Page 6 of The Seeker
Ah yes. Covered in sweat again.
Walking quickly down the stairs, he found his compact blue rental car and threw his backpack in the passenger seat. Then he drove two blocks away and returned the car at the rental agency before he called for a taxi. He took that car to another hotel and walked from there to a national car rental.
If he was going to take a road trip, he wanted the right car, and it needed far better air-conditioning than the blue compact. He took off his sunglasses and scanned the lot.
A salesman walked up to him. “Can I help you, sir?”
Rhys spotted it, a silver Dodge Challenger with tan leather interior. “That one.” He walked over to look inside.
Legroom. Glorious, glorious legroom.
“The Challenger?” The man appeared to be excited. “An excellent choice. It has—”
“Would it be possible to return it in New Orleans?”
“Yes, sir. There would be an additional charge.”
“Not a problem.”
He slid his sunglasses back on. Yes, this one would do nicely.
Within minutes, he was driving on Interstate 10, “Way Down We Go” blaring from the speakers, crossing the channel and heading east to New Orleans and a legend lost for three hundred years.
Chapter Two
Meera watched the Englishman from behind her sunglasses. She licked powdered sugar from her fingers as he wandered aimlessly around Jackson Square. He tried to avoid the crowds, but it was impossible. She knew he was looking for her, but… she didn’t get beignets anywhere but Café Du Monde. They were sin in pastry form, and Meera believed in indulging.
“You’re a mean woman.” Zephirin reached for a beignet from the paper bag Meera carried.
They were sitting on a shaded bench in a corner of the square. Zep had patrolled all night with no Grigori spotted. Far from satisfied, it left the scribe edgy, like a tiger waiting to pounce. Lazy on the outside with all that coiled energy within. Meera offered him sugar to appease the beast.
“I’m not mean,” she said. “Watching how someone navigates tourist traffic is very telling.”
“So this is a test?”
“Yes.”
“Look at this girl.” He took a bite of the powdered doughnut. “She’s so damn cute. Little bitty thing with all that hair and all those curves, that sweet face…”
“You know you love me.”
“Poor scribe doesn’t know what he’s in for getting within reach of her claws.”
Meera cocked her head. “I’m trying to decide if I’m insulted.”
Zep smiled. “You’re not.”
“You’re right; I’m not.” She watched the man navigate through a crowd of Chinese tourists and claim the corner of a bench. Meera had a clear view of him from her shaded seat. His eyes were covered by dark aviator glasses, but she could see annoyance in the lines around his mouth.
She smiled. “This is so amusing.”
“Why do I like you?” he said.
“Because I am delightful and dangerous.”
Zep shook his head. “Yeah. You are.”
Meera crossed her legs, the flowing coral dress she wore brushing her calves. The sensual brush of fabric and humid breeze off the river enveloped her, feeding her energy like the humans that surrounded them. She was enveloped by humanity, the scent of coffee and the sound of jazz musicians filling the air. Vendors and artists set up their tables, and shopkeepers were opening their doors.
