“Following a clue.” I turn the corner, and nearly collide with a pair of women in giant, old-fashioned dresses.

“Goodness,” says one.

“How rude,” scorns the other.

I offer a quick sorry, and keep going. The store was around here somewhere. I remember it. Every road in the Quarter kind of looks the same, and just a little different. I thought the store was on Bourbon—or was it Royal?

Lara catches up and looks at the photo on my screen.

“A cat?” she says incredulously. “This is New Orleans. Do you have any idea how many black cats there are in this city?”

I know. But I also know that it’s our only lead, and maybe, just maybe … I turn onto a street called Dauphine. And there it is.

Thread & Bone.

Or at least, a version of it.

The shop I saw yesterday had a beaded curtain instead of a door, and the sign was newer. The one here in the Veil is an older version.

Unfortunately, it also appears to be a normal one.

Normal for the Veil anyway, which means it’s just as faded and gray as the other storefronts. There’s no shining beacon, no tracery of light, nothing to say: Here you are! or Congratulations! You found the Society of the Black Cat.

Lara and Jacob catch up, and they stand beside me, staring at the shop.

“Well, that was a waste,” says Lara, winded.

My heart sinks, and I wish for once things could just be simple. I rock back on my heels as Jacob marches past us and up to the shop.

“What are you do—” I start, but then he reaches for the doorknob, and there’s a giant crack, and for an instant the world goes white.

A giant, staticky buzz fills the air, and Jacob shoots backward several feet, landing in the middle of the street. A ghostly carriage veers, the horse rearing, as Jacob groans out an “Ow.”

“Jacob!” I shout, rushing toward him.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, smoke wafting off his clothes as he gets to his feet.

“What was that?” I ask.

“That,” says Lara, hands on her hips, “is promising.”

She approaches the door.

“Be careful,” I hiss as her hand hovers over the metal knob. She swipes a fingertip across the handle, and pulls back as if singed.

Then she spins on her heel and smiles. “It’s warded!” she says.

Jacob folds his arms. “Like the herbs and stuff designed to repel ghosts?”

“Yes and no,” she says. “This ward is much stronger. If I had to guess, it’s designed to repel anyone without an invitation.” She turns to me. “Which means you were right.”