Free In Search of the Dove by REBECCA YORK Page A

thick hair. “Damn it, no. You were a fellow human being in need.”
    “Spare me the pop philosophy.”
    They glared across the table at each other. Jessica broke the eye contact first. “I’ll show you what led me to Harley’s.”
    “That ought to be interesting.”
    She got up and moved to the living room. In a few moments she reappeared with the napkin, which she flung onto the table.
    He picked it up, noting the cheap recycled paper as well as the printed “H,” doodles, and number. “So, what’s that supposed to prove?”
    “I’d never been there. But when I held it in my hand, I could see my brother sitting in one of the booths with another man—who turned out to be Lonnie.”
    He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Do you tell fortunes too?”
    “I’m not surprised at your attitude. After all, you are a policeman.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Forget it. Don’t you have to go question that guy you handcuffed to the water pipe?”
    “I checked in with the police this morning. That guy’s not going to tell me anything. After we left, Lonnie apparently came back and killed him.”
    Her face whitened. Lonnie had killed his friend to keep him from talking. What had he planned for her?
    “These guys are playing for keeps.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “So listen, baby, stay out of this from now on.”
    The offhand endearment was the same one he had used so tenderly the night before. The way he said it now made her feel patronized. Despite his frightening words, she bristled. “Don’t think that last night gives you any right to tell me what to do.”
    “Well, my official capacity does. Keep your nose out of my investigation.”
    Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heels and left the apartment.
    * * *
    T HE VOODOO PRIESTESS had also had a close encounter with Dove during the night. Unlike Jessica Duval, she had administered the dosage herself and knew exactly how much to take to get the desired effect. After all, the drug had started out as a chemical distillation of rare swamp plants that had been used in voodoo rituals for generations.
    She wasn’t addicted, but when the silver disk of the moon hung round in the sky, she allowed herself to fly on the white wings of the Dove. For those who took the drug intravenously, the aphrodisiac effects wore off with overuse, and the next phase of addiction was a lot more violent. She knew how to avoid the danger by making it into a perfumed cream that was absorbed slowly by the skin. Even in this relatively safe fashion, she never overindulged.
    Each man who was invited to share the ceremony of the full moon with her counted it as an honor. Into the small hours of the morning under the stimulation of the drug, she and her chosen partner paid tribute to the goddess of love again and again with their writhing bodies. The pleasure was beyond compare. But, as the ritual demanded, each man was required to leave her bed before the first rays of the sun tinged the sky with pink.
    She was feeling thoroughly replete when the phone rang around nine. But she wondered who in the Crescent City had dared to disturb her on a day she was known to be fasting after the moon ceremony.
    Her tone was imperious as she answered. When she heard the voice on the other end of the line, the haughty words she had intended froze in her throat.
    “Moonshadow.”
    Jackson Talifero from the island of Royale Verde was the only white man who knew that secret voodoo name, or who would dare to use it.
    She sat up in bed, pulling white satin sheets up around her breasts. The contrast against her richly colored skin was striking. “What do you want?”
    “You know what I want. Gilbert Xavier.”
    “He isn’t here.”
    “But you know where he is.”
    “He’s in the city. He wouldn’t tell me where he’s hiding. But I’ve made sure he won’t leave.”
    “How did you do that?”
    “He came to me for help. I gave him a potion ’to ward off his enemies.’