Song for the Dead (Ada Palomino 2)

“Yeah. At the rave. When the guy was creeping on you. I imagined choking the shit out of him, but nothing happened, not that I was expecting it to. You had a handle on it anyway.”

I’m unsettled as fuck. “Maybe this place is doing something to you.”

“Could be,” he says. “Or maybe it’s just a matter of time.” Then he eyes my shirt. “Your shirt’s ruined.”

I look down. Great. A splash of lime green across my white tunic. Another one bites the dust.

I throw my arms out. “Just a day in the life of Ada Palomino, huh?”

That manages a small smile out of him. “Should we go back and get you another one?”

“Nope. What’s the point? We might run into some demons later.”

“Hope not. The sword is in the trunk.”

“How about we just go find Rose and get all this over with? It’s obvious that, until we do, the both of us are going to be a mess. I don’t want any more drinks spilled on me, and you don’t want to kill someone with sheer suggestion. K?”

He exhales, running his hand through his hair, turning away from me. Stares at nothing for a moment and then nods. “Yeah. I reckon you’re right.”

“So where is the bar?”

“It’s not too far from here.”

“And are you sure it’s still her bar?”

He nods. Then starts walking off down the road.

This time he doesn’t hold my hand.

I follow him, feeling the nervous dark energy roll off of him and wash over me, and I’m suddenly so fucking scared that I wish we could just turn around, get back in the car, and drive back home. Forget about Rose, just get out of here intact. I left Jay, I didn’t need to see him, why does he need to see her?

But I have no control here and that’s what bothers me. I’m used to having some control. I’m used to being the one keeping him alive. But right now, I have no power anymore. If I told Max I was leaving, he wouldn’t come with me. He would stay behind. He would just…cease to exist. And there wouldn’t be anything I could do about it.

Fuck, I hope to god that Rose is worth it.

The bar is further away from the touristy section of Bourbon Street, and it looks like the real deal. Sultry jazz music spills out from the open French doors, the lighting dark inside.

“This is it,” Max says, but he didn’t even have to say it. I could feel it. There is energy in this place. Probably has a lot to do with Rose being like me. I wonder if she can sense me.

I want to reach out to Max, to give his hand a squeeze or a look of encouragement, but he’s already walking inside.

I follow.

I feel like if I don’t keep up with him, I’ll lose him for good.

The place is fairly busy. There are two bartenders serving at the bar, there’s a couple of waitresses bringing out small snack plates like fried pickles and okra along with the drinks, and most of the customers are seated at tables, facing the stage where a couple of jazz musicians do their thing.

The place is actually really cool and I wish we were here under different circumstances. Seems like a fucking rad place to get a drink and something to eat and watch some live music.

Max looks around, trying to spot Rose. I’ve never met her. I don’t even know what she looks like, so I’m looking around for someone that might be looking at him like she’s seen a ghost. But, so far, no one is paying us any attention.

“Do you see her?” I ask him.

“No,” he says slowly. “But it’s pretty early for this place. She used to not come in until later. And it’s a Friday night too.”

“So should we, like, sit and have some food or something? I’m not really hungry, but I’ll feel like a lush if I keep drinking.”

“Darlin’, you are a lush,” he says, but he sounds distracted.

“Staying for dinner?” a woman asks from beside us. She’s got curly brown hair, big smile.

Max stares at her for a moment, as if trying to figure out who she is. “Just drinks.”

“Great, I have a small table just over here.”

She leads us to a table for two facing the stage, closer to the back. We take our seats and she takes our order for two hurricanes.

I watch as she goes. “Do you know her?”

He shakes his head. “No. Could be all the staff has changed. It’s been…four years.”

“You were dead for three.”

He gives me a sheepish look. “I know. But I hadn’t been in here for a long time before that. When I said that we were on strange terms…”

“Ah,” I say. Another reason for him to be extra anxious. It’s not like he died while they were in the middle of a passionate love affair.