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hundred and sixty years of negative human psychic energy. Terrifying. I should not care to visit such a
New Orleans."
"Ya think?" Zeke gave an exaggerated shudder. "I'd call that a catch."
Culéoin's vague sense of unease deepened, despite the ease with which Zeke was handling the
disruption of their time together. Everything looked right, yet something still looked all wrong.
"So, what should I expect tonight?" Zeke asked. "I went to a Voudoun service once, but I didn't meet a
Loa."
"It's not likely you would; the Loa usually only appear at services for acolytes and up. . . ." Culéoin
paused and swiftly checked the area around them. Satisfied, he continued. "But there are only a few Loa
willing to speak with other denizens of Underhill, so they are the ones with whom we deal."
Suddenly he identified what had been rubbing at his subconscious. His fingers tightened around Zeke's
and he quickened their pace. "Let's get there. Now."
Zeke fell into step automatically. "What's wrong?"
"The Starshades are gone." He bit his lip. It was starting to look as if it was a very bad year to be in
New Orleans for Mardi Gras, and knowing Zeke, the Bard would not leave the city no matter what
Culéoin said.
Zeke lengthened his stride. "Maybe I need to go Underhill for a refresher course on magical critters.
What's a Starshade?"
"Think of them as mine canaries. They're attracted to positive energy, which New Orleans usually has,
and they especially love Mardi Gras. Humans have problems seeing them at the best of times only by
clear starlight but as I said, they aren't here now."
"So what does that mean?"
"I don't know, but I need to find out." But I am very much afraid, muirnín, that it means someone is trying
to break the treaty and turn away the stone's blessing.
* * *
The woodenhounfour , or temple, was a good six blocks off the Quarter direct, a lovingly maintained
two-story house. Colin avoided the original wrought-iron railings as they paused just outside.
"Time for me to go to work,cheri ," he murmured in Zeke's ear, and dropped hisglamourie . Zeke
caught his breath. Every elf he'd ever seen, Bright Court or Dark, had been outrageously beautiful, but
the sight of Colin in his formal robes . . .
Wow.
Colin had chosen to keep his hair black, but now it was past shoulder length and wavy, held in place by
a braided silver clasp. The unruly lock of silver hair remained. Inky-black breeches fitted tightly to just
below the knee; silvery silk stockings vanished into black heelless shoes. His shirt, whisper-soft black
silk, had deep silver-lined slashes in the sleeves. Midnight's own cloak covered all.
Mine. At least for two days a year.
Colin touched his cheek softly, bringing him out of his reverie. "Ezekiel? May I have your permission to
dress you in my colors? It has significance to my people, but I shall not hold you to it, and it will provide
you with a degree of protection."
Protection? Does he think I'm helpless or something? I'm a Bard. But he just said, "I trust you, Colin."
Feather-light strokes, and Zeke's jeans and T-shirt morphed into a robe of silvery velvet, falling all the
way to the ground. Colin caressed his hair; Zeke reached up and pulled off a hat. Silver leather, with a
black feather stuck jauntily in the band.
"No matter how often I see these tricks, I never get used to them." Zeke smoothed the feather with one
finger, barely touching it.
Colin smiled, the dazzlingly perfect smile that made Zeke weak at the knees. "Just try and look
trustworthy."
Since each House had different customs, Zeke had no clear idea of what to expect. The main floor of
this one had been turned into a single large room. Graceful French windows lined the right wall, facing a
sheltered garden. A carved and decorated pole in the center served aspoteau-mitan , where the gods
and spirits met with the people. Near it stood the priestess, a beautiful black woman holding an ornate
wrought-silver baton. She and a priest led the service. As Zeke understood it, the service rarely had
both; this ceremony must call for a great deal of power.
At the rear, an elaborately decorated altar held a clutter of white candles, bottles of rum, statues of
Christian saints,pots-de-tete , herbs, an iron cross, and other small items Zeke couldn't quite make out.
Between it and thepoteau-mitan , aveve filled a large section of floor with a complex design traced in
yellow and reddish-black powders. Zeke had no idea which Loa's ritual the pattern indicated.
A dozen or so worshippers were still gathered around the remains of a feast at a long table to the left,
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