As she had expected, Mamie frowned. "What you got in your pretty little mind, chile?

Haven't you heard how these women are being found? Why, you're as slim as a ribbon, honey-" "I'm stronger than I look."

"Oh, honey!" Mamie protested, horrified, shaking her head.

"Mamie, please." Maggie set her hand over Mamie's copper one. "Mamie, please, look at me." She hesitated. "I don't want anyone else to be hurt. I-"

"Just wh.o.r.es, honey, hadn't you heard?" Mamie asked wearily.

"Mamie, come on, you sound so bitter! I don't judge wh.o.r.es, I don't judge anyone. We all do what we've got to do to get by. Mamie, please, I want to help. I want to save lives. I may know who is doing this. And he may have a grudge against me in particular-"

"Oh, no! No, no, no, no! You are not going to sacrifice yourself because you're on some kind of a guilt trip, Ms. Maggie Montgomery. What happened? Were you turning tricks somewhere? Why would this guy who is so brutal to wh.o.r.es want to get even with you?"

"I wasn't turning tricks, Mamie. I just have an enemy."

"Tell Sean about it."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"He wouldn't understand."

Mamie sighed. "Then you've got to tell me."

Maggie shook her head. "If I did, you wouldn't believe me anyway."

Mamie stared at her a long while. She reached over for Maggie's Manhattan and drank it down herself, signaling to the bartender to make them each another drink.

"I come from the bayou, honey. I got some voodoo in my blood, even though I've not got the sight like some others. Talk to me. You want my help, talk."

"At this point of my life, I really wish I could make you believe me," Maggie said softly.

"Like I told you, my mind is open."

"But can you keep your mouth shut?" Maggie asked. "Mamie, I will really, really need your help, and your confidence."

"Talk to me, honey. I may be an old wh.o.r.e at the core, but I swear to you, I'm one with the old heart of gold."

Maggie exhaled on a long breath.

She started talking.

The afternoon wore on.

Mamie listened and listened. Disbelief faded to simple doubt.

And then wonder.

CHAPTER 12.

Callie's mother had indeed come for her and she was now on her way to a clinic in Denver. Rutger had apparently gotten out of jail and crawled under a rock somewhere, but wherever he was, it didn't matter anymore. He couldn't touch Callie.

One good point, Sean told himself. Thank G.o.d. He needed one.

With his leads getting him nowhere, he decided again that walking the city was just as useful as any other enterprise. And so he walked down by Jackson Square, and there, among a dozen other vendors, he saw a woman he was instantly convinced had to be Mamie's friend, the voodoo, Marie Lescarre.

He wandered over to her.

Two giggling young tourists were asking her about love potions. As old as Methuselah, brown as a gnarled oak, Marie still had a pleasant, lilting voice, touched with old Southern overtones along with a hint of Island-French dialect. She told the girls her potions were just herbal oils, but it was no fault of hers if the smell was so sweet that the right men came running.

The girls bought the potions while Sean studied her supply of incense burners, stones, herbs, and the like. When the girls disappeared, the woman looked gravely at Sean.

"Captain Canady."

"Mamie told you about me?"

"I knew you were coming," she answered, rheumy old eyes focused hard on his. Right.

She knew. Mamie hadn't told her; she had just known.

"So you are Marie Lescarre?"

"You know it," the old woman answered, smiling. For an old bird, she had fabulous teeth. He wondered what gris-gris, what magic, gave her such a good calcium retention.

He smiled. "Real name-or stage name?" he inquired, adding politely, "Your name is very similar to that of the voodoos who became so famous here-Marie Laveau and her daughter."

The old woman smiled. "Marie-it is a common enough name for any woman of French, Catholic, or Island descent. Lescarre-my late husband's name."

Sean felt uncomfortably reprieved. As if he had been mocking her. He felt as if he were behaving like a child-and as if she were behaving in a far more mature manner.

"You don't need to blush, Lieutenant. You're a good man."

He shrugged. "Thanks." If Mamie hadn't talked to her, how did she know his name and rank-or even that he was a cop? Foolish. His name and face had been on the news and in the papers often enough.

"So you have come to me," Marie Lescarre said then.

He shrugged again. "Mamie Johnson suggested I do so."

"Ah. So have you come to a voodoo to mock me?"

He shook his head, realizing the sober truth. "I've come because I'm willing to try anything to stop these killings."

She seemed pleased, nodding. But then her voice carried a worried tone. "You are in danger, you know."

"I'm a cop. I'm always in danger."

Marie shook her head. "You are an old soul, Lieutenant, a very old soul." "Now, Marie-"

"Hear me out, Lieutenant," she said quietly, raising a bony hand. "We see that there is black, and there is white. There is night, and there is day. There is evil, and there is good, just the same, even if 'evil' is not always seen, nor can we always touch 'good.' There are forces in the city now; good and evil. There is a fight."

He hesitated, not quite believing what he was about to ask. "Is Maggie Montgomery evil?"

To his relief she shook her head. "But guard yourself! Guard yourself well. She is not what she seems."

"Is she a voodoo?"

Marie smiled, as if she laughed inwardly. She shook her head. "Pay heed to the nights, Lieutenant."

"Now, Marie-"

"There is nothing more I can tell you. There has always been gris-gris in this place.

Magic. Good and evil. Guard yourself, take care. Look to the beast, and think of what weapons you will need. Open your mind. That is the most important. Legends are usually based on fact. You believe in G.o.d, Lieutenant, right?"

"Yes, I'm from an old Catholic family myself-"

"You don't see Him, you don't know Him, but you believe He exists. Faith is believing in what you cannot see. We think that faith is something shared by intelligent men. Then know that there is more in this world than we can see with the naked eyes, that we can find in what is known and accepted. The world is not flat; men have walked on the moon. All things are possible. Look to the earth, the sky, the night. The black and the white.

Remember, the red that flows throughout veins is our life's blood. And take this magic that I give you."

She reached for his hand, her bony one clenched around something she held.

She dropped it into his palm, curling his fingers around it.

"I can't just take something from you-" He began to protest. She was old. Maybe she was a voodoo quack-she still needed an income.

"You take this."

"Come on, now, what do I owe you?"

After all, this could even be a con between Mamie Johnson and Marie. Mamie procured "escorts" for those who needed them; perhaps she procured magic as well for a cut of the proceeds.

"You owe me nothing. Nothing at all. It is a gift. Because there is darkness and light.

Good and evil. You are good. I am good. And we are all one. That is what matters."

She studied his eyes intently, then she turned quickly away from him, hobbling over to a young couple going through her vials of scented love oils and lotions.

He shook his head. He already felt foolish. Listening to a voodoo! What the h.e.l.l had she given him? Some kind of a talisman, a rabbit's foot, a chicken claw?

There was a cross in his hand. Nothing more occult than a cross, silver, about two inches in length, and strung from a long chain.

He smiled. Well, she had mentioned that those of French, Catholic, or Island descent bore her name. He started to turn away, and walk through the scattered tourists.

"Lieutenant!"

He turned. Old Marie Lescarre had called him back.

"Wear it!" she urged him.

She was so sincere. He had to smile back at her, nod.

And slip the chain around his neck. She hadn't given him some silly amulet. It was a cross. He could live with that. If it had been some kind of an amulet...

Well, he was a cop. Okay, and he had a bit of an ego-macho thing.

But a cross ...

Actually-and quite oddly-he had to admit that he did feel more secure wearing the thing. What the h.e.l.l. Couldn't hurt.

Leaving Jackson Square, he was surprised to find himself venturing toward Mamie's place.

He ordered a c.o.ke and a sandwich, and when Mamie came to sit at the bar next to him, she a.s.sured him that she hadn't seen the man again.

"I don't think he'll come back here."

Sean shrugged. "He may."

"He's surely seen his face in the newspapers."

"But he may think himself too good to get caught. If so, he might want to show you his face again. Challenge you. See if we can get to him fast enough. You're not scared, are you?"

"Maybe. Just a little. Can you help me fast enough if he comes for me?"

He chewed roast beef on wheat and smiled at her. "You've got cops here all the time now, you do know?"

"I suspected. You're ruining my trade."

"I'm a cop. I'm supposed to be arresting you for your trade, you know."

Mamie grinned. "Thank G.o.d my chef is good."

"I saw your friend in Jackson Square."

"You went to see Marie?"

He nodded. "You told her I was coming?"

Mamie shook her head. "No."

He half smiled. "She knew me."