Maybe it was that I'm years outside the so-called "young adult" target audience. Maybe it was the annoying misspelling of Marie Laveau's surname. Maybe it's the number of years I've studied New Orleans culture from time to time and it just didn't feel quite ... right.
Maybe I just didn't believe in the protagonist.
It could have been any or all of those things, but I just didn't love this book. I picked it up in an optimistic frenzy of "read all the New Orleans things" in preparation for an upcoming visit; I like to include atmospheric fiction in such things.
The main character, Claire, is the great-great granddaughter of voodoo priestess Marie "Leveau" (as the author insists on spelling it -- when 30 seconds of research would have told her this was incorrect) ... and doesn't believe in voodoo. She's being groomed to be part of the Guild, but wants no part of it.
Pretty soon, the homes of Guild members are being broken into and items belonging to the first-born are being stolen -- in a way that makes it very clear that poppet/doll baby magic is going to be used later in the story. And, of course, creepy guys are following Claire all over the University District and the French Quarter.
By the time the book came to its climactic scene, I was kind of tired of the whole thing.