Gods of New Orleans by AJ Sikes

picture of a white family, walking down a street, smiling and wearing sharp clothes. They looked like any bunch of folks Aiden might have known.
    “Open it and look, please, Aiden,” his mother said. Aiden felt her impatience as much as he heard it, so he was quick to flip the cover back.
    The first page listed the contents. Lodging and Restaurants was first. Then came Gas Stations, Barbershops and Salons, and Clothiers .
    “What’re we looking for, Ma?”
    “A place to stay, Aiden. What else? Oh, give me that,” she said and snatched the book from his hands. He watched her leaf through the book while a burning ache filled his chest. It’d been a while since she treated him like some snotty-faced kid, and it couldn’t be long enough before she did it again.
    “Okay,” his ma said while she looked around the street. She seemed to decide on something and closed the book, handing it back to him in the same motion. “Follow me.”
    Aiden stuffed the book into his pants pocket again and tried to stuff his face into his shirt. He knew things were going to be rough here, but wasn’t ready for how his ma had turned out all of a sudden. He almost wished he’d gone off with Miss Farnsworth and her N‌—‌ her jazz man, Mr. Collins.
    Aiden kept up thinking about the two of them, and hoped he would see them both again someday.
    Sooner the better .
    “We’re almost there, Aiden,” his ma said a few blocks later as they came around a corner. She’d had him pull the green book out and give it to her twice while they walked, and each time she seemed to settle down a bit from before. By the time they hit Constance Street, he almost felt ready to talk to her again.
    “There’s our destination,” his ma said. “Let’s just hope they have a vacancy like the saloon owner said.”
    Up ahead, Aiden saw a shop window with dresses and bonnets hanging on mannequins and racks.
    They’d come down Constance, passing rows of storefronts and houses. Before that they’d been on a cross street, Aiden didn’t know which one, but it wasn’t a main stem like Constance was. As they walked, he’d cast his gaze down every alley they passed, when he wasn’t busy watching his shoes hit the pavement.
    When he did look down the alleys, he found himself thinking about avenues of escape along the narrow streets that bent and juked their way through the Channel neighborhood.
    One thing Aiden promised himself when they landed in Metairie was that he’d learn the streets of this new city. Same as his friend Digs had learned Chicago City and knew every way in and out of trouble there. Aiden would learn New Orleans like that, in case he ever needed to lam it and stay safe. And he’d make sure his ma and pa knew it, too.
    “Aiden,” his ma said, snapping his attention from the empty alley he’d been staring down.
    “Yeah, Ma. I was just‌—‌”
    “You were daydreaming, Aiden, and that’s not a good thing to be doing in this city. It’s not a good thing to do in any city. People will see you staring off into the sky and the next thing you know somebody’s picking your pocket. Or worse. Now pay attention.”
    “Yes, Ma,” he said, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks again and struggling to hold in the angry shame that burned him under his shirt.
    “I’m going inside,” his ma said, aiming a finger at the dress shop behind them. “You’re to wait outside and stay alert. Keep an eye out for any . . .” Then she seemed to lose her way. Aiden was about to offer a few words to finish her thoughts, but she picked up again. “Any people who look like trouble. I’m sure you know what I mean, so I don’t need to say it.”
    Aiden did know what she meant, but the whole time they’d been walking through the neighborhood, he hadn’t seen a single dark-skinned person.
    “Sure thing, Ma. I’ll keep careful.”
    “Good,” she said. Aiden watched her knock on the dressmaker’s door before going inside. He figured it was okay to