A day and a half later, Vivienne stepped off the bus and stretched her arms and legs. The trip from New York hadn’t been as bad as she thought it would be, but sitting for hours on end made her knees hurt.

Question now was—where to go?

She needed to find a source of income. A job that would pay cash. Thus far she’d found dishwashing was easiest. No uniforms needed, and restaurants were always hiring dishwashers.

And New Orleans had restaurants galore.

She just needed to get the lay of the land. And she knew exactly where to go. She eyed the bus station’s waiting area. The sign on a door sent her a hint and her bladder reminded her with a twinge.

She picked up a few pamphlets that had maps of the area and places that could possibly need cheap labor. Sliding the leaflets into her backpack, she made her way to the facilities. Best to use the them when she had a chance, that slight twinge could become insistent in a short time. Who knew when the next opportunity would present itself.

The line wasn’t too long; a stall became available within a few minutes. She slung her pack from her shoulder, slid into the space, closed and locked the swinging door.

The stall’s door was peppered with advertisements.

Her eye caught on one.

How freaking odd. She quelled a shiver at the idea that she should check it out.

It couldn’t be a coincidence she was here, could it?

The ticket, this sign on the door.

She didn’t know if she should run away or do some surveillance. Could this be one of Ricardo’s machinations? This wasn’t Ricardo’s style, he was more the brute force type than the kind to send out subtle messages and hints—like tickets, flyers, and invitations.

She eyed the address on the flyer while she used the toilet.

With a sigh, she finished her business, took down the flyer with the contact information, washed her hands, and headed for the main exit.

She’d check out these attorneys’ office on the sly from a distance. See who came and went.

Make that her first order of business, just to be sure there weren’t any hostiles hanging around, waiting, wishing her harm.

A short while later, she was counting street numbers—almost there—when a delicious scent of spice and meat met her nose. She knew that scent. Knew it too well.

Gumbo.

Her stomach growled at the thought of a bowl of gumbo. Her grandmother made the meanest gumbo ever.

Back when her grandmother was alive.

Back when Vivienne was a kid that happily lived in New Orleans.

Back when her parents were still alive.

Her heart felt as empty as her stomach.

A few paces later, a woman leaned out a door and motioned with a wave for Vivienne to hurry up.

Vivienne looked around to see if anyone else was paying attention or if the woman meant her. With all the craziness of the last day or so, and envelopes and flyers and such, she’d almost believe the woman was waving to her, a complete stranger walking down the street.

“Miss,” the lady called out, “how about a sample of gumbo? Come on.”

Sample? Be still my beating heart. A sample was better than an empty stomach.

Vivienne quickened her step at the promise of food.

At the door, the brunette said, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sarah, owner of this here humble little café, Sochaux’s.”

Spicy seasonings, the ones that used to permeate her grandmother’s kitchen floated in the air. It almost seemed like home.

Vivienne had so few memories of her parents and grandparents anymore.

Sarah stuck out her hand for Vivienne to shake.

Vivienne hesitated, holding her breath. She didn’t want to. Couldn’t. Just couldn’t put herself through the mental chore of it.

She could not touch bare skin.

No. Goodness, no.

She couldn’t deal with the bare skin thing. She was so tired, and the flashes that contact with others’ skin created inevitably ate through her energy, depleting her mana, and draining her.

Then again, I’m such a heel. She’s offering me a free sample of gumbo.

Vivienne eyed the table.

That was way more than a sample!

It was a huge bowl. The least she could do was shake the woman’s hand as a thank you.

Vivienne gingerly put out her hand, trying to touch as little flesh as possible, as quickly as possible, she let her fingers glide against the back of the woman’s hands. In a flash, parcels of the woman’s life coursed through Vivienne.

She recoiled from the images as well as the surge of energy that tore through her. She assessed what she’d felt from Sarah—power. A lot of power.

Vivienne wondered what another empath witch would see if she touched Vivienne’s hand.

A sucky life, that’s what.

As an empath witch, Vivienne learned long ago that touching her skin to another’s let her read the person’s emotions and state of mind. Unless that other person was blocking, like Ricardo had done for so long.

There was a solution. Vivienne knew if she’d been able to stay long enough at Graylands Academy, she’d have been taught to block this skill of hers, how to control the depths to which it traveled into people. To control the turmoil it could inflict on Vivienne herself.

One day, I’ll find out how. One day. And then I won’t have to read people. I won’t see their pain, their failures, triumphs, private thoughts, nothing.

“Help yourself.” Sarah smiled.

“You don’t know how much I appreciate this. Truly.”

She wanted to offer to pay, but with only five dollars, and no job options in sight, it seemed frivolous to offer. Maybe she could work it off.

“Do you need help? I’ll wash dishes or something.”

Sarah shrugged, gave her a curious look.

“You know, for the gumbo.”

“Nope, no need. Dig in.”

Sarah went about her business, tallying tickets at the register while Vivienne ate.

The phone rang.

Sarah headed toward the ringing nuisance while Vivienne scarfed down the gumbo.

“Sochaux’s Café,” Sarah said, then paused. “No.” She laughed softly. “Wits & Wiz are next door.” Another pause, then, “You’re welcome.”

She hung up the phone and went back to her tickets and ten-key calculator.

That caught Vivienne’s attention.

Wits & Wiz?

Next door?

She didn’t think she’d come that close.

Had she?