“Hey, big man,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Lord Chaz. To whom do I have the pleasure of eating? Meeting…I mean, of course.”

“Nora,” she said. “Mistress Nora.”

Lord Chaz raised one dark eyebrow.

“The Mistress Nora?” he asked.

“Have you heard of me?”

“I have now.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Cyrus said. Nora made herself settle down.

“Can you help me find someone I’m looking for?” she asked.

“Depends,” he said. “Who are you and what are you gonna do to them when you find them?”

“Kill them and eat their hearts,” Nora said.

That got a laugh from the goth giant.

“Are you sure you weren’t my ex-wife in a past life?” he asked her.

“No, but I could be your ex-wife in this one.”

“Excuse me,” Cyrus said. “Dracula. Elvira. Can we focus?”

“Sorry.” She put her drink down. They were working. Sort of.

“I’ll help if you tell me what this is about,” the vampire said.

Cyrus gave him the quick rundown, mostly lies but believable ones. Cyrus was a private detective. A college girl had run off, and Nora’s business card had been found in her dorm room. Nora had only given her card to one person in New Orleans.

“A witch,” Nora said.

“Which witch?” the vampire asked.

“I don’t remember her name,” Nora said. “Except that she dressed like Marie Laveau and worked at a witch shop somewhere around here. Closed down now, I think. None of the ones I saw on Google maps rang a bell. I know the shop was in the Quarter, but it wasn’t on Bourbon Street. They did psychic readings there. The door was purple. That’s it.”

“Charm City,” the vampire said.

“Charm City.” Nora exhaled in relief. “That was the name of the place.”

“Little place on Iberville. Owner was a witch from Baltimore,” the vampire continued. “Older lady. Shut the shop last year and moved home to help with her grandkids.”

“This witch wasn’t very old,” Nora said. “Thirty to thirty-five. Really pretty.”

“Was your reading good? Or a bunch of bullshit?”

“How do you tell the difference?” Nora asked.

He smiled like Satan’s cat. “Did she tell you only what you wanted to hear?”

Nora shook her head.

“Mercedes,” the vampire said. “That’s her name, not her ride.”

Cyrus pulled out his notebook. “Mercedes. Spelled the same as the car, though?”

The vampire nodded. “The name comes from an old Creole family in town. One of her ancestors was a rich Irish banker who bankrolled half the city. Married a Creole lady and had thirteen children.”

Nora’s eyes went wide. “Thirteen?”

“Mercedes is in the bloodline of the thirteenth. That’s the story she tells, and I believe her. She has a new shop now, all hers. The Good Witch on Tchoupitoulas and Alphonsus.”

“Irish Channel,” Cyrus said.

Nora glanced at him. They had just been over there yesterday with Father Ike’s abandoned car.

“Mercedes at The Good Witch,” Nora said. She slipped the man a fifty, to Cyrus’s obvious chagrin. “Thank you so much.”