As I step in front of Rashid, I give him my biggest grin and a “Hey!” Despite my outer bravado, I’m shaking on the inside; I’m so nervous.

I really want to give him a hug as a greeting, but I think it’s too soon for physical contact. Unfortunately. He’s also a masterclass of concealment and doesn’t give me anything.

“Hey,” he replies. “I’m glad you came.”

“What? Did you have doubts? Only because you said you’ll have me if you can’t have a stripper?” I’m very aware of the double entendre, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Touché. I guess I earned that one, didn’t I?” He did, but he’s not showing any remorse. Or anything at all. Damn, he’s a tough nut to crack.

“I’m not that easily offended. Shall we go in?” I suggest. He nods and gestures for me to lead the way.

Inside I spot Rosalie immediately. She’s short and plump but still impossible to overlook. It’s hard to guess her age, but for us street kids, she was always like a mother figure. She never tried to “save” us, stop us from what we were doing or lecture us. She was just there for us if we wanted her to be. Shared leftover food with us (I suspect she sometimes made an extra batch just so it would end up as a “leftover” that she could feed us). She never interfered. The only time she did was when Josie came looking for me that one Christmas Eve. At first Rosalie didn’t give me away, but when she saw in what condition I was – close to dying – she had second thoughts and called Josie. She told her where she could find me. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for her and Josie.

When Rosalie sees me, she claps her hands, comes around the corner and pulls me down for the biggest bear hug.

“Remy!” She greets me using my former street name.

I bend down to hug her back, laughing and happy to see her again.

“It’s Wendell now,” I whisper in her ear and shoot a quick glance at Rashid. No reaction, but he probably knows about my street name. I bet it’s in my file.

Rosalie gives my cheek a playful slap. “Whatever you call yourself these days, it’s real good to see you again, sugar.” She laughs and then glances at Rashid, who stands next to me, looking around, taking in the interior of the diner.

“And look at that; you brought… a friend.” She manages to phrase the last word as a question. I wish I had the answer for her. Rosalie ushers us into a quiet booth in the corner where we have a bit of privacy. Rashid and I slide into opposite benches, and Rashid has a quick look at the menu, which gives me another chance to have a closer look at him. It looks like he hasn’t shaved this morning and there’s just a bit of a shadow on his face. It makes him look older, but not in a bad way. Just more mature and it accentuates his strong jaw nicely.

Rosalie is back with a small notepad to take our order.

“What can I get y’all, boys?”

I suppress a giggle. It’s the second time today that someone called Rashid a boy. I throw him a glance, but he doesn’t look annoyed.

“I was promised the best beignets in town,” Rashid indicates to me with a nod.

Rosalie beams at me. “Well, you done come to the right place, then! For both of y’all? And some coffee? With a lil’ almond milk?”

I nod but check with Rashid, remembering his preferred drink at the Sazerac: “Tea for you?”

“Assam, if you have?” He asks Rosalie. She looks confused, and I wonder if she even knows what Assam is. “Just regular black tea is fine. With milk, please.”

Rosalie winks at me and leaves us to prepare our order. There’s a moment of awkward silence between Rashid and me until he clears his throat.

“So, did you have any further questions?”

Tonnes. But I know he means about the Talamasca, and in that case, the answer is unfortunately no. I didn’t really have time to think about it, and I’m still certain I won’t accept their offer. But now’s not the time to say that.

“Um… yeah… so… how would it work? Do I get any spy training? Cool gadgets, maybe? My own special stake for killing evil vampires?”

“You can’t kill vampires with a stake,” Rashid says matter-of-factly. “Starvation, fire, decapitation, sunlight. But with the Old Ones, those might not even work.” Huh. Interesting. Probably good to know, even though I have no intentions of killing Louis or Lestat. My anger at Louis is gone as soon as it appeared.

“But yes, you would receive some basic training. I can teach you how to shield your thoughts.” Yeah, I bet he can. “No gadgets, I’m afraid. No license to kill either.” Ha! Was that an attempt at a joke?

Rosalie interrupts us with my coffee and a plate of beignets. She stacked them all on one plate. “Easier to carry,” she says with another wink at me. The cheeky minx! She did it on purpose, so our hands could “accidentally” touch when reaching for our sweet treats. She returns with Rashid’s tea and then leaves to take care of her other customers.

I’m not going to be cheap and take advantage of the situation, so I gesture to Rashid to help himself first.

He takes a napkin and picks one of the beignets, gives it a hearty bite and nods approvingly. While he’s chewing, I take the chance to get in one of my questions.

“So, do you live in New Orleans permanently, or is this just a temporary thing?”

He swallows and wipes some powdered sugar from his lips. For a moment, I’m mesmerised and slightly distracted.

“Temporary. I’m just here for my assignment. As soon as I complete it, I’m going back to London.”

I assume I’m the assignment. Should I feel special that the Talamasca is sending their best agent (he must be…) from London to recruit me? It has probably less to do with me and more to do with Lestat and Louis.

“Two years is a long time to be temporary.” I don’t actually think he’s been here the entire time, but I’m trying to mask this interrogation as casual conversation, alright?

“What?” He knits his eyebrow, looking puzzled. Gotcha! It’s not a smile, but I take every small victory. “Oh! No, I’ve only been here for four days this time. I was here before. As you know.”

“You were at Lestat’s concert. Was that another assignment or just for pleasure?”

“Work,” he confirms. “After what happened at Lestat’s last concert, the Talamasca thought it better to have some agents present.” Some? Wow… and what happened at Lestat’s last concert? I’m his fan. I should know. I can’t remember, only that his career ended somewhat abruptly, and he disappeared completely from the face of the earth for a while.

“So, this is it? My ‘assignment’? Spy on Lestat? And Louis?” It’s been implied but never said out loud.

Rashid nods between two sips of tea. I can see him wrinkle his nose faintly after the first taste. Rosalie’s tea is apparently not up to his standards, but he doesn’t complain and keeps drinking it.

“Yes. You’d be an informant. Just report back what you see or hear. We have other informants in place, but none with such… intimate access to them.”

“I’m not having sex with them.” I feel like this needs to be made clear.

He raises an eyebrow. “Duly noted.” He takes another sip before he goes on. “There were conflicting reports about your relationship status with the vampires.”

Damn. I don’t want to be an informant for the Talamasca. Too late now…

“We’re just friends,” I add a little meekly.

“That’s actually quite remarkable. Vampires tend to keep to themselves and avoid any human attachments. Lestat, of course, always had a fondness for musicians, so there were always some around where he was. And Louis…” Rashid suddenly breaks off with a strange look at me. What about Louis…?

“You’re not eating,” Rashid says after another moment of silence. I don’t know what to say and take one of the beignets. I nibble at it a little unenthusiastically. They’re amazing as usual, freshly baked and still a little warm in the middle. But it’s hard to eat when your intestines are in a nervous knot. With a guilty look at Rosalie behind the counter serving other customers, I take a bigger bite. She’ll be upset if we don’t finish this plate.

“So, you’re from New Orleans originally?” Rashid asks.

Is this still part of my assessment? I’m sure the information is in my file.

“Born and bred.” I confirm. I’ve never actually left New Orleans in my life, except for that school trip to Baton Rouge in my last year at high school. Just before… I gulp and drink some of my coffee to mask the jolt of pain that just ran through me. I look down at my wrist tattoo and rub it subconsciously: V 0 IV, the Roman numbers for 504, the area code of New Orleans. It stands for my home (Nola), my family (Josie has the same tattoo), and my first love (Remy).

“You must have all the inside knowledge then. Know all the places: where to go, where to eat, where to drink…”

He trails off, and I shrug. I guess so… I avoid looking at Rashid; I don’t want him to see my sorrow and force down another bite.

“I heard about Ghost Tours in the French Quarter. They sound fun. Have you ever done one?”

Honestly? A Talamasca agent, and he thinks Ghost Tours are… fun? I peek up at him. Is that… no way… is he showing me the tiniest hint of a smile? I pause and replay his last sentence in my head. Wait a minute there… hold on… He’s not… is he?

“I’ve never done one. It’s more for tourists, not locals.” I’m still puzzled. Why are we talking about Ghost Tours now? I look up at him. There’s a warmth and … vulnerability in his eyes that I’ve not seen there before. It’s so unexpected and a surprise that it literally renders me speechless.

“But a local could go on one with a tourist?” Rashid continues, and I can’t believe it. He’s asking me out on a second date! I mean… that’s truly a date, right? Going on a Ghost Tour is a date, not a business meeting. Even if the business is a super secret, the supernatural observing society. Before I can recover, there’s a buzzing sound, but it’s not my phone (I put mine on silent). Rashid pulls his out and frowns.

“Sorry, I have to get this one.” He apologises and leaves the diner to take the call. I can still see him through the big windows, pacing up and down talking. I think I must be staring after him open-mouthed when I feel Rosalie’s hand on my shoulder.

“Mmm, you got yourself a nice one there, sugar. That your beau?”

“Nah, we only just met.” But he might have just asked me out on a second date. I still don’t understand how it happened. One moment we’re talking about spying on vampires, and the next he’s inviting me to go on a Ghost Tour with him. Isn’t he?

“Mmm-hmm, well, he ain’t taken his eyes off you for a split second, sugar. That boy’s got it bad, I can tell. Don’t go lettin’ him slip through your fingers now – he’s hot!”

“Oh, I noticed, alright. Try not to, but he’s a hard nut to crack.” I smile up at her, standing next to me. So she saw him looking at me? Really?

“Mmm, well, you keep at it, sugar. He’s worth it.” Rashid is coming back in, so I just squeeze Rosalie’s hand on my shoulder lightly. Rashid runs his finger through his hair. It’s a gesture I will later recognise as a sure sign that he’s agitated over something. Of course, I don’t know that yet. I just think it’s cute the way he ruffles up his perfectly combed hair and makes the tips stick out wildly.

He doesn’t sit down again; he just stands in front of our table and says, “I’m sorry, something’s come up, and I… I have to go. I’m really sorry.”

“Oh… okay… well… if you have to go…” I don’t think I’m hiding my disappointment well.

Rashid lingers for a moment, tapping the table with his fingers, as if he’s trying to make a decision.

“Goodbye, Wendell,” he finally says and dashes out of the diner without waiting for my reaction. My eyes follow him outside, where I can see a black SUV stop right in front of Rosalie’s. He gets in, and the car speeds off. Mr Superspy. I bet there are cool gadgets, and he was only lying about it.

I groan and let my face fall onto the table. He asked me out on another date, but he left – again – without a time and place. Who’d have thought dating is so much more difficult than hustling? When you’re hustling, it’s pretty straightforward: You agree on a position and the price, you get the money, and the client gets what he wants, done. Most of the time, anyway.

I’m not used to this hormone-induced confusion, this rollercoaster of feelings. I know I’m a mess and my emotions are all over the place. I feel like a teenager picking petals off a flower: “He loves me, he loves me not.” But I’m not a teenager anymore; I’m fucking 23 and should know what I’m doing. But I’m completely lost and have no idea. The only things I’m certain about are that I want to know what it’s like to be wrapped up in Rashid’s arms, to be held by him, to brush my fingers over the stubble on his cheek, and to kiss his lips.

I can feel soft hips gently pushing me towards the wall. I don’t have to look up to know it’s Rosalie sitting down next to me.

“There ya go. On the house,” she says, and when I lift my head, I can see another plate of beignets and fresh coffee on the table.

“I got a job, Rosalie; I can pay you. Ya ain’t gotta do this no more.” I sound almost pleadingly.

“Then pay it forward, sugar. I ain’t takin’ money from you,” she insists. “It gon’ be alright.”

She rubs my back reassuringly and sits with me for a while. Not talking, just sitting with me, before she gets up to serve some new customers. In the end I finish my coffee, get another to-go and ask Rosalie’s waitress to put the leftover beignets in a paper bag. I walk outside and let my feet guide me. They know where they’re going, and it doesn’t take me long to find what I’m looking for.

He’s about the age I was when I started. 16, maybe 17. South Asian. I imagine Rashid might have looked like him when he was that age. The kid sees me watching and straightens up a bit. I look up and down the street, but we’re alone. This is a quiet side street, the hum and thrum of the city behind us. I approach the kid. It feels… strange. I’ve done this a thousand times at least, but the roles were always reversed. I was the kid, and some guy came to me.

“Are you hungry?” He nods eagerly, and I hand him the paper bag. It says “Rosalie’s Bakery”. I watch him as he basically wolfs down the beignets inside.

“Coffee?” I offer him the paper cup. When he takes it, I ask him his name.

He hesitates and then says “Rahul” between two bites of sugary goodness. I know it’s not his real name, but I accept it. I hesitate, but then I lift my hand up to caress his cheek. He avoids my gaze but doesn’t stop me; instead, he focuses on finishing his last bites. I can see that he steels himself for what’s to come. He hasn’t done this often; maybe it’s even his first time.

“Do you smoke, Rahul?” I mostly stopped smoking, but I usually have some cigarettes on me out of habit. Rahul eyes me suspiciously, but then accepts a cigarette when he sees me take one as well. I light them up, and we stand there smoking in silence for a while.

“So… what… erm… what can I do you for?” He tries to sound brave, but I can tell he’s afraid.

I take a last drag from my cigarette, puff the smoke out in a circle and kick the stump to the kerb. I put my arm around his waist and pull him a little closer. I can feel him shivering. I let my hand glide into the back pocket of his jeans and leave a 20-dollar bill there.

“Nothing, kid,” I tell him. “Just stay safe and never let anyone ever fuck you without a condom.”

Then I let him go and walk away, back to my apartment.