Page 45 of Death Card

“Mikaela!”

I glance up to see Joelle walking toward me. She’s wearing another touristy T-shirt—this one has a screen-printed image of a streetcar andHistoric Nolawritten beneath.

As soon as she’s within reach, I pinch the sleeve of her shirt. “I thought you said New Orleans was home now,” I tease. “What’s up with all the cheesy shirts?”

She sweeps her arms out and strikes a pose. “That’s because you’re not cool enough to rock this style. This is couture,” she says with a wink. “But no, actually, I found a bunch for cheap in a shop the first day I got here, and I couldn’t resist buying them all.”

“It’s a bit overkill, don’t you think?”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good souvenir.”

We pass by the statue of Jackson Square’s namesake and walk toward the stately facade of St. Louis Cathedral. Its three massive steeples stretch toward the heavens and stand guard over the Mississippi. Music from various street performers mixes with the underlying buzz of chatter. The cobblestones along the front of the cathedral are lined with tables displaying various services. Three in a row advertise psychic and tarot readings.

“They’re stealing your business,” Joelle says, gesturing in the direction of the tables. “You should give them a piece of your mind.”

I shake my head. “Nah, I’m not threatened. I know my readings are miles better than anything they could provide.” My shoulder rubs against hers as we pass by. She doesn’t move away.

“So, what should we do today?” I ask. “I’m all yours.” In more ways than one.

Joelle ticks off a list of all the tourist attractions she’s done already: Audubon Zoo, a ghost tour, cemetery tour, and the Museum of Art.

“I want to see everything I can,” she says.

“Well, lucky for you, there’s one thing missing from your list,” I say. “Let’s go to the French Market. My uncle has a food stand there, and there’ll be plenty more opportunities for you to buy souvenirs.”

We walk to the market side by side. After getting jostled in the crowd one too many times, she reaches for my hand and laces her fingers between my own. I inhale sharply at the sudden touch.

The cacophony of the market swallows us the second we enter. The French Market isn’t always this busy, but during the summer, it’s often bustling with activity. The semi-open space is filled with vendors and shoppers.

Joelle is thrilled to find a vendor selling handmade jewelry. I study her profile as she speaks to the owner. Her curls, swept up in the breeze, float around her face, and her dark roots are beginning to peek through the blond. Joelle taps her credit card and sticks her brand-new fleur-de-lis earrings into her ears.

She’s beautiful, both inside and out. I want to erase the vision from my mind and wipe the slate clean between us. The universe has taken so much from me already. Can’t it give me this?

We stop at another table with an older woman selling packets of herbs. Joelle opens a list on her phone and asks, “Do you have any ginkgo?”

I peer at her sharply. “What do you need that for?”

As the older woman steps away to search through her extra stock, Joelle’s cheeks redden. She doesn’t meet my gaze.

“I’ve started creating potions,” she admits. “I bought a couple of books from Zeke’s. If I start practicing now, I can have something for my mom to try by the holidays.”

My heart pounds in my chest. “I thought you only studied magic.”

“Yeah, I did—I mean I do,” she stammers. The woman returns with a few packets of ginkgo. Joelle pays and stuffs them into the bottom of her purse. She finally meets my eyes as we walk away. “Can’t you feel the magic in the air? Working in the shop with your family has inspired me to do more than watch from the sidelines. This seems like as good a place as any to try my hand at witchcraft.”

I bristle at her words. “Witchcraft isn’t something youtry, like some hobby,” I snap. “It’s not something you can become an expert at after reading a few books.”

Joelle gapes at me, and this time, I’m the one who averts my gaze.

“Sorry,” I murmur. “I don’t know what I’m talking about. None of it is even real.” I almost gave everything away. It’s so hard not to want to spill everything to Joelle. The boundary between genuine friendship and investigation has grown blurry.

“Hey.” She squeezes my hand. “I know you’re worried about me getting too deep into something I don’t understand. I promise I won’t accidentally brew up something poisonous. But I’ve got to try to help my mom.”

“What does she have?”

Joelle lowers her gaze. “MS.She barely leaves the house anymore. She’s got this constant tremor and dizziness.” She sighs and glances back at the herb vendor. “I want her to have more good days. Maybe it’s ridiculous to try.”

“It’s not.”