“Two days ago,” Agatha corrected. “I’ll say this for the Texians: They replace their own fast.”

“I hope they don’t replace Cardiff anytime soon.” Josephine rose to her feet and stretched, then began to help her friend break down the little station from which she earned most of her living. “I won’t be too brokenhearted if there’s no one to focus on a certain lake project anymore.”

“It wouldn’t break my heart either, but I won’t hold my breath. I hear Travis McCoy is more trouble than two Cardiffs and a mule. He’ll be patrolling for your prize”—she used her preferred euphemism—“sooner rather than later.”

Josephine asked, “Where is he? Do you know what he looks like?” She held a hand up over her eyes, shielding them from the last of the sun’s setting glare as it bounced off the windows on the far side of the Square.

“Over there.” Agatha tossed her head, indicating a large rolling-crawler, painted Texas dun. “Yellow-haired maniac atop the biggest brownie. That’s him.”

“How do you know, if he only got here the other night?”

“He’s the only one I don’t recognize. The rest of these lads”—she waved in the general direction of all four corners—“I’ve seen before. Not closing down for curfew, but around the Quarter. Besides, he’s the only man being driven around, like the machine is his private cabriolet.”

He was young for a man sent to marshal a city, probably the madam’s own age — if not younger — and he was lean inside a uniform that fit him well, and was buttoned up to the top despite the early evening warmth. He had the ramrod posture of a lifelong military peg, and the lantern jaw of someone who ought to be twice his size, though the fluffy reddish-blonde beard made his exact lines hard to determine.

Given what could be seen of his face, Colonel Travis McCoy possessed the kind of bone structure that’s considered “strong” on a man, and would be “unfortunate” on a woman.

While Josephine and Agatha closed up shop and sneaked glances at the rumbling machines as they puttered around the Square, the colonel lifted an amplifier to his mouth. He said something, but the words weren’t loud enough and no one heard him. He fiddled with the electric coils and turned a dial, then tried it again.

This time his voice bellowed out — boosted by a handheld device shaped like a witch’s hat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I can see that most of you are in the process of wrapping up your daily business, and I thank you for your promptness.” His accent leaned toward the higher-class end of the Texian spectrum. He sounded like he’d had an education someplace else, but exactly where, Josephine couldn’t pinpoint. “I do apologize for the inconvenience, and would like to remind you that this is for your own safety.”

“Like hell it is,” she grumbled.

“Hush now,” Agatha urged. “At least he’s being polite.”

“I don’t care if he hands out five-dollar bills while he brushes my hair and calls me sweetheart, he’s closing down the Square for no good reason.”

“I’m trying to look on the bright side.”

“There’s a bright side?”

Agatha folded up her scarves, wrapped her cards, and gathered all the small things that were part of her trade. She then placed them inside the overturned box-table and picked it up. “There might be. Think about it this way: New Orleans has a zombi problem. It’s also occupied by the most heavily armed military in the world, and now that military is on alert. It’s a long way to go for a glimmer of light, but if nothing else good ever comes of Texas squatting here, I’d be glad if they can clear the dead out of the in-between, down by the river.”

Josephine held out her hands, offering to help carry something. Agatha jutted her elbow out, pointing crookedly at the parasol, so her friend picked it up and closed it, then held it under her arm. “You give them too much credit. For all we know, they’re the ones who brought the dead. We didn’t have any zombis before they moved in, now, did we?”

“You’ve got me there. Hey, mind your mouth.”

Josephine boosted an eyebrow, but didn’t ask questions. A moment later, she heard the pounding footsteps of someone jogging up behind her. She pivoted on her heel and saw a man in his twenties sporting a brown uniform, homing in on her like a man with a purpose.

She bristled and gritted her teeth, but Agatha put on the sort of smile worn by a woman who earns her living dealing in pleasantries with unpleasant people. The fortune-teller exaggerated her accent when she called out, “Bonsoir, boy — and there’s no need to rush us. We’ll be on our way, you just give us half a minute.”

Huffing and puffing, he drew up to a stop immediately before them and removed his hat. “Not trying to rush you, ladies. I’m—” He threw a fast, sharp look back at the rolling-crawlers, and toward Colonel McCoy. “—I’m looking for Miss Josephine Early, and that’s you, ain’t it, ma’am?”

Cautiously but coldly, she replied, “Yes, that’s me.”

He crushed the brown flop hat in one hand and punched it absently with the other. “Ma’am, I have a message from Fletcher Josty,” he said.

Agatha was puzzled, but Josephine was careful not to reveal any hint of recognition. “I’m sorry, I can’t say that I understand.”

“This ain’t my uniform, ma’am. I took it off a fellow I left back in the Rue Toulouse alley. Fletcher said to give you this.” He reached into his pocket and produced a folded note. “And I’m begging you, read it fast. It’s only a matter of time before some of these boys figure out none of ’em know me.”

Josephine hesitated, but took the note. She recognized Fletcher Josty’s handwriting immediately: Barataria attacked. Rick injured. Holding on at the fort. Her stomach clenched, but she had too many questions to lapse into outright panic.

“Wait, now — wait,” she said, holding out one hand toward the man in the Texas uniform. “Someone’s hit the pirate quarter?”

“That someone over there, on the lead brownie. His first rule of business when he got to town the other day was to plot it out, and yesterday he ordered the raid. Ma’am, we need to get off these streets. Hurry along, will you? I’ll walk back with you to the Garden, all right?”

“All … all right?…,” she said, not moving, not taking her eyes off the note. “I just, I don’t understand.”

Agatha broke in. “You heard him, let’s go. I’ll come with you, we’ll all of us walk.” She put an arm on Josephine’s hand and tugged.

“You’re right. Let’s go. Here, I have an idea.”

With a swift knock of the parasol’s handle, she struck Agatha’s box out of her grasp. It toppled to the ground and landed on a corner, breaking in two. The fortune-teller said, “Hey!” but the pretend-Texian got the idea and said, “I’ve got it, ma’am. Let me help you carry these things.” And in a whisper he added, “It’ll give me an excuse to join you, see?”

Throughout the rest of Jackson Square, the last of the stragglers were being ushered on their way, and the Texian soldiers were assisting where it was necessary or helpful, or where they were impatient to have the streets cleared for the evening hour.

Josephine struggled to keep from shaking as the three of them abandoned the common area. The church doors closed as they walked past, and the darkness had fallen nearly enough to call it night — so that when they ducked into the alley to the right of the church, they were suddenly all but invisible. In those narrow minutes between the sun going down and the gas lamps being struck, they were indistinguishable from the shadows.

The cathedral loomed above them, its iron fencing and thick stone walls blocking them in like a fort. Josephine drew up short in the alley, unwilling to step into the Quarter beyond, not yet. She seized the young man by the shoulder and spoke quickly, quietly.

“Why would McCoy invade the bay? What was my brother doing there, and how did he get hurt? Where is he now?”