Giant Men and Violent Women

Jewels

ASHLEY

"Have you seen her?" I ask the reggae-folk guitarist on stage at Lover's Rock.

He picks up his guitar and looks at a picture I have of Louisiana, confused.

"The governor of New Hampshire's daughter?" he asks. "Your fiancée?" His confusion grows. "Why would I have seen her? I don't have no dealin's with The House...or her."

"She comes here," I say to him with a smile. I'm not implying anything. "We can't seem to get in touch with her. Thought you might have seen her out in the crowd this past week; that's all."

"This is my first night," he says to me. "The usual girl who sings up here, she got killed the other night." Oh, shit.

I lower the picture of Louisiana. "How?" I ask.

I just saw her the other day when I was here with Presley Ann and Jewels.

"Got caught in a riot coming to work. Hit in the head."

"Are you sure?"

"Very. They're all back there, in the kitchen, crying over it right now."

He nods behind the bar, and I slide Louisiana's picture back in my coat pocket. Shit.

"Hope The Governor's daughter is okay though," he says.

"I'm sure she is," I say. "Thank you."

I turn around and walk toward Mercer, who's leaning against a wall, his eyes closed, his hands shoved in his coat pockets. The reggae-folk guitarist begins to sing "Old New Hampshire." Everywhere you go, even in Boston, you'll hear our state song—though I guess, now, it's our national anthem— playing. From the kitchen windows of log cabins to the makeshift stages of reggae-folk bars to the local news across the state, everyone's playing that song. Our song.

"Hasn't seen her," I say to Mercer.

He cracks his eyes open. "Where's the next stop?" he asks, sliding a skull cap on.

That's Mercer for you—always down to the bitter end.

"I have no idea." I'm at a loss.

Louisiana was only at her sister's for a matter of days. How the hell is she lost? And it's not like I can retrace her steps. She had no regular dinner spot. No place she liked to grab drinks from. She had no friends she hung out with. She didn't have time to date. Or did she?

"You think she's with somebody?" I ask Mercer. "Somebody she's seeing?"

"Could be, but I doubt it."

But I'm not too sure. Louisiana coming to Boston marked the first time she'd ever been on her own without the eyes of her parents monitoring and judging her every move. It would seem well within reason for her to find some guy to have drinks with, especially if Charlotte had introduced her to someone. Not that it matters. I can't find Charlotte either. I already went to the barmaid, who insisted she never saw Louisiana in here. I assumed she might have come here, considering Charlotte loves this place, but the bartender told me that I was wrong. I'm not too sure about that, but with no lead, I'm at a dead end.

I rub a hand over my face. It's the wee hours of January 10. I've been up since dawn...yesterday morning. I just left Presley Ann and the rest of The House on the steps of The Governor's mansion as they were going over our plan for independence, and the hour is catching up with me. I look at Mercer. He's exhausted, too.

"Right now," I tell him, "all I want to do is drive back to Darling, open

Presley Ann's bedroom door, and hop into her bed." "Don't we all?" he says before yawning.