The young man stands outside Café du Monde as he does every night, sharing his music and hoping for a few coins in his cup.It's late, close to midnight. Cain is on duty tonight. He won't tell me where or why. He's been different since we became lovers, quieter. More secretive. I can tell something is eating at him, but even when I straddle his back and rub his shoulders, I can't get him to open up to me. When I ask him about Oncle, he tenses. When I press him, he promises me everything will be over soon—and asks me to trust him.I want to. Sometimes I think I do. But I know he wants me to drop my investigation into the crime syndicate and my brother's murder, and that I cannot do."Savannah Trahan?" The voice comes from my right. Glancing up, I see a skinny kid approaching the Jackson Square psychic's table where I'm sitting."Bender?" I ask.The kid, in reality a rookie cop, nods. "I wasn't sure you'd come," he says, yanking his cap lower.I gesture for him to sit. "Give me your palm," I say as I always do when using Magdalene's table to meet with informants.
