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and Bo Ray. They’d both seen the news and knew what was going on.
    Back in the kitchen with David, she drew out her laptop and began searching for all the information she could find about the rougarou , Honey Swamp, and the murders that had taken place there.
    “Julian’s family owns that property,” David said. “They’ve owned it since before the Civil War. If I understand it, they bought it from the parish after Count D’Oro met with vigilante justice. That’s why Julian is afraid people will blame this on him.”
    “David, the legend of the rougarou was around long before Count D’Oro,” Danni reminded him. “Julian can’t really believe that this is his fault in any way.”
    “But he does.”
    “He blames himself because you two are doing tours? Come on. Many companies do bayou tours.”
    She heard a key twist in the courtyard door that led straight into the kitchen and looked up to see Quinn enter. He walked in looking weary, his dark hair tousled, eyes grave. And he immediately noted David in the chair.
    Quinn had grown up in the Garden District. He was older than Danni and David by several years. He glanced at David, then at Danni, and she realized that they’d never met.
    “Quinn, this is David Fagin,” she said, rising.
    David rose to shake hands. “So you’re the ‘Mighty Quinn.’”
    “I am Quinn. Not sure about mighty.” He visibly relaxed with the handshake. “Does you being here have anything to do with the bodies in the bayou?”
    “Yes. Wait. Bodies? I only knew about the one,” David said.
    “Count is up to two,” Quinn replied. “We found a second victim, a young woman, this afternoon.”
    He was quiet a minute and then looked over at Danni.
    “Actually, I found her.”
     

Chapter 3
    The basement wasn’t really a basement. The rest of the house was built up, allowing for a basement in an area that could flood. The first French fur trappers had chosen wisely when they had settled in the French Quarter. It was the highest ground around. Which wasn’t saying much since most of New Orleans was below sea level. The Cheshire Cat’s basement had been Danni’s father’s office, the place where he’d housed his private collection and The Book of Truth. Quinn knew that Danni had not known of the existence of the book until the day her father died. Angus had talked about the book, but Quinn himself hadn’t seen it until he and Danni had been forced to seek its guidance.
     Called The Book of Truth, it might have been better labeled The Book of Fantasy and Legend. It noted creatures from every culture and society, from vampires and werewolves to “fairy folk” and beyond. When, exactly, it had been written they didn’t know. It appeared to be medieval, coming from a time when the world was filled with superstition and feared darkness and the devil. But the book was also filled with curious bits of history that often helped. Like how to kill vampire, which they’d not as yet studied, though they had made use of other parts in curious ways.
    Quinn perched on Angus’s desk, glancing at the various objects that were piled here and there. Some Greek, Egyptian, medieval, and Victorian era pieces. Crates and boxes littered the room, some labeled DO NOT OPEN.
    Danni sat reading.
    David had gone, headed to his own apartment in the city to hide out. Danni had told Quinn everything David and Julian had said. Many people in New Orleans were transient, most had come to the city, fallen in love with it, and stayed. Others had been there forever and would never leave. It was possible that all the hate e-mails were just superstitious locals.
    “‘ Rougarou ,’” Danni read from one of the books. “‘French, cultural, regional, similar to other creatures born of evil, caught in the web of sin, sometimes, the sins of others. Eater of men’s souls. Silver does not slayeth this beast, only the cleansing of fire will lay it to rest.’”
    “That’s it?” Quinn asked.
    “That I can