The Returned by Bishop O'Connell Read Free Book Online Page B

some champagne,” Caitlin said and headed out of the room. “Want some?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” Edward said and began putting their things away.
    â€œThe roses are incredible,” Caitlin said from the other room. “They smell amazing.”
    When the clothes were away, he put the suitcases in the closet just as Caitlin returned with two flute glasses. Edward took one, and she stepped close.
    â€œTo our honeymoon,” Caitlin said.
    â€œCheers,” Edward said. They tapped glasses and drank. He had to admit, it was really good champagne.
    â€œI can’t get over this view,” Caitlin said as she walked to the window and looked over the city.
    Edward took another drink of champagne, then set the glass down before walking over to join Caitlin at the window. “Are you hungry? Want to go check out the Quarter and maybe get something to eat?”
    Caitlin set her glass down and turned around. “Sure,” she said.
    Then she tackled him onto the bed, kissed him deep, and began pulling his clothes off.
    W raith walked along Royal Street eating a hot dog, glad it wasn’t quite the display Bourbon Street had been. She’d known what to expect, or thought she had, but it had still surprised her. All things considered, she felt a little silly being worried her pixie-cut hair, now sky blue, would make her stand out. As it turned out, she was much further on the conservative side of the scale than she was used to being. After all, she showed almost no skin, and no amount of promised beads was going to change that.
    Glancing in windows of the high-end shops, she admired the collections of antiques and oddities for sale. It occurred to her that for the first time, she could actually buy some of those things. She wouldn’t, of course. Her money—well, the money Brigid had given her—was better spent on other things.
    Her wanderings took her to Saint Louis Cathedral. Just before the large church, at the corner of Royal and Pirate’s Alley—a name that made her smile—she came upon some musicians busking for the crowd. Even in her limited time in New Orleans, only a couple of hours, she’d figured out this was hardly a rarity. There were street performers and musicians everywhere, most of whom were really good. These musicians were really, really, really good. And the crowd around them was a testament to it. A girl in a long, loose sundress was playing a mandolin like she’d invented the instrument. She kept smiling at the guy playing a small drum kit. Another two were playing guitar, but it was the singer, one of the guitarists, who really impressed Wraith. His long dreadlocks swayed, and sweat rolled down his skin as his fingers slid up and down the neck of the guitar. The motions were like the intimate caress of a lover, but his voice was clear and sweet as he sang about loss and pain.
    Wraith stood there mesmerized, and quite unbidden, she thought of Ovation. Maybe it was strange to think so often of someone she’d known so briefly, but he’d shown her kindness when she needed it most. And what had that kindness gotten him?
    She closed her eyes and saw it again, the Order slitting Ovation’s throat and his lifeless body falling to the stone floor. And all for nothing more than the crime of knowing her.
    â€œI’m sorry, Ovation,” she whispered to herself, for possibly the millionth time.
    When she opened her eyes and wiped the tears away, the singer’s dark green eyes met hers and held them as he sang. It was like he didn’t just see her pain, he knew it and was singing as much for her as for himself.
    She could only stare as his music and her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.
    When the song ended, the bystanders broke into uproarious applause, and the hat on the ground began to fill with singles and fives. Wraith joined the clapping, if a few seconds after the fact. When the crowd began to disperse, the singer smiled at