Page 10 of Luck of the Draw

Somewhere. Somehow.

She flipped off the lights and then flipped the bird at the dark room before closing and locking the door behind her.

Tulane Avenue at nine p.m. was a misty orange glow. Cold and damp on this early March night. Eerie. Dangerous. It was entirely possible that Skye would be killed as a bystander amidst the prolific crime in this part of the city, but there was a safer part of town only a forty-five-minute walk westward. And that’s where Skye was headed. To blend in in her own city; to make herself just one more tourist in a mass of hundreds. Hide herself in plain sight until she could figure out step two in her plan.

Cars slowly rolled down the street, filling her lungs with hot fumes, but also providing a momentary, reeking respite from the biting, wet cold. The moisture in the air made the temperature feel far colder than it actually was. It seeped into the thin fabric of the cardigan, and—

“Son of a fucking bitch,” she mumbled.

Her jacket was still hanging on the hook on the front door.

But Skye would rather freeze to death than go back and potentially lose her chance to escape. And it wasn’t like she would actually freeze. Nothing ever froze in New Orleans, not even in the dead of winter. In fact, she used to dejectedly admit to her fellow mistreated cohorts that they would all see snow in New Orleans before they were able to get away from their shitty fucking lives.

And yeah.

It still hadn’t snowed in New Orleans.

But Skye was on her way out.

Merely thirty-five minutes later, Skye had never been so happy to see the street sign for Burgundy. Music and laughter and colorful lights filled the air, and Skye was safe and hidden in a mass of people. Now she just had to pick a spot. The spot was crucial because the first step in her plan was to avoid spending any of the money on a place to sleep tonight. She would do that if she had to, but she knew people came to a place like New Orleans with certain expectations, and she would use that to her advantage.

She hooked a right and spotted the warm, red facade of the Erin Rose Pub. The street was bustling, but not too busy, and the Erin Rose was touristy, but not too touristy. This was the spot.

“Isabel Cochran,” came a graveled voice from a dark alley to Skye’s left.

Skye stopped dead.

It had been so long since she’d heard that name that she was held in a trance. After a moment, the cacophony on the street ahead shook Skye back to reality, and she started walking again.

“Isabel Cochran,” the voice said again. It belonged to an elderly female.

Skye broke into a sweat despite the chilly air.

She stopped again and turned around. She’d probably regret this.

But curiosity—as they say—killed the cat.

Well…meow.

She gulped as she approached the alley. It seemed unnaturally dark between the two buildings. She couldn’t quite make out the form, but someone was there. Short, frail, dressed in white, a little old lady; probably one of the umpteen fortune tellers that staked out spots in the Quarter to target gullible tourists.

“How do you know that name?”

The women held out a frail wrist, her rickety palm upturned. “I know many things.”

Skye narrowed her eyes and took an aggressive step toward the old woman. “Yeah? And who the hell told you these things?”

“I simply know.”

Skye jutted her chin forward, raising her eyebrows in as threatening a manner as possible. “Bullshit. Who do you know—”

“Sweet girl.” The woman placed a hand on Skye’s cheek, and she reflexively flinched. The skin of the woman’s palm was as soft as rose petals. “You are a caged animal.”

Skye snapped her head sideways to buck off the woman’s hand. “I’m not in anyone’s cage anymore, and you—”

“And I am a teller of ikusasa,” the woman continued, clasping Skye’s hand. The woman’s eyes came into focus, and Skye found herself locked in another trance. “Of destiny. I know yours.”

Where had she seen this woman? She had to have seen this woman before.

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