Winds of the Storm (25 page)

When Zahra deemed it safe, she carefully raised her head above the reeds and foliage. She could see the man's back atop the wagon. He had on the hat Raimond had described and a faded blue work shirt. Zahra raised the spyglass just in time to see the man step down from the wagon, and for a split second she got a clear look at his face. She smiled. It was Crete, all right. Her happiness notwithstanding, now came the crucial question: What were he and Isenbaum up to that made it necessary for them to meet every evening? “It's him.”

“Good,” Archer said, slapping at the beasties feeding on his neck. “Now we can get the hell out of this ditch.”

Jesse and Zahra didn't protest in the least.

 

Back at Archer's apartment, Zahra didn't know which was finer—the feel of the nice warm bathwater or the feel of the man she was leaning back against in the nice warm bathwater. “A woman could learn to love this…”

”The water or me?”

“Since love is a concept you don't embrace, I suppose it would have to be the water.”

“Touché.”

“But you feel good, too, Mr. Frenchman.”

He moved his hands over her budded nipples. “So do you.”

While he played, Zahra did her best to come up with a plan that might decipher the questions
surrounding Crete and Isenbaum. “Do you know an artist who could do a rendering of Crete for us?”

Archer was sliding wet hands over the caves, valleys, and peaks of her body with a maddening slowness that caused her hips to rise in response. “Brother Beau is a fairly decent artist. I'm sure he could. What do you have in mind?”

Because of the heat building inside from his caresses and fondling, she found it difficult to remember enough to answer him. Finally, she responded, “I want to show the likeness around town so we can determine where he's living and go from there.”

“Good idea.” But he had a better idea. With his touch, he silently coaxed her to part her legs a bit further for him so they could explore his better idea in depth. It didn't take long for them to delve further and even less time for Zahra to catch fire.

“We're supposed to be planning,” she whispered.

“I am planning. I'm planning to make you kneel with your back to me just as soon as we do a little more evaluating….”

She shuddered passionately in response to his heated promise and to the hands exploring her with erotic expertise.

Archer once again mused upon how beautifully uninhibited she was. It was every man's dream to find a woman whose intensity equaled his in the game of making love. Acher had found his. The sight of her naked and arching against him in the soft light cast by the dim lamp increased his desire a hundredfold. Her soft brown breasts
filled his palms perfectly, and the unblemished skin was as seductive as the silk she'd favored as Domino. In reality she was three women: Madame Domino, the proper and prim Zahra Crane, and the fiercely independent Butterfly. Each persona was as delectable as the others, and the man who finally claimed her would reap the benefit of having such an incredible woman. As before, the idea of another man pleasuring her bothered him, but unlike before, it bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

”Kneel up,
papillon,
I want to fill you….”

Zahra's eyes were lidded, and the fog of desire made it difficult for her to see, but she raised up onto her knees. He reached behind him and pulled a thick towel from the chair. Folding the towel, he placed it on the floor of the big tub for her to kneel upon. Once her knees were cushioned, he fit himself behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. They melted into each other, kissing and caressing, then he turned her back and possessively arrowed his way into paradise.

The feel of her heated cove grasping him so sweetly took Archer's breath away. Savoring the sensations, he held for a moment, his hands on her hips, and never wanted to move; ever. She was too enticing, though; the skin of her back, smooth and damp, and the soft skin of her neck perfect to place kisses against. Soon his hands were moving over her and he was moving inside her; coaxing, inviting her to take up the rhythm of lovers.

Zahra needed no coaxing; she was already enthralled. His splendid length filled her with such glorious delight that she groaned and arched back
to reward him with tender kisses. With him she could take her passion without shame. With him there were no boundaries or borders. Any man in her future would be measured against this skilled and seductive
gens de coleur,
and she instinctively knew they would be found wanting; no man would make love to her with as much fervor or adoration as Archer Le Veq.

And he proved it, beautifully, solidly, and wonderfully. An orgasm swept over her with such power that she knew she had died and gone to heaven. Her body splintered into a hundred glowing pieces, yet he didn't stop until he too was shaken apart and they went limp against the edge of the tub.

Later, in the bed, Archer held her close while she slept. He realized he never wanted to let her go. In his perfect world, she would be at his side every night, just like this until the end of time, but she wanted to leave. He knew she was worried about her parents and that her concerns for them came first, but then what? Would she come back to him or stay in the swamps where she was free to eschew corsets, shoes, and flower arranging? After all they'd been through together and all they'd shared, he couldn't imagine her not being in his life. He'd never felt this way about any of his former mistresses. When he'd grown tired of them or they of him, he'd simply moved on; no regrets, no guilt, no tears. But the razor-carrying woman sleeping beside him would not be so easily dismissed. Her keen mind, sense of humor, and the way she had of deflating his ego were unparalleled and therefore unique. Also unique was
the fact that for the first time in his life, Archer wanted to keep a woman who didn't want to be kept.

 

At the next meeting, Beau took out paper and charcoal. With Zahra and Archer as his guides, he began drawing a likeness of Brandon Crete. It took them all a while to get the eyes right, the cut of his chin and the slope of his nose, but Beau eventually came up with a portrait everyone agreed was very close to the real thing. “I have a printer friend who can put this on a plate and make us some doubles. How many do you want?”

Zahra shrugged. “Fifteen, twenty? I don't want to circulate too many and chance Crete or his cronies seeing them and begin raising questions about their origin. What do you all think?”

Everyone agreed that erring on the side of caution would be the best approach.

Archer asked Beau, “How long do you think the printing might take?”

“Since he has to make the plate, I'd say no more than a few days. He has his own operation.”

Raimond asked pointedly, “Is he discreet?”

“Yes.”

Zahra was glad to hear that.

So it was decided that Beau would handle the tasks surrounding the portrait. He would get the duplicates back to Zahra as soon as he could.

Suzette and Clare were so far unsuccessful in their searches for the Death Books in the homes of Spain and Thomas. Suzette said, “I found his
Kluxers robe in a locked trunk in his cellar, but there was no book with them.”

Clare added, “I've been cleaning the Thomas house top to bottom for the past two days, and so far, nothing. I've run out of places to look.”

“Okay,” Zahra said. “If you haven't found anything in two more days, pull out. That goes for you too, Suzette. There's no sense in beating a dead horse.”

She turned to Archer. “Any word from the friends you wired?”

“Yes. None of the three can come for various reasons.”

Zahra hid her disappointment.

André said, “Maybe we can get along without them.”

Archer countered, “We're going to have to.”

Zahra asked Wilma, “Has Isenbaum paid you any more visits?”

“No, but a soldier came by today and asked me about him. I guess the wife of the Union captain kept her word about speaking to her husband.”

Zahra thought that good news. “What did he want to know?”

“What Isenbaum said to me. Did I know him socially, that sort of thing. He then said he would give the report to the captain, and should I have any more encounters with Isenbaum I was to let the army know.”

Zahra thought that even better news. She then asked Alfred about his cousin Roland. He and his men were working at the express company warehouse owned by Sam Banks.

“So far, nothing. Banks has hired a gang boss who's paid to keep an eye on the fifteen sweepers who work at night, and his presence has been keeping Roland and the others from doing anything but sweeping. He's not sure if they're going to have an opportunity to look around or not.”

That was not good news. “That leaves Isenbaum's home and the home and cigar shop of our last target, Hathaway Dawes, to still search,” Zahra said.

Archer added, “Mardi Gras starts tomorrow. Probably be a perfect night to slip inside Dawes's shop and take a look around.”

“André, Beau, Drake, and I are patrolling with the veterans tomorrow night,” Raimond informed them.

Alfred spoke up, “And I'll be driving Mrs. Vincent to a ball. She and Miss Sable are due back on the morning train.”

Zahra looked to Archer. “Guess that leaves you and me.”

“Guess so.”

“All right then. You all know what to do. We'll meet again in two nights' time. Wish Archer and me luck tomorrow evening.”

With that, the meeting was adjourned.

 

The words
Mardi Gras
translate to “Fat Tuesday” in English. In New Orleans, Mardi Gras filled the city streets with floats, masked revelers, and the festive sounds of its signature hybrid music as the predominantly Catholic population
embraced excess before having to put on the mantle of solemnity and reflection for Lent.

Masked and disguised as pirates, Zahra and Archer walked through the raucous crowds choking the streets. Holding hands so they'd not get separated in the sea, Zahra had to admit she'd never seen anything like it in her life. Everywhere she looked, people were drinking, laughing, and kicking up their heels. The buildings were decorated, and all the lights bathing the area made it seem like day instead of night. She skirted by people dressed in elaborate, expensive costumes and others wearing their everyday clothes and a simple domino covering their eyes. The air was filled with high-pitched laughter and shouts of glee. Off in the distance, the faint but strong beat of a drum echoed like the heartbeat of a city drunk on gaiety.

“It's up here,” Archer called back to say. They turned off the street and down one far quieter and less lit. Zahra saw a masked Indian hurrying as if he was late for the throng and a few masked couples in formal wear slowly sauntering arm in arm, their eyes on each other. None of them paid the costumed Archer and Zahra any attention.

Zahra was glad of that, because she and Archer were on their way to search the cigar shop of Hathaway Dawes. Because the shop was not housed in a building on a main street, they were hoping their entrance would go unnoticed.

Archer had scouted the back of the place earlier in the day and had found it to have one small door
secured with a standard padlock. Because Zahra had lost her lock picks in the fire, along with everything else she'd brought to New Orleans, they were relying on a set Archer had owned since the war.

They entered easily enough and quickly closed the door behind them. Due to the darkness of the interior it took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to their surroundings, but once they could see, they began slowly moving around. The sweet smell of tobacco permeated the place.

The shop was small and tidy. A wooden counter stood between the customers and the cigars, and that's where Zahra and Archer began.

Since it was impossible to do a thorough search in the dark, she fished out of her trousers pocket one of the stubby candles she'd brought along and some matches. She lit it and prayed the faint light wouldn't attract the attention of anyone who might be passing by.

After placing the candle on the floor to keep it from being seen on the street, they used its light to look through the many humidors stacked behind the counter. Nothing.

“Let's try his office,” Archer said.

Zahra agreed. Picking up the candle, she quickly followed him into a tiny inner office. The desk was locked, but Archer and his picks conquered it quickly, and soon she was going through the papers in the desk and in the drawers. In the bottom drawer, Zahra reached her hand all the way into the back behind a stack of ledgers and felt a small
tablet. From its position, it was hard to determine whether it had simply fallen behind the ledgers accidentally, or whether it had been put there deliberately. “I think I found something,” she said quietly to her accomplice, who was concentrating on the contents of a small cupboard on the wall. She slid out the tablet, then sat on the floor to examine it.

He came over and hunkered down beside her. Both of them kept their ears open for trouble.

Zahra opened the first page. When she saw the words Deth List, her hands began to shake. The next page had a listing of names that began with Frederick Douglass and ended…there were so many names that it made her heart ache. “This is it.”

“Then let's leave. We can study it later.”

“Let's make sure we put everything back the way we found it. Maybe he won't notice it's missing for awhile.”

As quietly and as quickly as they could, they tidied up the desk's interior and relocked it. Although they'd searched the place thoroughly, they were both trained not to leave notice of their presence behind; they replaced all the humidors in their original order and positioning. Giving the place one last sweep with their candle to make certain they hadn't forgotten anything, Zahra and Archer slipped out as easily as they'd slipped in. While she kept watch, he quickly replaced and locked the padlock. Then they walked back to the main street and let themselves be swallowed by the celebrating crowds.