That had been a mixed blessing. Some people she was glad to have found, like Gris-gris, her boyfriend, a quick, thin, dark-skinned black man who had run a minor gambling organization and had treated her, well, better than she deserved at least once. Some had been a disaster, like Nathaniel. He had glamour--not in the fashion sense, though he was handsome, dressed well, and walked like he owned the world--but the magical ability to cloud minds and bend them to his will. It had worked on her for a time; it never would again. He had left town before she and Mai could take revenge on him for seducing Val. If he was smart, he would never come back to New Orleans.
She couldn't blame anyone for her bad choices. She just had to learn to live with them. That meant, for the moment, putting up with morning sickness and possibly having to find a bigger place once the baby came. She and Griffen had been comfortable in the pair of cozy apartments in what had in the eighteenth and early-nineteenth century been slave quarters in the inner courtyard of one of the huge gated houses of the French Quarter, but they were never meant to be the siblings' permanent homes. Val knew it, but she hated to leave the protected confines. Still, it would be better to start looking for a new place while she could still get around easily. She promised herself to ask Jerome for leads. He had been the one who got them these apartments. He must know of something that was affordable and close by. The rents she had seen listed in the classified section of the Times-Picayune struck her as exorbitant, far beyond her means as a bartender; but the underground economy of the French Quarter usually meant that word of mouth was far better than using commercial services.