Page 9 of Girl Between (Dana Gray FBI Mystery Thriller #5)

Beneath a dark purple sky, Dana followed George across Jackson Square, ever cognizant of the mighty Mississippi to her right.

It lay slumbering just beyond the levee, moonlight glittering across its deceptively calm surface.

Its fathomless depths buried the tumultuous history of the Crescent City, but the resilient people here did their best to keep it alive.

If a place could have a mother, the Mississippi was her for New Orleans.

Each ripple, a caress, still shaping the infamous Louisiana stronghold.

Many hailed New Orleans as the accidental city.

Born where the river meets the sea. French, Spanish, Italian, African—the Mississippi brought each one of them here, creating the eclectic melting pot of food, music, art, and religion the vibrant city was known for.

With each step Dana took on the uneven cobbled streets, she knew she was walking upon history, a fact that filled her with constant wonder.

Particularly on nights like tonight. The spring air hung low, kissing her skin with humid warmth, as the cool water sent fog to settle over the below sea-level city like a blanket, lulling it to sleep.

It added an eeriness befitting the legends and ghost stories that brought supernatural-seeking tourists to New Orleans in droves.

Essentially, it had been those very legends that delivered Dana here.

Her studies in vampiric origins had revealed just how closely the tales intertwined with witchcraft, Voodoo, and even werewolves.

There was no other place where all manner of occult practices seemed to coexist. And New Orleanians embraced their city’s supernatural vortex. Celebrating it out in the open.

Dana couldn’t quiet her curiosity as she and George walked past a fortune teller setting up on the corner near Jackson Square.

The scene was almost comical. On one side of Decatur, Café du Monde bustled with life, slinging beignets and filling the air with the aroma of fried dough and powdered sugar.

On the other side, a coven of women sat in silence, each at their individual table, aglow with candlelight and protected by a ring of salt, ready to call upon the dead.

Two entirely different worlds, coexisting in harmony.

“Ever had your fortune read?” George asked.

Dana nodded, fighting the chill that suddenly crept up her spine at the memory. “Have you?”

“Of course.”

She pointedly assessed him, and he laughed under her scrutiny. “What? Don’t I seem the type?”

“Actually, no. You don’t.”

His easy smile fixed his dimples in place as he shrugged. “It’s pretty much a rite of passage growing up in Nawlins. Of course, you gotta know who to go to. Witchcraft is powerful stuff in these parts. I don’t trust my fate to just anyone.”

Dana stopped walking. “You believe in witchcraft?”

He met her gaze. “You don’t?”

She instantly regretted the turn their conversation had taken. She was here to forget. “Discussion for another time,” Dana said, looping her arm back through his. “I thought you were going to show me New Orleans?”

“I am.”

“Jackson Square is hardly anything new,” she teased.

“Yes, but I’m sure Coop’s is,” George said, leading her down the covered sidewalk of Decatur.

They stopped in front of a worn brick building with a hanging sign announcing they’d arrived at their destination.

A green cartoon alligator wearing a bib, merrily gripped a fork and knife next to the words Coop’s Place .

“Here?” Dana asked, looking worried for the first time since leaving Pat O’Brien’s with a complete stranger. She reminded herself that George was a cop, and they were still in the French Quarter, albeit at a local dive that she never would’ve ventured to on her own.

It looked like the type of place where the music stopped, and everyone turned to look when you walked in if you weren’t a regular.

“Come on,” George said, pushing open one of the old double doors and taking her hand. “We don’t bite. Hard,” he added with a wink.