At Risk by REBECCA YORK Page A

the impression that he didn’t give a damn who knew what about him. She turned that last thought over in her mind for a few moments, then decided it didn’t quite fit. There was something about him that he’d prefer not to discuss in public. Could she find out what it was and twist it to her advantage?
    When nothing came to her immediately, she turned her attention in another direction, thinking about how she’d gotten here from her own humble beginnings in the bayou country. Out near Houma.
    For starters, her name had been Sandra back then. Her daddy had left her momma before his daughter had much memory of him. Sandra had been on track to spend her life working as a maid for rich white folks like her momma did when a lucky incident had changed her life. Denada, a voodoo priestess had gotten into some trouble in New Orleans and had come back to her old neighborhood to take herself out of the public eye for a while.
    In fact, she’d taken off after the death of a white lover who’d spent the night with her and died of a heart attack. She’d come back to her family home like New Orleans royalty, and Calista had met her at the country store where the kids bought soda pop and candy bars and hung out in the afternoons.
    She’d been fascinated by Denada’s long colorful gowns, her cultured accent and the headdress that added six inches to her height. And the teenaged Sandra tagged along when the priestess went out into the swamp to gather herbs and roots to use in potions and ceremonies.
    Denada had rather liked having an apprentice hanging on her every word. She’d helped Calista pick a sexier name, and she’d started teaching her which herbs were used for what. And she’d also taught her voodoo rituals. In her lessons, she’d made it clear that attitude was as important as substance. If you had a commanding presence, people listened to you.
    When Denada had said she was going back to the Big Easy, Calista had begged to go along. Her mother had warned against the dangers of the city, but Calista hadn’t wanted to listen. How could the city be worse than the poverty of her hardscrabble existence? She’d gone to New Orleans with her mentor and found out that a girl from the bayou country had a lot of catching up to do. But she’d listened and learned and never looked back. She hadn’t graduated from high school, but she’d picked up more from the priestess than she could in any school.
    The year she’d turned sixteen, Denada had introduced her to a man who had more to teach her. About the sexual pleasure in giving and receiving pain. And about how to use sex to wield power over others. That had gotten her into trouble a time or two. But it had also become very important to her.
    She liked the life she’d created for herself. And she might not admit it to Rafe Gascon or anyone else, but she did have ambitions of becoming the Marie Laveau of this generation. The woman had been a force in New Orleans at a time when women had been chattel. And with Denada married and living in the islands, she had a shot at it.
    Marie Laveau had overthrown the other voodoo queens in the city and built a power base. She’d made predictions about the future, performed exorcisms, and offered sacrifices to the voodoo gods in private rituals behind her cottage on St. Ann Street.
    Of course, she’d also been a devout Catholic, which didn’t quite work for Calista. She had long ago decided the teachings of the church were just a way of keeping the common folks in line.
    She let her mind wander, thinking of those glory days of voodoo and of how New Orleans had changed since Laveau’s times. With modern communications and transportation, the city was more tuned to the culture beyond its borders. It was also more sophisticated in many ways. But there were strong ties to the past, and a strong woman might grab the old-time power for herself. Power meant security.
    Or was she just dreaming about how to get herself out of the mess that had