August 10 | Day

"You have to understand." Mr. Walker couldn't contain his amusement. "Your mother was a practical joker to the end!"

We sat at a roundtable in a high rise office building. The rest of the board members entrusted to oversee my mother's considerable wealth erupted with laughter. When I looked to my left, Fitz was laughing, too. I felt the confusion on my face as I tried to laugh along, but my stilted braying turned hysterical as the faces around me expressed hilarity that I couldn't feel.

"You have to understand," said Mr. Walker in reality. "Hurricane Katrina was an unprecedented natural disaster amplified by man-made errors or, or neglect, really. I imagine when Mrs. Murphy discovered you in a flat bottom boat in the flood waters, she—well, she didn't know what else to do with you."

The high rise building overlooking the corporate splendor of New Orleans downsized, and I was back in his cramped, store-front office in a seedier part of the city. Mr. Anthony Walker avoided eye contact and seemed like he would rather be anywhere else than meeting with me on a Saturday afternoon, even though he had set it up. There was no inheritance to speak of, other than the sad truth that the woman I had called mother was a fugitive child-stealer.

Fitz covered my hands with his. He sat beside me in the other scratchy tweed-covered chair. Without him present, I was positive I would have attacked the mousy attorney fiddling with a fountain pen while trying to make excuses for my kidnapping.

Diplomas hung askew on the faded wallpaper behind the man, propping up his questionable reputation. The cluttered desk and twentieth-century computer monitor did little to dispel the feeling that Edwina Murphy's lawyer was a quack. Clearly, she had chosen him for that reason.

"She could have taken me to the authorities." Rubbing my temples, I froze as a thought occurred to me. "Don't tell me she knew who my real parents were?" Mr. Walker's carrot hair flopped forward as he lowered his gaze. His mustache twitched above pursed lips. "Did she?" I pressed.

"She left a name," he said.

I raised an eyebrow in shock that he hadn't led with that information.

He tossed aside the pen and nodded, straightening in his chair. "Along with the book and the letter that she left for you, she gave me a name: Zyr Ravani. I have no idea of the relation, but she said it might be of some relevance to you in the event of her demise."

"How in the entire fuck could you keep such a life-shattering secret?" Fitz demanded to know. But I was more concerned with how Edwina had guessed she would die soon. She had only been fifty-seven years old. Why had she been getting her affairs in order? The coroner had ruled her death of natural causes, though they hadn't found anything wrong with her.

Mr. Walker spread his hands helplessly. "If I can speak plainly in my defense, Mrs. Murphy only revealed these things to me about a month ago. Had minors been involved, I would have reported it immediately! I think, I think she intentionally waited until Ms. Murphy was old enough..."

"Not to go to the cops," I finished for him grimly.

***

Edwina had underestimated me. Five days after the meeting with Mr. Walker, I did go to the cops. I needed to know who I was.

Leaving Fitz at an All You Can Eat crawfish buffet, I took a bus to see Detective Zyr Ravani, the man whose card the lawyer had given me. The ride across the metropolitan area gave me time to think. According to Mr. Walker, Edwina had kidnapped me when I was six or seven years old. Strange that I couldn't remember a time without her. Nothing in New Orleans looked familiar to me, either, and maybe it should have. Why couldn't I recall my real family?

I arrived at the police station, where the overwhelming noise and activity of a place dedicated to crime prevention made me feel anxious. I can't do this, I thought as I retreated out the door. Just then, a police car sped by with its lights and sirens blasting, and I shuddered uncontrollably and ducked back into the building.

"Yes, you can do this, Nixie. You have to," I whispered. I had left Fitz behind on purpose. If my mother's death had taught me anything, it was that it was time I stood on my own two feet. I had been isolated and sheltered my whole life, and I felt completely unprepared for a reality without Edwina, but I didn't have a choice.

I inserted my earbuds and found a seat in the waiting area. As I sang quietly under my breath, I considered how twenty-three years of Mama's suffocating love had been unraveled in a single admission. I was angry at Edwina Murphy for what she had done. At the same time, I felt her loss deeply, and guilt made my throat close as I thought about how many ways I had tried to escape her—from daydreaming to plotting a move to Los Angeles.

With her gone for good, all I wanted to do was go back to the couch in the busted old trailer in Arizona and listen to her complain about work.

At last, the receptionist led me to Detective Zyr Ravani. "How can I help you?" The attractive Desi moved papers around his desk without glancing up. His chiseled features and imposing frame might have made a girl look twice under normal circumstances, but he seemed incredibly young to have known my mother.

I wondered when they could have met. Mama hadn't left Arizona in years, to my knowledge. Then again, I had also been unaware of her trip to see Mr. Anthony Walker. She had probably squeezed the visit into one of her weekend getaways when she told me she was out with her friends.

"Um, hi. My name is Nixie Murphy." I nervously lowered to the chair in front of him and removed my mother's letter from my purse. "Oh, Fontenot. Nixie Fontenot," I said as I brandished the envelope.

Detective Ravani finally peered at me. "And how-can-I-help-you?" he repeated slower.

My smile stiffened. How can you help? "Well..." Tell me that my mom was my mom. Tell me that she didn't die.

He stopped shuffling papers and drummed his desk. I noticed an All Points Bulletin under his knuckles to be on the lookout for a street racing gang. "Listen, I'm up to my eyeballs in work on a high profile hit-and-run case," said Detective Ravani. My gaze flicked back to his stern face. "You asked for me personally, so if you can just, you know, spit it out."

"Do you know who I am?" I asked.

He gave an exaggerated shrug. "Nixie Murphy or Fontenot. Other than that, no. Anything else?"

My eyelids fluttered in annoyance. "No, I was kidnapped, and the woman who took me listed you as someone who might have information on me or my family. I thought you might know me by 'Fontenot.'"

"Okay." He started scribbling on a notepad. "Alright, a potential kidnapping case. Would you like to open an investigation on the New Orleans side or the Overlay City side?"

"I–Where's Overlay City? No, I don't want to open an investigation. My mother–Edwina Murphy–is dead. There's no need to press charges against her. But why would she leave your name as a contact if you don't know anything about me?" I asked, pulling on my purse to go.

A clueless look flitted across his face, but then he sat up straighter. "Actually, she could have meant Zyr Ravani, Sr. "

"What?" I paused.

His amber eyes lit upon the book protruding from my bag, and he nodded. "Yeah, probably my father. He was an antiquities dealer, presumed dead for years, but..." He wore a thoughtful expression as he rose to his feet. "You know what? Let me walk you out."

Disappointed at his lack of information about my birth family, I collected the letter and the rest of my things. "I can find the door, thank you," I mumbled.

However, Detective Zyr Ravani followed me anyway. Outside the precinct, he pulled me aside. "You need to visit Overlay City Hall. It's obvious that you don't know what you are, much less who you are, but perhaps someone there can help you find your type," he said in a low tone.

"My type?" What in the world was he talking about? I stared at him in confusion.

"They may be able to reconnect you with your people. Here, this will guide you." He took out his mobile device and wirelessly dropped directions to a nearby location. "Best of luck," he said as he reentered his workplace.

I followed him with my eyes, then looked at the time on my phone. Thanks to the long bus ride, quite a while had gone by. Fitz was likely back at the inn, but I contemplated investigating the lead without my best friend. He could be overprotective and impulsive in his attempts to keep me safe. I didn't need him micromanaging me. Besides, Overlay City Hall was within walking distance. I set out to find it.

The sun beat down on my neck and shoulders like a copper drum, turning my skin a deeper shade of brown. The humidity was good for my dry skin, which had been an issue for me in the desert, and I was enjoying the walk. Was this the adventure that Fitz had said I needed? I found myself choosing to be present in the moment instead of daydreaming as usual.

Immersed in the color and character of New Orleans, artwork and architecture caught my eye. A lyrical mix of dialects captivated my ear. A cacophony of different tunes played from hidden speakers above each shop I passed, and everything was for sale. Pedestrians moved around me like a river. The spicy aroma of Cajun cuisine mixed with incense, body sprays, perfumes, and sweat. I followed my device through the crowd, sticking to the path.

Still, I passed the building twice before realizing it was the right one. The bold midcentury style should've drawn my gaze on the first go-round, but something about the corner lot made it easy to miss. I studied the beacon on my phone indicating I had arrived, and I shot off a text to Fitz letting him know where I was.

Be safe out there. I mean it. I'll flip this city on its head if anything happens to you, he texted back. I chuckled to myself.

As I stepped into Overlay City Hall, refreshing coolness washed over me. Blessed air conditioning. I used a napkin from my purse to wipe perspiration from my face while my eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lights.

Surveying the room, gray speckled tiles stretched in beige squares from wall to olive green wall. Inspirational posters were tacked alongside official advertisements for resources and other services. I didn't recognize any of the departments mentioned. Spectral Relocation? Dark Energy Management? Maybe they did things differently in Louisiana.

A few people stood in queues. The place had that printer paper and hot toner smell. Signs labeled windowed offices, but it suddenly occurred to me that Detective Ravani hadn't told me where to go from here.

I was drawn to a bulletin board. There was a Wanted poster for the members of a street racing gang, but their images were grainy surveillance stills. I squinted my eyes, but I couldn't make them out. I also noticed a Missing Persons flyer and recognized the girl who had been hit by the SUV the night Fitz and I arrived in New Orleans. Wasn't that the case Detective Ravani had been working on? I thought she had died...

"Is there something I can do for you?" a woman asked.

I spun around. "Hi," I said. A middle-aged receptionist smiled politely from the information desk that I hadn't noticed. I tugged my purse closer and hurried over to her. "Hi, I'm Nixie Murphy. Uh, Detective Ravani told me I might find out more about my...type...? Here?" I raised an eyebrow, hoping she knew what that meant.

Thankfully, the receptionist–Kelly, her name tag read–nodded and started keying into her computer. "Date of birth?" she asked.

I told her the date, but I wondered if it was correct. There was no telling what else Edwina Murphy had lied to me about. For example, my birth certificate said I was born in Arizona. I grabbed a handful of my locs and absentmindedly ran my fingers through them to cool my scalp. The movement caused my sleeve to ride up at my elbow, exposing my bare forearm. Kelly looked up and did a double-take at my birthmark. I was used to getting that reaction, so I just smiled.

"I know. It looks like a tree," I said.

"W-what did you say your last name was?" She stopped typing.

"Murph–" It was reflexive. I shook my head. "I'm sorry. It's Fontenot."

Kelly's eyes widened, her lips parted, and she pushed back from her desk in a dramatic bow. I stared at her in confusion as she excitedly gestured towards me and said, "Please, stay right here." She returned with someone else who did the same after taking one look at my birthmark. The two of them kept me waiting while they talked in hushed tones. What on earth was going on?