Page 50 of Cheater Slicks

Everyone had a drink in their hand.

The toast almost guaranteed even the teetotalers sipped once for show.

Could the answer be that simple?

Hope thumping in my chest, I pressed for more details. “What kind of refreshments?”

“Boss had lemonade brought in from some fancy-pants restaurant. Real fine stuff. Barrels of it.” Two wiped a hand over his mouth. “Then he put the fingerinthe lemonade. Left it in each barrel for a minute or two, gave it a stir, then resealed them.”

“It was a bone.” Three frowned at Two’s obvious distaste. “Not like it was fresh with blood or tendons or nothing.”

“Okay.” I was grossed out, but I had heard of worse. “Do you know why?”

“Yeah.” Four made it seem obvious. “He always does a demo for the spendy ones.”

Providence was required as well as proof the objects did as they were meant to, but it also depended on how demonstrable their effect was. “What was the demonstration?”

“The bone makes its owner live forever,” Three stated, making out like that was any kind of answer.

“What happened,” I said slowly, hoping for clarity, “to everyone who drank the lemonade?”

“Nothing.” Three eyed me funny. “They drank it and went home.”

They drank it, went home, and later—I was willing to bet—every single one of them lost their soul.

The bizarre parade was a manifestation of the people ensnared at the auction. I had no idea whether Dis Pater had dreamed it up or if its form was linked to the saint’s identity. That made more sense, now that I thought about it.

Vi wasn’t much interested in bones, but if this one had belonged to a local priest or priestess? That changed things. I could see her wanting to ensure the remains were returned to their family. That was the only lure I could imagine hooking her into a bidding war, and she had definitely come to play with fifty thousand as a deposit.

Using a proxy—Kitt Gato—to place bids on his behalf was the only way Dis Pater, overseeing the auction as Desmond Patel, could have sold an item and then won it back with no one the wiser.

But if Dis Pater was the host…and also the winner…then he must be the one reaping the benefits.

Did that mean the whole auction was a setup from start to finish, meant to lure Vi out in the open?

The way Dis Pater was tossing his aliases around like confetti, he didn’t care if I came looking for him.

No.

With his choice of targets and location, I was starting to believe that was exactly what he—or anyone who might want me to believe it was Dis Pater—hoped I would do.

“Thanks for your help,” I told the spirits then locked gazes with Kierce. “We’re done here.”

The souls heaved sighs of relief they didn’t need as we turned to go.

With time to kill, I guided Kierce to a nearby oyster house where we could refuel before midnight.

And hash out reasons why Dis Pater, à la Desmond Patel, might be gunning for my family.

Kierce and I were the only ones on the back patio at the oyster house. Not surprising, given the hour. He was working his way through a platter of smoked oysters served on a bed of crushed ice with fresh lemon wedges and a rich mignonette sauce on the side while I polished off a bowl of catfish courtbouillon.

Until I shook hot sauce over the oysters, I don’t think it had ever occurred to him to try it. His hum of approval made me smile. New Orleans wasn’t my hometown, but it was a second home to me. Food was iffy for Kierce, and it pleased me to see him savor a meal instead of simply devouring it.

His enjoyment of the oysters from the restaurant near Café du Monde had inspired me to have him taste slight variations on a new favorite menu item, but the distraction only lasted for so long.

All signs pointed toward Dis Pater being the god behind the Midnight Parade.

Had those signs been planted by someone else, or had they been meant as a challenge to me?

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