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the rest of his Hennessey. “No. You get enough compliments. That was a simple fact. Where’d you learn to sing like that, anyway?”
    She contemplated the empty glass between her fingers, twirling it absently.
    “In New Orleans, I guess I used to watch the cab singers. You know, when I was still 'alive'. I used to imitate them all in my bedroom, singing into my hairbrush." She laughed lightly at the memories. "I loved them all, but I never dreamed it would ever be me up there."
    "Then in the late 80s, with all that was going on at the time, I went through a bit of a wake-up call,” her stomach twisted remembering when she'd left Daimen, "…and I figured, what the hell?
    "I started on casino riverboats as a backup singer. It was fun. I got braver. When I was offered my first headliner, I jumped on it. And here I am.” She waved an airy hand round the crowded lounge.
    “So… New Orleans. I was right. I knew you sounded like home.” Jules sounded odd, somewhere between melancholy and wistful.
    “You’re from there?” She looked around, surprised. He didn’t have even the hint of an accent.
    He smiled at her.
    “Wot yah mean, cher? " His pronunciation of the old familiar word was perfect; the sh at the beginning and almost dropping the r entirely. "Yah all aught to clean out them ears of yourn, canna yah hear the swamp in my sugar?”
    She rolled her eyes. “That’s a little over the top."
    “Not really.”
    “I don’t sound like that.”
    “Nope.” Jules agreed, his dark eyes soft on her face. “You’re no Cajun swamp brat. You sound like silk and magnolias.”
    Flustered, she wrinkled her nose at him and turned to wave the bartender over. What the hell? Was he flirting now? The man didn’t seem to know his own mind when it came to her. Not that she was any better, except that she was damn sure she wanted him in her bed.
    “How’d you lose the accent?”
    “The Cleaners took care of that. It was part of induction process.” His eyes drifted over her head, though he didn’t seem uncomfortable.  “Strip us down; in every way, shape and form. That was their way. Only our power could stand out, nothing else unique was allowed.”
    “They sound awful.”
    “They were, but not too much worse than the Ninth Ward orphanage they took me from. Jesus, how’d we get on such a maudlin subject, Rissa? Let’s not talk about the past.”
    “The future then?”
    His lips twisted wryly. “Please no.”
    “Alrighty then, so what do you want to talk about?”
    He looked around, the house band had broken into a Lou Reed song. Pale Blue Eyes. He grinned into hers.
    “Music. Music always works.”
    "So, okay. I already know you like Billie and jazz. Is there any music you can't stand?"
    Jules considered her question very seriously for a moment. "Folk music. Folk music sucks."
    Rissa leaned closer and crooned a few lines from Where Have All the Flowers Gone in his ear . Jules cringed, leaning away from her for a minute. "Even your voice won't make me like that shit, sweetheart."
    She laughed and bumped her hip lightly into his. "Okay, no folk music, got it. What about Big K.R.I.T.?”
    Jules stared at her from over his drink.
    “Because I’m black, I gotta like rap?”
    “I was being facetious, don’t get all butt hurt," she rolled her eyes. "Here’s an idea, let’s forget about talking. Let’s dance.”
    She got to her feet, hands on hips. Rissa had decided on her velvet tonight; a simple, but lethal black number with a sweetheart neckline that slithered its way to just about mid-thigh. She'd noticed Jules' gaze fall to her legs more than once. Like now.
    He'd never seen her expose so much skin before and it was obvious he was rather enjoying the view.
    She smiled and reached out her hand.
    “Dance?” Jules’ eyebrows drew together. “I was just messing with you. I love K.R.I.T. Sit your ass back down and talk.”
    “Nope. Too late. Come on… or are you scared I’ll show you up?”
    “ Jesus. As