Ian
“Will ya looka here, Alcee. Dey’s da Big Black Wolf.” The drawled words are accompanied by the flitter of shuffling cards, which means there’s only one woman this can be. I turn in time to see her cascade her cards into one hand and turn up the top three—the king of pentacles, the hierophant and the sun—which she waves at me with a lazy smile on her red-hot chile lips. “Umm-hmm. Same o’ Ian Gallagher.”
Her hair’s longer than when I last saw her—when she and her brother, Big Easy, took over the Gulf Coast pack. It’s styled in thin braids she’s bleached a soft white which only accents her olive-toned complexion. They hang to well below her exposed tattooed waist, and as always, are bedecked with strange feathers, pierced medallions, crystal beads and a few random animal teeth or ta
