The Wolven. Deborah LeBlanc

It was usually something to eat, like pastry samples, homemade cookies, or pralines. With Mardi Gras only three weeks away, it didn’t surprise her that Fiona had chosen to share the holiday’s traditional cake.

      Evidently catching wind of the scent, as well, Lurnell jumped to her feet before Shauna had a chance to push away from the reading table. “Whoa, that be smellin’ good. It’s okay if I go get some, right?”

      “Of course.” Shauna got up, and the uneasiness rose with her. Since she couldn’t find a rationale for it, she mentally pushed the feeling aside. Whatever was meant to be revealed by the intuitive whisper would come in due course, that much she knew. She simply had to wait it out.

      Lurnell patted her stomach, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Girl, I do love king cake. Hey, you got some of that lemon drink? You know, like the kind y’all had last week?”

      “You mean lemon-snap tea?”

      “Yeah, there you go.” Lurnell slapped her hands together. “I think I’m gonna have some of that, too. That’d be good with king, right?”

      “We’re out of the lemon-snap, but I can hook you up with a cup of green tea if you’d like.”

      Lurnell frowned. “Ain’t green tea the one’s got all them anti-oxidations in it? You know, that stuff that cleans out all your potty pipes.”

      “Yep, it has antioxidants, but that’s a good thing. Keeps you healthy.” Shauna grinned. “Don’t worry about your pipes.”

      “Girl, you bes’ be right.” Lurnell flapped a hand, signaling Shauna to lead the way out of the room and be quick about it. She evidently feared a rush on the king cake and didn’t want to miss out. “You know there ain’t nobody in Sistah’s but me. What I’m gonna do if a customer needs somethin’? I can’t just s’cuse myself and go to the commode, not with the crazy people they got today. Uh-uh. I’d be back in the bathroom and they’d be out front, helpin’ themselves to all my stuff, robbin’ me blind.”

      Lurnell was the sole proprietor of Sistah’s, a mystic shop located on the corner of St. Ann and Rampart, which bordered the north end of the French Quarter. Like most of the tourist shops in the Quarter, it was tightly sandwiched between other shops that sold various baubles, beads, and T-shirts. Sistah’s carried similar items to those in A Little Bit of Magic—crystals, scented candles, herbs, and oils—but it served a different clientele, primarily those who dabbled in voodoo. Although Lurnell didn’t claim to practice voodoo, her specialty items easily led people to believe otherwise. Seven-day spell candles that promised to reverse a curse, remove a hex, or bring wealth and love in abundance. And incense oils that supposedly cured everything from toothaches to temper tantrums, headaches to hemorrhoids. The shop did relatively well considering the neighborhood that surrounded it and the fact that a major competitor—Papa Gris Gris’ Voodoo Shop—was located only three doors down. It was no secret that Lurnell and Papa Gris Gris didn’t play well together. In fact, they’d been enemies for years.

      Shauna led Lurnell into the heart of the store, where she spotted Fiona placing slices of king cake onto a platter near the register. Caitlin was at the opposite end of the shop, talking to an elderly woman who had an exceptionally long, hooked nose. Quite a few customers were wandering about, each stopping occasionally to examine a wall display, an item on a shelf, or something showcased in a curio cabinet.

      Business had been brisk all day, which came as no surprise, given that Mardi Gras was just around the corner. The parades and balls weren’t scheduled to start for another two weeks, but that didn’t matter to the diehard partiers who made their annual pilgrimage to New Orleans. Most of them came early so they wouldn’t miss one of the main local events known as Nuit du Dommage. Literally translated, it meant Night of Damage, and the parties associated with it certainly lived up to its name. It was a pre-Mardi Gras free-for-all, and it was only three days away.

      Dommage and Mardi Gras were always great for business, but both drove Shauna crazy. The streets and sidewalks stayed jammed with so many people it was hard to walk and breathe at the same time. Even worse was the noise. Drunken voices shouting, singing, laughing, talking, and all of them tumbling over hawking, squawking strip-joint barkers and a melange of blaring music—jazz, blues, rock ‘n’ roll—that poured out of the bars in the Quarter. Because Shauna’s hearing was so acute, all that noise at such a high volume pained her considerably. It felt like an endless number of needles jabbing into her eardrums.

      Still carrying a sense of uneasiness, Shauna mingled with a few customers, making herself available in case anyone needed help.

      Lurnell had already shoved her way to the front counter and was hovering over the platter of cake. Fiona stood not far away, ringing up another customer at the register. Lurnell must have viewed Fiona’s preoccupation as a grand opportunity because she slipped two pieces of king cake into her oversized purse. She was reaching for a third when Shauna saw Fiona turn toward her. Judging from the small smile dancing on her sister’s lips, Fiona had not been oblivious to the heist. Still, she smiled more broadly, walked over to Lurnell and offered her another piece of cake. Always the gracious hostess.

      Not for the first time, Shauna wished she was more like her sister.

      Being the caboose on a train of three sisters wasn’t always easy. More often than not, Shauna felt like the odd woman out. Fiona was tall and slender, with long, thick hair the color of gold, her eyes a perfect cornflower blue. Caitlin had the same slender build but stood five-nine, a bit taller than Fiona. Her long hair was a darker shade of blonde, which matched beautifully with her magnificent silver-gray eyes. At five-eight, Shauna had height, like her sisters. She also had the same build. Her hair, which she kept pulled up in a ponytail most of the time, was more auburn than blonde, however, and she thought her eyes were a boring shade of green.

      To Shauna, Fiona and Caitlin were the epitome of femininity. The way they walked, talked. Even their closets held proof of it. Both were filled with silky dresses, pastel skirts, and elegant blouses. Shauna’s, on the other hand, held mostly jeans and T-shirts. She did own a couple of skirts, but she kept them tucked away for dress-up emergencies.

      Besides height and build, Shauna shared another similarity with her sisters. She was a Keeper, responsible for maintaining harmony and balance between the humans and the three main underworld subcultures—vampires, shape-shifters, and werewolves—that lived in and around the city. Shauna watched over the werewolves, Fiona the vampires, and Caitlin the shape-shifters.

      Their parents, Jen and Ewan MacDonald, had been unique Keepers, each born with the power to maintain all three subcultures. When they combined their powers, it had created a seemingly indestructible wall of protection around the city.

      Or so Shauna had thought.

      She had been fifteen when they died. A savage war had broken out between the subcultures, and the power her parents had to call upon to block the warring parties had cost them their lives. No Keeper, no matter how strong, could release that much power and survive. That had been ten years ago.

      Shauna and her sisters didn’t possess tri-power the way their parents had. Instead, each of them possessed the power of the clan they were responsible for. Shauna couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have all three. The weight of responsibility associated with that much power must have been monstrous. Although she was still young and learning, always learning how to be a better Keeper, the load she carried felt heavy enough.

      “Hey, you okay?”

      Shauna started, surprised to hear Caitlin’s voice be hind her. She turned, offered her sister a small smile. “Yeah, fine.”

      Caitlin studied her face for a moment, as if assessing the truth of the response. “You were pretty zoned out there for a while.”

      “Daydreaming, that’s all.”

      Before Caitlin had a chance to respond, a heavyset man wearing Bermuda shorts appeared seemingly out of nowhere and pushed his way into her personal space. “Are you her?”

      “Excuse me?” Caitlin said.

      “Are