Orphan Bleu’s instant arrival after Stacy’s flight from Muriel’s confirms my earlier belief—she’d hidden from her manman. Her spectral grip, which steered me to Pirates Alley, not Chartres Street, fades as we approach Pontellier’s Art Gallery. I suppose something important inside the showroom will give me more insight into Bleu. But will the Gallerist or employees offer information to a stranger?
Closed earlier, the gallery now buzzes with people as we enter the fitting indigo shutter door. My mouth drops and remains open as Antoine’s art comes into full view. Each painting displays a different blue hue with the same model; my wicked wraith. The artwork centering the room stuns me to a halt.
“He painted it.”
“What?” Mitchell asks.
“It’s my vision of Bleu holding an opium pipe.” Unlike
