Page 40 of Whispers in the Quarter

I dial Lucas. “Talk to me.”

“He’s obsessed,” Lucas says, his voice tight with worry and something like excitement. There’s a clinking of glass in the background, the sound of monitors beeping. “The way he was going on about Lauren’s case. He’s connecting dots we can’t afford him to connect.”

I absently touch the dried wolfsbane hanging from Grandmother’s rafters. Her voice echoes in memory:“The deadliest plants are the most beautiful, child. Like the most dangerous truths.”

“Lauren?” The name triggers something in my memory. “His fiancée who died?”

“Killed in the crossfire of his last Chicago case. Or so the official report says.” Lucas’s laugh holds a manic edge, followed by what sounds like a muffled groan and more clinking. “He never believed it was random. Now he’s seeing patterns everywhere, convinced everything connects.”

“Does it?” I press. “Connect to Lauren’s death?” Something about Lucas’s tone feels off—distracted, almost giddy.

A pause, filled with strange background noise and what might be Lucas humming. “I may have found something in my research. Meet me at the lab tonight? This isn’t for phones.” His voice carries that manic edge that usually means he’s deep in some questionable science. “Though I must say, the patterns are absolutely exquisite once you see them properly.”

I move to Grandmother’s herb wall, fingers brushing the dried leaves.“Sometimes the truth hides in plain sight,”she used to say.“Like poison in a pretty bloom.”

Standing here where I first learned about power and protection, something feels wrong about all this—Lucas’s strange behavior, Ethan’s absence from his own surveillance operation.

I end the call, mind whirling. Through the bayou-facing window, past the twisted cypress trees, I spot another of Ethan’s agents. They’re getting bolder, coming this close to Grandmother’s territory. But still no Ethan himself, which isn’t like him at all.

My burner buzzes again.

Unknown number: The FBI agent is getting too close. Handle it, or we will.

Ice slides down my spine. The organization. They’re watching too.

My laptop, set up on Grandmother’s old workbench where I used to study molecular structures and plant compounds, holds everything I’ve gathered on Ethan’s past cases. Time to do some hunting of my own. Lauren’s case files are heavily redacted, but there are patterns.

Shell companies involved in her case match ones I’ve traced to the organization. Therandomshooting that killed her happened right after Ethan started investigating corruption in Chicago’s port authority.

The same port authority that connects to New Orleans through shipping routes I’ve been tracking.

“Oh, Ghost,” I whisper to myself, using his nickname for Celeste. “You’re hunting the wrong shadow.”

Another text from Lucas makes my phone buzz.

Lucas: The most fascinating reactions often occur under pressure, my dear Chimera. Like watching consciousness expand in real time...

I frown at the strange message, but before I can analyze it, my regular phone chimes with Jazz’s tone.

“Your boy’s people are getting antsy,” he reports. “Keep asking when they can expect him back. Like they don’t know where he is.”

Something tugs at the edge of my mind—a connection I’m missing. But there’s no time to dwell on it. I need to act fast. Protect Jazz and Lucas, throw the FBI off my trail, and keep the organization from taking matters into their own hands.

I text Jazz.

Me: Need a favor. Big one.

His reply is instant.

Jazz: Name it.

Me: Your club. Tonight. Make sure word of a private meeting gets to Ethan’s people. And I need you to meet Lucas first—he has something for you to pass along.

There’s a longer pause than usual before Jazz responds.

Jazz: Doc’s been real quiet today. Not answering my calls.

Me: He’s probably caught up in an experiment.

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