Dustin pulled on his sweatshirt. The hood was pulled tight against his neck and he walked from the rear gate of the motel. He walked halfway down the alleyway and stopped. He waited to see if any of the others had (so kindly) decided to follow him. He now knew how they operated, and how they had his wellbeing in mind. It was true, Dustin wasn’t as young as he used to be, but so far, there hadn’t been a situation he couldn’t wrangle his way out of.

Five minutes later, he knew no one was following him, so he tugged the drawstring of the hood. He stepped off again and proceeded toward his destination. By the time he’d reached the end of the alleyway, his mind had been cast back to the cemetery. LeBron might still be alive if he hadn’t been so old. There was a good chance he wouldn't, and letting any ounce of guilt hang over his head wasn’t wise. The storm that promised to come earlier had now finally decided to show its face. It battered Dustin, and the wind chill felt a good five degrees less than ambient. A mere human might string a sentence together which contained chilled and bones by then. Dustin had spent more than enough time in the wild to know that his inner wolf would keep his toes toasty warm.

Halfway down each block he paused and stepped back into a doorway. If any other people ventured out to brave the storm and paid attention, they might have thought he was cock-a-doodle-doo insane. Dustin had a reason for it, and since the vlads knew all they were doing, nothing was being left to chance. Dustin watched as the final remnants of Mardi Gras were being cleaned away. Overhead streamers were tugged at, rolled, and dumped. All the billboards were pasted over, for another monthly special. There was fifteen percent off on Glow-White Toothpaste. It didn't quite have the same ring to it as Party in the Park, with free music and plenty to drink.

Bourbon Street sat to his right as he crossed. Still a hive of activity on any night of the year, although not as wild. A few sore heads garnered from this year’s festivities. That; you could take to the bank. The neon lights fought against the grimness that hung over them. Any brave soul who’d spotted where he wanted to go in the rain which ensued, had far better eyes than Dustin.

Rain lashed against his face and any light he saw looked like a colored angel. Pretty much like glass paneled doors that kids stared at; thinking something magical was on the other side. Dustin did that as a kid, and he'd accidentally broken a few. As with all kids, when his mom had asked, it was never him that did the deed.

He turned into the backstreet and headed in the direction of huddled girls, and where the smell of menthol cigarettes rose. He smelled that from the top of the street, or at least his wolf senses could. In his human form he’d have no chance.

The giggles got gaudier, he heard the girls gossiping about the guys they’d danced for. Some local, but most men who were on vacation and making the best use of what New Orleans had to offer. To say they'd gained financial benefit would be insinuation that they were into prostitution. Hell no! That'd be wrong. If a guy happened to leave a tip, or cash fell outta his pocket. Well, what girl in her right mind would argue with that? Dustin couldn’t give a flyin’ hoot, either way. Women had to live, and if they made a living by flashing a bit more than tits and booty, that was their choice.

“Yo! Is Caron in?” Dustin called to the girls. One turned and nodded in the direction of the rear yard. She pushed her cigarette to her pursed lips and looked Dustin up, down, and up again.

He raised his hand to his head and tipped it as if he was wearing a cap. He stepped into the yard and began to remove his hood. A burly bodyguard filled the doorway. He raised his hand.

“You have an invite?” the guard said.

“I’m here to speak to Caron,” Dustin replied.

A head popped out from an upstairs window. Kelita shouted to the guard to let him in and stop being such a dick. The guard stepped to the side and he let Dustin pass. The guard growled under his breath.

Easy boy!

Dustin kicked the raindrops from his boots and walked through the door and up the old wooden steps. Kelita emerged from a room on the side and said Caron was up on the roof. She led the way.

“Fancy footwork in the cemetery,” he commented.

“I had a feeling something was gonna happen. I’ve been having dreams. Hearing voices as if they’re talking to me, or at least I think they’re talking to me.”

“Hmm! Gabriel had dreams before. It was as if something or someone was trying to tell him something.”

“Well, until your problems are sorted, I’m gonna stick to my gut feeling. If I hear anything I’m gonna respond,” Kelita remarked.

“Make sure you’re careful. If the vlads get a whiff that you exist, they’re gonna divert their attention to this place and to you.”

Kelita opened the door. Dustin stepped onto the roof and noticed that a large awning had been raised. Caron sat on a wicker couch and sipped on a cup of tea.

“Not wanting to sound big headed, but do you think I have to be worried after what you saw in the cemetery?”

“What’s wrong with that family?” he said to Caron as he sat in a matching wicker chair. “They are both so —confident.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. I’ve had her since her mom left with Kelvin. Sometimes she drives me nuts, but she’s a great girl. I guess Kelvin's the same.”

Caron poured Dustin a cup of tea and handed it to him. “Kelvin. Yeah! He’s a great kid.”

“Kelita filled me in on what happened. LeBron gave you the key and now you need to know where to go with it, right?” she asked.

“Pretty much.”

Caron explained they had to go the place he’d been told, “The Dirty D” as it was known by select locals. The area was Desire and was well-renowned for being one of the most dangerous places in New Orleans (if not the worst), and quite possibly, the entire country. It was nothing Dustin had never heard before. He had toured in some of the most dangerous countries in the world when he’d been in the forces. He wasn’t stupid and knew it wouldn’t be a walk in the park. However, they were wolves (apart from Gabriel) and had an advantage. He knew the vlads hadn’t made their way that far, because they’d have heard of the shaman without needing the information and the key. The one that Dustin had hidden in the air vent.

“You want us to come with you?” Kelita asked, coming in again.

“Not you, young lady. You’re too valuable,” Caron replied.

“Whoo! Auntie’s going on a date,” Kelita said with a giggle.

It wasn’t what you’d call a date, going into the depths of one of the worst neighborhoods in the city. Drugs and gangs were rife, and the closer they got to the shaman, the more the guardians would protect the ones who were valued most. It wasn’t good enough to have the key, which could be found, stolen, or even forged. The guardians defended the shaman until the last moment when a meetup would happen.

“We’d better wait a while before heading off. This weather’s going to make it difficult, and a cab isn’t going to take us that far. We’ll have to go on foot.”

“How large is the area?” Dustin asked.

“Size wise it’s not many blocks. Population’s around two thousand.”

“Double the size of the Creek where we ran from.”

Caron started laughing. She explained the population would be very much different than it was in Colorado. This was in-your-face, and if it wasn’t a gun, more than likely, it was something just as deadly.

“It sounds as if we’re going to have a bundle of fun?”

“What more do you expect from a first date,” Kelita joked.

The sun started to drop and Caron went to get changed into something a little more appropriate. The rain had stopped and Dustin leaned on the railing, now looking down into Bourbon Street. The first signs of people who were out for Happy Hour started to show. The bars filled and music began to fill the street from the strip clubs. The one he stood on top of was no different, apart from the fact it was home to a hybrid werewolf.

“You’ll make sure she gets back safe, won’t you?” asked Kelita.

Dustin turned his head to Kelita. He promised not a hair on her head would be out of place, well that might be too much, but no harm would come to her, he said in a promise. He glanced at his watch and saw it was a little after four. He pulled his cell from his pocket and texted Maria to hold off on the search party, he hadn’t moved yet.

Maria: What the hell have you been doing all day?

Dustin: Talking

Maria: You don’t talk that much

Dustin: Maybe I’ve been in the wrong company (smiley face)

Maria: Screw you. C ya later Mr. Subtle.

Caron walked back onto the roof, now dressed in jeans and an old New Orleans Saints sweatshirt. She said if she wanted to fit in, that was the best way to do it. She threw a larger sweatshirt to Dustin and said he should dress down a little, so as not to attract attention. He swapped his for the sweatshirt. As they stood together, Kelita grabbed his cell and snapped a picture of them.

“What a couple,” she said.

“Just like Kelvin,” Dustin muttered under his breath.

Caron laughed. “Well, they are twins after all.”

They walked down to the backstreet and a cab sat waiting. And some of the girls who were between dances now wolf-whistled at Caron. She turned and ordered them all back inside. Happy hour was still on, and they had guests to please.

“Take us to Gentilly Woods, there’s a chicken house there.”

The driver nodded and drove to the end of the street. He swung a left and hit the expressway. Dustin glanced from his window and muttered how far they had to travel. Caron told him it wasn’t that far as the cabbie pulled off at the second exit. It was close, although not the distance Caron would wish to walk. Dustin still had wolf stamina so it was a stroll for him. A huge hypermarket appeared in front of them and the large red oval with huge white letters over it signaled they had reached the edge of “The Dirty D,” or, for most other people, “Desire.”

Caron said they should grab a bite to eat. Jumping straight from a cab and walking headfirst into the Dirty D wasn't very wise. Dustin agreed. Like any gentleman, he held the door and Caron walked into the chicken house first. Dustin had never seen so many heads lift up from their meals and stare. Caron headed to a table by the window, and Dustin’s mind flashed back to the coffee shop stakeouts Kelvin and he performed back in Cripple Creek. He chortled as he slid onto the black, vinyl, bench seat.

“What’s funny?”

“I was thinking back to the Creek. This is almost how it started. Or it was; until Kelvin was kidnapped.”

“It’s a good job he’s got a bit of Kelita running through his veins.”

“You can say that again.”

Caron started to place her order as Dustin glanced around the restaurant. The décor was pretty simplistic with bare brick walls, exposed wooden trusses in the ceiling, and plain, old, flat-pack tables, with white wooden chairs that had started to turn a little gray.

“I hope you like chicken fingers,” she said.

“I’m more prone to a bloody steak than chicken, but it will suffice,” he said, not wanting to sound unkind.

“It’s the best damned chicken you’ll ever taste. It’s what we’re famous for in these parts.”

They ate their “best Cajun chicken” in silence. Caron asked if Dustin still had her gris-gris.

“Say what?”

“My gris-gris,” she said again. “That small doll.”

“I’ve got it on me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the doll. To his surprise, the restaurant chatter fell silent. “Have I done something I shouldn’t?”

“Put it this way, all the Dirty D is gonna know is that there’s a stranger walking around with a gris-gris in his pocket.”

“It won’t hinder us from trying to find the shaman, will it? he asked, more quietly.

“To be honest, it could make things a little easier.”

“Strangers on the street, they all stand and stare. They’re also strangers on my streets, though I’m not one to care.”