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who wins. But I like you both too damn much to let either of you get hurt,” Tatum’s voice called from just behind me.
    Malcolm scoffed and I pictured him walking behind me with that stupid look he gets on his face like he’s so much better than everyone else. I immediately thought of Philippe, Diego, whatever, and the bloody mess I’d made of him. Poor little vampire boy. I smiled an awfully sinister smile when my mind placed Malcolm’s head on Philippe’s gory body. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, I frighten myself.
    “Here,” Tatum flung a pair of thin roll-up flats over my shoulder and forced me to snap out of psycho-land.
    “Thanks,” I said as I jerked the stupid shoes from her hand. It wasn’t nice, I know, but who really fucking cared in the end .
    “Give me your hand.” Cyrus stood next to me and I allowed him to hold my arm while I took my three inch heels off and replaced them with the lifesaving flats.
    Normally, I would have protested, even in the most moderate sense, at permitting Cyrus to aid me in any way, but I was too stubborn to allow myself to look like more of a fool by falling on my face trying to change shoes all by my lonesome.
    Honestly, I was much happier without the stupid heels on, but now I had to carry the damn things.
    “Please,” Cyrus reached a long fingered hand out and gently took the shoes from my white-knuckled clutch.
    I was so taken back by his unsolicited chivalry, I let go of the shoes and stared at him in awe. His beautiful white smile spread across his face in a grin that was just as attractive as it was threatening. I’d always suspected Cyrus Atossa as the predator type, but I could never put my finger on why. The more time I spent with him, the more I realized someone this perfect had got to be either stupid or deadly; there was rarely a gray area in these types of situations. And I’d be damned, the boy wasn’t stupid.
    I shook off my feeling of astonishment and walked on, reveling in my newfound comfort.
    Walking the streets of the infamous French Quarter, was nothing I expected it to be. I’d always made the idiotic assumption it was a tourist trap filled with college students and drunk topless girls. Apparently, that was is exclusive to Mardi Gras and Tijuana. I was slightly disappointed. Not that I’d ever let the girls fly free in public, just a prime opportunity to throw stuff at ridiculous people.
    Instead of tourists and too much booze, I found locals mixed with sight seers all mingled together in the hustle and bustle of the closing of the business day. The sun was setting and many shops were preparing to close for the night or were turning on lamps and lights to announce their presence to passersby. A few shops were decorated for Halloween, boasting hanging ghosts and macabre décor. Or maybe t hat was their everyday décor. I didn’t know.
    I passed a small shop with long strings of beads dangling in the doorway. The actual door had been propped open with an obviously heavy brass statue and the smell wafting from the opening was spicy and intriguing. The terrace from the floor above jutted out over the entry and held a wooden sign that read ‘Madam Azelie’ surrounded by a few scattered carvings of different symbols that intrigued me more than something so routine should. I supposed that was the intent.
    A standing sign out front told me this was the place to get inexpensive psychic readin’s and charms . Without asking a soul in my group, I made the quick turn from the sidewalk through the beaded doorway. What could I say, I was a rebel. The wooden beads clanked together with a dull noise as I passed through them. The room was a perfect square, painted terracotta, and filled to the brim with as many candles and satchels and dolls as one tiny little room could hold. Odd mixes of Catholic symbols, such as crucifixes hung from the ceiling and statues of an odd looking Virgin Mary were surrounded by clay forms of naked humans and candles in