He sat at an outside table at the Café du Monde, eating a beignet and sipping a cup of chicory coffee as he watched the world go by. If asked, Loc wasn’t precisely sure he could say what he was doing there. Something had drawn him back to New Orleans, even though he knew he had nothing substantive to offer Nicholas Toulouse yet. Yes, now he knew that the books were being kept somewhere in Santa Fe, but that piece of information was far too flimsy to offer to the warlock currently holed up a few miles away in the Garden District.
But at least Loc had put some distance between himself and Cat, and that could only be a good thing. Perhaps it had been cowardly to flee so early this morning, but he hadn’t wished to confront her before he had a chance to think about what he truly wanted. A nigh
