Devlin Wilde strolled along Rampart Street, making his way home. He nodded politely to several dark-skinned women who bobbed their heads in respect as they rushed by, baskets tucked under their arms. The heels of his boots clicked on the stone walk as he picked his way onto Canal Street.

All about him, revelers moved in carefree groups. Devlin watched them with a sense of disquiet. Being back in New Orleans usually soothed him, but tonight he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right.

The rancid smell of stale whiskey and food left too long in the sun wafted through the streets and added to the roiling in Devlin's stomach. He pulled a small kerchief from his vest pocket and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. Blasted heat, he thought, and this late in the year. When would the blazing summer give way to the cooler temperatures of fall?

Devlin skimmed the crowd with his gaze, noting the Creole vendors who hawked their words and wares from behind makeshift kiosks lining the walks. Trinkets and tools used in their realm of magic sat in cluttered displays. The sellers' wares would change with the rising of the moon, for on this night the elixirs would bear the kiss of voodoo. Stopping in front of a battered cart, he tucked a copy of the Picayune under his arm and fingered a corked vial of dark liquid.

"You want to buy, Mister?"

Devlin looked into the young vender's face. In complete contrast to normalcy, the boy's dark eyes glowed with a smoky brightness. "No. I've no need of such things." He lowered the vial back onto the cart and walked away.

As he continued to make his way along the street, the scents in the air changed, now bearing a distinct Creole quality. Devlin inhaled the tantalizing spices boiling in oversized pots of jambalaya and heard his stomach growl. The Creoles took their own form of Christian religion seriously and after their ceremonies, there would be rabid appetites to appease.

Soon, small bonfires would burn along the paths leading into the square and pulsating rhythms of the bamboula would fill the peaceful night. The sounds called men and women alike. Come, the drums would say. Lose your pain and your misery. Worship, for tonight belongs to no one.

Devlin watched as several of the whites who lived in the elite neighborhoods, mere streets away, scurried from the Creole's for the protection of their shuttered homes. The urge to do the same nearly overwhelmed him. Since he'd talked to the boy, unease brewed in the pit of his stomach like bad indigestion. Devlin frowned and rubbed his hand against his brocade vest. What bothered him? And why tonight? In years past, Halloween never concerned him. It was just a night when Creoles and slaves practiced their superstitions and religious beliefs. Nothing more. Even though New Orleans' law prohibited the practice of voodoo within city limits, it still lingered, uncontested.

Several feet ahead of him, a group of dark-skinned women formed a circle beside a fountain. Two slaves he recognized from a neighboring plantation caught sight of him and crouched down behind the group. He could clearly read the fear glistening in their wide eyes. Devlin tipped his hat and strolled past them without another glance. The gesture indicated their secret would be safe with him. Even with more slaves being set free, those who had not gained the right to live their own lives had to obey the rules of the white men who owned them. He abhorred slavery and would never offer his neighbors the opportunity to inflict more cruelty on the humans they chose to own.

His father had willingly paid each of their servants for as long as Devlin could remember. Payton Wilde's loyalty to the rights of all humans had been the sole inspiration for Devlin becoming a lawyer. Many of his acquaintances were also lawyers, but none practiced law for the sheer pleasure in it as Devlin did, seeking justice because it was something that needed to be done. His friends did it more for the status or the notoriety.

Drums suddenly echoed in the night, announcing the arrival of more important members of the gathering. The women he'd just passed hurried toward Congo Square. Soon revelers would begin their ritualistic dances. He wished the women well. Lord knows they didn't have much to look forward to in life these days.

Devlin almost smiled. He considered how his fellow bar members of Louisiana would feel when they found out he'd just spent the last two weeks discussing the merits of equal rights for all, including women, with a group of Northerners. Granted, he may not personally agree with the Creoles' unusual practices, or the slaves' mystic ways, but, thanks to his governess' insistence that his education be complete, he'd grown up learning to understand what motivated people. Right or wrong, beliefs needed to be respected.

More drums echoed into the night's air, this time louder and with a haunting rhythm. Chills danced along Devlin's arms. The sounds carried an ominous warning for all those who walked the streets to beware.

Devlin glanced around and then quickened his step. Many believed that witches existed and attended events like tonight's. Normally, he'd scoff at this, but tonight, he knew better than to loiter about Canal Street. Witches or not, Halloween brought out its share of true evil and pranksters. He had no intention to fall prey to either.

On any other night, he wouldn't have hurried toward Wildewind. Why should he? Most, if not all, of the servants would be out for the night. He would be alone, a state he was growing more accustomed to, but not altogether happy with. Granted, he couldn't say that he was completely alone in this world. He had family, mostly relatives who needed his help, but he had no wife to greet him at the door, or children running about and filling his home with laughter, not even a pet to offer companionship. His life centered solely on his practice, a few friends, and his relatives. Nothing else.

Devlin frowned. Lately, he'd come to recognize the law as a poor substitute for a wife. And the silence of his empty house weighed heavy on him, willing him to do something about it.

A young couple rushed past him, anxious to be on their way. Devlin watched them go, unable to suppress the envy digging at him. The man held the arm of his lady and guided her safely through the crowd. The stunning beauty would surely do a fine job warming her mate's bed. Lucky man, he thought, and silently wished for a beauty to warm his bed.

Several mulatto women spun in circles in front of him, then moved to step around him. When they parted, he found himself eye-to-eye with a familiar café au lait-colored face. The colorful turban wrapped about her head enhanced the piercing black eyes staring up at him. He'd met her once before when an associate offered fortunes at a costume ball. Her African heritage gave her an exotic appearance not easily forgotten.

Her hand lifted as if to tell his fortune.

Devlin cursed under his breath and stepped aside. He had no desire to have his palm read or anything else she offered.

She must have anticipated his move, for she stepped in the same direction and stopped him again. "Fortune."

"Madame Laveau, I've no time for a discussion right now. I must get home right away."

"I only wish to give you what you desire," she whispered.

She waved her slender hands before his face, and then boldly scratched one long red painted nail down his cheek. The stubble of whiskers gracing his jaw trembled under her temerity. Even more to his horror, the feeling oddly stimulated him. He blinked against the buzzing in his ears, and attempted to gather his scattered wits. "Away, woman."

"A wish for a mere coin?" she whispered.

Her voice blew through him like a soft wind, sending pinprick shivers dancing across his skin. Devlin pulled himself up to his full height. "Save your wish. I intend to keep my coin within my pocket."

His words went unheeded. She reached out and took his hand in hers, turning the palm up. As she stared at it, her gaze heated the surface of his hand. "'Tis the night you have longed for."

Devlin frowned with annoyance at her cryptic remark. "Stop it, woman. I'll make no wishes."

He attempted to pull away, but her grip tightened. She leaned over his hand and whispered words he could not hear. Then she looked up at him and spoke clearly, her voice laced with practiced seduction. "You may not speak them aloud, but time will know when the wish has been made. Then a deeper desire will bring a true love to share your life."

"True love?" Devlin scoffed as he pulled his hand free. He couldn't keep scorn from coloring his voice. "There is no room in my life for love." The lie didn't come as easy to his lips as it had in the past. Disgusted with her keen insight, he grumbled at her. "Furthermore, I sincerely doubt there is a true love anywhere in my future."

"You should not doubt. 'Tis only a word away."

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head to clear the jumbled thoughts she'd placed there. No, he would not fall for tricks of the wicked. The last thing his life needed was mumbo jumbo. "Be gone, woman."

She bowed and slowly backed away. "I've said my piece, but know this, Devlin Wilde, 'tis that very wish that will lead you down the path of true love. Fight not your destiny." She winked at him and disappeared into the crowd, her words lingering in the steamy night.

He stared after her, unsteady at the sheer audacity of the publicly proclaimed voodoo priestess. He finished his walk home in distracted contemplation. The woman had touched far too close to his true feelings. His trip to Chicago had been one of many in an effort to forget the sad predicament of his life. Twenty years had done little to lessen the loss of his mother and two sisters. And since the death of his father, the loneliness had become nearly unbearable. He wished to God he could be as happy now as he was as a child.

A streak of lightning flashed across the sky. Moments later a clap of thunder followed. Another round followed. Devlin paused under a large oak and looked at the sky. Strange, a patch of dark clouds covered the glowing moon, but that was all. He took a step toward home, but before he could take another, a third bolt of lightning flashed, then an ear-splitting crack of thunder followed. The force of nature splintered the sturdy oak branches, sending a shower of sparks into the dark night. Devlin watched in horror as one of the large branches fell toward him. Instinctively, he ducked and rolled, but still wasn't fast enough to avoid the blow to the back of his head. An instant later, darkness enveloped his world.