Free Undenied by Sara Humphreys Page A

wanted to deal with on a daily basis. She had bad karma.
    Resigned to her fate, she stuffed the envelope in her bag and turned to leave.
    “Hang on,” Gladys barked into the phone, before holding it to her ample bosom. “The only place you might actually find a room is over at The Den. It’s a bar just down the ways on the corner of Ursulines and Dauphine. Word has it that Boris has a room for rent, but since that thing happened with his sister, no one wants to rent the place. That’s your best shot.”
    Lillian nodded absently as she pushed the screen door open. It creaked in protest and slammed shut behind her with a nerve-shattering crack. She stepped onto the sidewalk and made her way to her old VW bus as she fought the tears threatening to spill down her face.
    Great. Her only chance of renting a room was with some guy who had a shady story involving his sister. Boris? He was probably some fat, crusty Russian dude who barked at everyone. Could this day get any worse?
    Standing on the corner, she wondered what in the hell she was supposed to do now. The truth was that she had limited options and even more limited funds. She rolled into town on fumes and had only fifty dollars in cash in her pocket. She had no credit cards, and the banks were closed, so she couldn’t deposit the check.
    She shielded her eyes from the bright afternoon sun and looked up and down the quiet street. This place was nothing like the wild stories she’d heard about New Orleans, but she was on the edge of the French Quarter, not on Bourbon Street—perhaps that’s where all the action really was. She had planned to check into her room and then go have a look around Jackson Square, where she’d be working for the next six months—so much for her bloody plans.
    Lillian checked the locks on her van to see that they were secure and decided to take a walk up Ursulines to see if she could find the place that Gladys mentioned. She figured she had nothing to lose by trying. Everything she owned was locked in her flower-and-peace-symbol-covered van. She’d already spent the past week and a half sleeping in it—a streak she was looking forward to breaking once she reached New Orleans.
    Sleeping in her van was uncomfortable, but she hadn’t been sleeping well in general for the past few weeks anyway—van or no van. Her dreams had been bright, loud, and persistent. It was the dreams that got her to change her plans and come to New Orleans instead of San Francisco.
    She’d always considered the tiger her spirit animal or personal totem. She’d dreamt of tigers her entire life, and the dreams were strongest when she was at a crossroads or needing comfort. When she turned eighteen she even got a tattoo of a tiger on her lower back. It lay along the top of her ass and looked at the world through glowing yellow eyes—just like it often did in her dream.
    Her mother, of course, freaked out, and that was the last straw before she was kicked out. She’d been on her own ever since, living like a gypsy, roaming from city to city, and reading palms along the way to earn her keep.
    A few weeks before her scheduled move to San Francisco, she dreamt of her tiger, but for the first time—he spoke. He told her to come to New Orleans. The animal never actually moved his lips and spoke—but she heard him—his deep, smooth baritone whispered, calling her here.
    Lillian tied her wavy blond hair back with an elastic band from the pocket of her jean jacket as a cool gust of wind whipped her ankle-length skirt around her legs. She tripped, almost falling in the middle of the street. Her face heated with embarrassment as she looked around to see if anyone noticed because the activity increased as she moved closer to the French Quarter.
    Satisfied that nobody saw her typical clumsy move, she let out a sigh of relief. Stranded and homeless was bad enough, but falling on her face in public would add insult to injury. As she unfurled the batik skirt from her legs, the