Crescent City Connection

your eyes and get comfortable. Let’s fire up the cauldron now, and make a nice healing soup for Layne. I think it needs some love in it, so I’m putting that in first.”
    “I’m going to put in aspirin,” said Melinda. “Can’t hurt.”
    “Mushroom pizza,” said Kenny. “Layne’s comfort food.”
    Janna said, “Eucalyptus keeps fleas off dogs, and in this soup it keeps allergies off humans. Also fleas, if Angel has any of those.”
    “I’m putting in patience,” said a woman named Suby. “It might take a while, but that allergy’s out of here.”
    “Stinging nettles,” said Kit. “An herbal allergy remedy.”
    Skip was trying desperately to think of something when suddenly she remembered: “We forgot the chickens. Here go two. And some carrots and onions for flavor.”
    “Mmmm. Lots of thyme, to make it savory.”
    “A dash of white wine.”
    “Some dumplings.”
    And so it went until the brew was thick and nutritious. “Now, Layne, take as much as you need. And everyone else have some, too—maybe you have an allergy also, or maybe something else is bothering you—a hangnail, a backache—chicken soup will cure it. Everybody have as much as you like, and when we’re done, we’ll send the rest home with Layne.”
    It was silly—Skip knew it was silly—but she took plenty of astral soup for her fear—the fear she had about the kids, about Steve and Jimmy Dee—the fear that wouldn’t leave her until she got Jacomine. Unless the witches’ brew worked, of course.
    Oh, well, as Melinda said about the aspirin—can’t hurt.
    They were back in the car before Skip thought to ask Kenny about the rhyme he’d made up.
    He shrugged. “I just thought I’d write a spell,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
    She looked at Layne, who touched the top of the boy’s head, awkwardly trying to say thanks. Skip could almost see him biting back whatever he’d really thought about the ritual.
    Instead he asked, “What’d you guys think?”
    Kenny said, “Cool,” more or less his only positive adjective.
    “But what was cool?”
    “Well, the rhymes for one thing—especially mine.”
    “They don’t strike you as … childish?”
    “Well, sure they do, Layne. That’s the point.”
    “Oh.”
    Skip had to laugh. “Yeah, I like that, too. I really do.” There was something else she liked that she couldn’t put her finger on—it was the second time she’d been to one of these things, and she’d noticed it before. Both times, a kind of peace came over her afterward. She wasn’t the type who craved religion, but this stuff was sweet.
    Kenny is, too
, she thought. Sometimes she worried about him—she was afraid he was so nice he’d get hurt.

Four
    STEVE OPENED THE door, a drink for her in hand.
    “What’s this for? Think I need it after a hard day conquering allergies?”
    “Nope.” He smiled and sat on her striped couch, pulling on his own beer. When he put the bottle down, she saw he was smiling again. “This is a celebration.”
    She flopped into a chair. “Well, I know we’re not pregnant. So tell me more.”
    He kept smiling.
    “What? You’re driving me crazy.”
    “You got a new boss.”
    She leaned forward, suddenly all ears. “Somebody good?”
    “Somebody Goodlett.”
    “Albert? No. Impossible. Too nice.” Like Kenny.
    This was way too good to be true. Albert Goodlett was an assistant chief she knew very slightly, but one who had the respect of nearly everyone in the department.
    He was black, but whites liked him.
    He was male, but women liked him.
    He was intelligent, but dummies liked him.
    He was educated; the streetsmart liked him.
    He was a stickler; the lazy liked him.
    He was so well qualified it was hard to believe anybody didn’t like him. But he was so nice there might be some who didn’t think he was tough enough (though there was no doubt in Skip’s mind he was).
    And he was honest. That made it doubly hard to believe he’d really been appointed superintendent—an honest cop could be appointed, but it was usually thought that he had to come from outside the department. “This is no joke?”
    He raised his Abita amber. “Here’s to Chief Goodlett.”
    “Let’s catch the ten o’clock news.”
    It was the lead story.
    “See?” said Steve. “Would I lie to you?” He was so genuinely happy for her she was touched. And she was absolutely elated about the new boss—an outsider would have been fine, but someone from