Page 25 of Mardi Gras Murders & Midnight Masquerades
"An artisan contracted by the Society," she replied. "I'm not at liberty to discuss more." Because she had no idea-they had told her nothing.
"Of course," I nodded, adopting an apologetic tone. "I didn't mean to pry into Society secrets. We were just hoping to learn more before considering membership ourselves."
Eliza's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You're interested in joining?"
"We like to explore all opportunities," Noah replied smoothly. "Especially those that offer preservation of ancient knowledge."
She studied us for a long moment. Skepticism was evident in her gaze. "Somehow I doubt that's yourreal interest, given recent events. But if you truly wish to learn more..." She hesitated, then retrieved a small card from beneath the counter. "There's a gathering this afternoon. A preliminary introduction for potential candidates. Nothing binding."
I accepted the card with an address in the Marigny. "Thank you. We appreciate the opportunity."
"Don't thank me yet," Eliza cautioned. "The Society values discretion above all else. If your intentions aren't genuine, you won't find a welcome reception."
"Noted," I assured her with a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.
We left the boutique, both of us silent until we were safely out of earshot.
"That psychometric hit was intense," Noah said, studying my face with concern. "You're still pale. Let's get some food in you before you collapse."
I nodded, grateful for his attentiveness. The vision had drained me more than I wanted to admit, leaving me light-headed and slightly nauseated. "Café Soleil is just around the corner," I told Noah. “Their coffee might help clear my head."
“I was thinking the same thing,” he replied and pressed a kiss to my lips as we left the shop.
Five minutes later, Café Soleil's sun-drenched corner in Jackson Square provided the perfect sanctuary. We settled at a table with a clear view of the cathedral with our perfectly brewed coffee. I sipped and allowed the rich blend of caffeine and sugar to gradually restore my equilibrium.
"We should update the others," Noah suggested as he pulled out his phone.
I nodded, taking a bite of buttery pastry. "Tell them we've got a lead on the Society's meeting place, but that there's definitely more going on beneath the surface."
As Noah sent a group text, I let my gaze wander across the square. My attention snagged on two figures seatedacross the way. It was a man and woman dressed with understated elegance. Something about their posture—the way they leaned toward each other and were speaking in low, urgent tones—triggered my intuition.
"Noah," I murmured, subtly indicating the pair. "Three o'clock. Does anything strike you as off about them?"
He glanced over casually. "The woman's wearing a bracelet with Society markings. There is a small charm dangling from the silver chain that is their emblem." Thank the gods for shifter sight.
From this far, there was no way I would see that detail. "Good eye. Why are they so anxious?"
As if sensing our attention, the woman glanced up. Her gaze swept the café before returning to her companion. I couldn't make out their words, but her expression grew more intense.
"...final candidate selection process..." The fragment of conversation reached us as a breeze carried their voices across the square.
"...masquerade will be the culmination..." the man replied, nodding solemnly.
The woman checked her watch and stood, gathering an elegant leather portfolio. The man followed suit, and they moved with purpose toward Royal Street. Noah and I exchanged a glance. Concern flowed between us without words. We left money on the table and followed, maintaining a careful distance.
They led us to a discreet gallery tucked between a high-end jewelry store and an antique shop called Galerie d'Obscurité. Its windows displayed paintings that seemed to shift subtly as you viewed them. "Maurice Devereaux's place," Noah whispered to me. "Vivianne mentioned him."
The gallery appeared open to the public, allowing us to enter without arousing immediate suspicion.Inside, soft lighting illuminated artwork that breathed with supernatural energy. The couple we'd followed was nowhere in sight. They had to have ducked through the door behind the main desk. It was still standing slightly ajar. Noah nearly yelped when I grabbed him and yanked him through while the staff member out front was occupied with other browsers.
Ignoring his glare, I focused on the narrow hallway that led to what appeared to be a private showing room. The space was circular. Its walls were lined with glass cases illuminated from within. Each case contained a mask more elaborate than the one we'd seen at the boutique.
"Look at these," Noah murmured, moving closer to examine one. "They're centuries old."
I approached a different case. The mask inside was crafted from bone. Who made masks out of human bone? The thought was repulsive. That fact aside, it was stunning with the obsidian and gold inlays. The empty eye sockets seemed to follow my movements. Uber freaking creepy.
"These aren't Society creations," I whispered. "They're much older. And their signatures feel like the ones found on the murder victims.”
“Are they identical? Because the Society could be killing the victims after all,” Noah whispered.
