certainly find Quinn’s dealer.