Chapter 3
Dev
Shock rippled through me. I gently squeezed the woman’s surprisingly well-muscled arm and then squatted down to pick up the phone, handing it to her with a half-shrug. “Seems we’re meeting sooner than anticipated. Ms. Arbor, I presume?”
As she accepted the device and tapped the red circle to end the call, she shook her head in an only-me fashion and grinned, an expression that felt as if the sun had finally come out on a particularly stormy day—in part because I knew she didn’t smile all that often. My skin tingled with that indisputable knowledge. First impressions were interesting for someone like me, a Houngan—a Vodou priest of reasonable power—a descendant of a line of incredibly powerful practitioners of both Haitian Vodou and New Orleans Voodoo. I knew more than most, and sometimes way more than I wanted to.
“And you must be Dev. Call me Hanlen, everybody does, even my clients, unless they’re calling me things not fit for pleasant company.” She laughed a bit and then straightened her light jacket before running her hands down her jeans. A nervous gesture. Sure, we’d hit reasonably hard, but nothing too terrible. The only casualty in the whole mess was her phone, which I noticed now had a tiny crack in the upper right corner. Honestly, I couldn’t bring myself to regret the collision.
The woman was stunning. Her long, dark hair was pulled back from her face in a tail, accentuating the sharpness of her cheekbones and her full lips set in skin the color of beige silk. She had a narrow face with eyes the color of molten amber. Beneath the layers of her clothing, I’d felt her strength in the bare few moments I’d held her to steady her, and I wondered what the rest of her looked like. I mentally shook my head.
“Are you okay?” I asked, looking for any sign that she wasn’t, both what the average person could see and what they couldn’t.
She tucked a stray piece of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear and licked her lips. I couldn’t help but zero in on the movement, and being well, a guy, I couldn’t stop the images my mind conjured in response. Merde, what was wrong with me? I noticed a slight shiver in her body and barely stopped myself from cocking a brow. Interesting.
She still hadn’t answered me, so I asked again, “Hanlen, are you all right? Did I hurt you?”
She started shaking her head before I had even finished the sentence. “No, no. I’m fine. Sorry. It’s been a long day, even though it’s barely late afternoon. And I haven’t eaten yet today. Maybe my blood sugar’s low or something.”
I didn’t think low blood sugar was the problem at all. I tried not to pay attention to the apparition that passed behind her. Hanlen Arbor was obviously a natural sensitive if nothing else, though I didn’t think she actually knew that. Most quote-unquote normal people didn’t. They chalked up those strange feelings and times of spot-on intuition as nothing more than coincidence. I, however, knew better—boy, did I ever.
I watched as she tucked her phone into her purse and looked around before focusing once again on me. “Do you happen to know where Goodies Fine Wine and Spirits is? I was on my way there when I called you.”
I pointed down the street. “You almost made it before I took you out.” I smiled. “John Goode is actually a friend. I can walk you there if you’d like.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll be fin—”
“I know you’d likely be fine, but I insist. It’s the least I can do after literally running you over. And speaking of taking you out, if you’re up for it, I’d love to buy you dinner. My way of apologizing. Plus, I still need to chat with you about some preliminary things regarding Arborwood and the connected cemetery. And it could help that low blood sugar.” I resisted the urge to smirk.
She looked pensive for about half a heartbeat, so I decided to sweeten the pot. “Dooky Chase,” I said in a singsong. Dooky Chase’s was the absolute best for a good home-cooked Creole meal. Nobody turned down a chance to go. At least, I hoped that would be the case here.
Her eyes widened a fraction and then she said, “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Glapion. Nobody in their right mind would say no to Edgar Chase’s gumbo.”
“Damn straight.” I motioned to the sidewalk with a flourish, extending my arm out in front of me. “After you.”
Chapter 4
Hanlen
Somehow, I had two half-pints of whiskey—one honey, one apple, neither of which I had paid for thanks to Dev’s good friend John Goode—in a bag under my chair and was now seated at a table with one of the most captivating men I had ever met. Everything about him was simply . . . electric. From his voice to his looks to the compassion and care he fairly exuded from his pores. The problem was, I knew what he did, and I couldn’t help the mental scoff—or even worse, a verbal one—every time I thought about it.
Yet, I had to try. Dev and I would be working together in some fashion for the next week, at least. If not longer. I didn’t know how much they’d actually need me, but Mom had told me to make sure I was at least somewhat available, which led me to believe that there would be interaction.
“So, I take it you like whiskey,” Dev said as he set down the drink menu.
“I do. Probably a little too much,” I said, suddenly feeling a bit insecure. Where did that come from? I didn’t give a shit what other people thought of me. I never had. At least not since Reagan. Why was I feeling embarrassed about my earlier procurement or the fact that I did, indeed, enjoy my whiskey? Who the hell cared?
Dev broke me out of my thoughts. “May I make a drink suggestion? Having lived here, you may have tried it, but depending on when you left our fair city, maybe you haven’t.”
Intrigued, I cocked an eyebrow and offered Dev a go-ahead gesture.
“Sazerac. It’s rye, bitters, sugar, and herbsaint.” He opened the main menu and set it in front of him, letting me think over the suggestion.
“Herbsaint. Isn’t that black licorice?”
“Anise, yes. It’s become an absinthe substitute in certain cocktails. But in the Sazerac, it’s not overpowering. Besides, anise is good for you. It has some great metaphysical properties.”
Here we go . . .
“Metaphysical properties, huh? Do tell, Professor Glapion.”
He quirked his lips, clearly holding in a full smile. “All right, for your information, essential oils have all sorts of health and wellbeing benefits, and not just for us New Age folks.”
When I thought to interrupt, he beat me to it. “Don’t bother denying it, I know you were thinking it. But anyway, they are good for a lot of stuff. They’re also used magically by those so inclined. Anise is great for bolstering intuition and warding off evil.”
A shudder crept up on me suddenly. I couldn’t help it. I took a drink of my water to stave off the effects. All I could see were the pictures of Reagan’s broken and defiled body on the asphalt. I mentally shook myself to get back to the present. “Warding off evil, you say? And what kind of evil, pray tell, should I be warding myself from?” I swore I heard him mumble something about me being surprised, but I couldn’t be sure. He’d grabbed his nearby water glass for a drink.
Just as I thought he might finally address my question, the waitress returned to the table to take our drink and dinner orders. I decided to give the Sazerac a shot, and Dev ordered a bottle of Ghost in the Machine. I cringed at the thought of the double IPA, but to each his own. At least I couldn’t fault the man for his food choices. I ordered the gumbo and the cornbread, and he got the jambalaya and biscuits. And he was on brand with his drink of choice. I grinned to myself.
When they were delivered, and I took my first sip of the drink, I was pleasantly surprised. Dev had been right, the herbsaint was subtle and it paired awesomely with the bitters and the rye. Strange, but I dug it.
“Well?” he asked, watching me intently over the neck of his bottle.
“It’s good. It’s really good, actually. Thanks for the rec.”
He flashed me a heart-stopping smile, and my stomach did a little flip. God, what
is wrong with me? I had never, in all my life, reacted this way to a man. This could be dangerous on so many levels.
He set his bottle down and looked at me intently. “So, what all has your mom told you about the show and the shoot?” Apparently, he wasn’t going to backtrack and tell me more about this so-called evil my drink should be warding me from. I barely resisted the urge to shake my head in truth, instead of just mentally. I really hoped this guy wasn’t crazy. Well . . . crazier than I already thought him to be. It might be nice to get to know him better while I was in town. Assuming he was single, of course.
I took another sip of my whiskey concoction and thought back to what I knew. “Honestly, not much. She said you guys need access to the plantation, both the house and the outbuildings, and that you would be doing the actual shoot for the show over a seventy-two-hour period.”
He nodded along while I spoke, nursing his bottle of IPA. “All of that is true. What do you know about the show?”
Oh boy, here it was. How did I tell him that I knew nothing and thought the premise was bull? Tact, don’t fail me now. “Here again, not much, truth be told. I know you guys are ghost hunters. I know you’re hoping to prove some of the stories my family and others have told about the plantation. Mom sent me some clips from the show, but work has been crazy, and I didn’t get a chance to watch them. I apologize.” There, that wasn’t so bad.
The waitress stopped by with our food, and we took a few moments to stuff our faces before he wiped his mouth and chimed back in. “All of that is true, but Haunted New Orleans doesn’t just set out to prove ghost stories, possessions, and different kinds of hauntings, we also try to debunk them and bring closure to both the living and the dead, however needed.”
I nodded and took a sip of my Sazerac.
“I have a team,” he continued. “Videographers and sound people, of course. Other paranormal investigators who rotate in occasionally, some who are tech whizzes and others who are sensitives—witches, mediums, psychics, and the like. But I also have an excommunicated priest, two different engineers, a psychologist, and a forensic expert on staff. Their main job is to question everything we’ve been told before we set out to do a show, and everything we find when we’re there.”
I couldn’t help it; I felt a little better. But I also felt worse. I loved that they had cynics and skeptics like me to balance those . . . what did he call them? Paranormal investigators and sensitives. Seriously? How did one even get those designations? I couldn’t hold my tongue. I had to know.
“So, how does one get into this line of work? I mean, what did you say your title was? Paranormal investigator?” God, I was shit at this, the derision practically dripped from my tone. I likely had no chance with this guy when he probably thought that I thought he was a fraud.
A rueful grin twisted his gorgeous lips, and I could tell he was trying to keep from laughing. It didn’t work. He busted out in a deep belly laugh that took me aback and yet warmed my insides. Strange combination, but there it was.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, though I already knew what his answer would most likely be.
“Nothing. Okay, everything. You have a crap poker face, has anyone ever told you that?” He laughed again. “It’s clear how you feel about all of this. Why did your mom send you instead of coming herself? She seemed ridiculously excited when we reached out about accessing the estate.”
I sighed. Didn’t someone somewhere say that honesty was the best policy? Time to see if they were right.
“Mom and Jake, my stepfather, live in Florida. They have for about twelve years now. They don’t leave much. I used to live here.” I grabbed my glass, eschewing the Sazerac for my water to dislodge the lump from my throat.
“I’m primary on the estate now since I’m the only heir, and I pay for the monthly upkeep. It just made sense for me to come. Besides, I don’t live that far away. A drive from Texas was easy. And I had a case that required me to do some work here anyway.” I took a deep breath. “But, no, I don’t believe in any of this. It just seems a bit hinky to me. Sorry.”
He took a bite of his biscuit and it made me remember my cornbread. I nibbled on a corner as he chewed and swallowed before jumping back in. “Everyone’s entitled to their opinion. I’ll just have to work harder to show you that what we do can be interesting and valid and sometimes necessary. Meaningful.” He swallowed a bite of andouille. “You mentioned your work before. Your mom didn’t tell me much about you. What do you do?”
I shoveled in another spoonful of the glorious gumbo and barely held back a moan. It was so good, I had to force myself to tune back into what he’d asked me. When I looked up to answer, I saw him watching me intently. I wiped my mouth quickly. “What, do I have something on my face?”
He smiled and reached out to still my frantic hands as they swiped at my cheeks, my hair, my shirt. “No, not at all. Just . . . watching you eat. I like a woman who enjoys some good Creole cooking.” He winked.
And . . . I melted. Until I said, “Then you will love me.” Great, good one, Hanlen. “I mean, I do, indeed, enjoy my food. And this gumbo is to die for.”
He took another swig from his beer and then lifted it in a mock-cheers. “That it is. Though I’d watch that particular turn of phrase in this town.” He raised a brow and quirked his lips. “Anyway, you were saying?”
“Ah, yes, the glamorous world of Hanlen Arbor. I’m actually a private investigator. Arbor Investigations. I know, real creative.” I rolled my eyes and laughed at myself. “I’m working on a skiptrace case right now. Trying to track down a missing fugitive. Evidence has led me to believe the guy may be hiding out here in New Orleans. I have a couple of leads to follow up on.”
“You sound almost self-deprecating about it. It seems awesome to me,” he said, before taking another bite of his jambalaya. “And it’s a service that people need, and not many can provide. I feel like it takes a certain kind of person to be a P.I.”
I snorted. “What kind of person is that? Jaded, alcoholic, antisocial . . .?”
“Wow,” he replied. “Now it really does sound glamorous. Sign me up! Gotta be better than chasing dead people and delivering bad news that the beloved ghost in the attic is really just bad plumbing.”
I knew he was teasing me, and I actually liked it. I tended to turn people off in short order after meeting them, especially in recent years. Dev Glapion seemed a little harder to shake. I enjoyed it. It had been a long time since I could be myself with someone. Maybe even longer since I’d wanted to. And while I was still holding some things in, for some strange reason, I felt like I could let loose with Dev, and he wouldn’t run screaming.
We spent the next hour or so eating, drinking, and talking about his work and mine and what would be required of me for the show, and I found myself enjoying the night. It had been a while since I’d been out with someone, especially someone of the opposite sex, and actually relaxed enough to have fun. Dev was great. He may be a whack job who believed in ghosts, but he was awesome. And I could withhold my judgment if it meant being able to laugh like this again while I was in town.
Chapter 5
Dev
We closed down the restaurant, and I realized I couldn’t get enough of Hanlen. Sure, she was a bit acerbic and had absolutely no respect for what I did, but I hoped I could change her mind about that. At the very least, the next week or so would be entertaining, and she would provide good company.
Walking out the double doors of the establishment and onto the already—always—bustling streets of Tremé, I took Hanlen’s bag of bottles from her with a grin.
“Wow, such a gentleman,” she deadpanned and then smirked.
I tipped an imaginary hat. “At your service, m’lady.” Which made her laugh, as I’d intended. “So, where are you staying—if that’s not privileged information?” I asked, gazing up the way, wondering if she’d walked far from the hotel or maybe had grabbed a rideshare before walking the rest of the way on foot to where I’d run int
o her.
“Ah, so you guys didn’t book it for me. I’ll have to give my mom hell for not putting me up somewhere posher. I’m at The Ravisan,” she said and glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. I couldn’t help but stutter a bit in my steps. The Ravisan was one of the most haunted hotels in New Orleans. If Hanlen was indeed sensitive as I suspected, she was in for an interesting stay.
“So, we have a bit of a walk ahead of us then,” I said. “Are you okay with that, or should I app a car like we did earlier to get here?” I smiled at her, gauging her reaction. I’d be fine either way. The night was beautiful, and I wouldn’t mind more of her company. But it was about four miles to The Ravisan, even through the park and down Esplanade.
She flashed me a smile, the one I was coming to call resplendent in my head, as ostentatious as the word was. The one I wasn’t sure she shared with the world all that often. Then she said, “I’d love to walk. It’s been a minute since I’ve been here, and while I wondered how I’d feel about being back, I’m finding that some part of me missed it more than I imagined.” She looked away shyly and I couldn’t wait to get to the bottom of that trepidation. While my senses picked up that it was something born of the erection of personal walls, I could also feel pain. Soul-deep, personal, life-changing pain. I knew that type of hurt. Had lived it.
We headed off, taking in the breeze and the energy of the city. There really was no place in the world like New Orleans.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Hanlen said, echoing my thoughts. “I had forgotten just how much, and how captivating the city could be.”
“It really is,” I agreed. “There’s no place like it, and I’m grateful I get to call it home.”
Halfway through the park, I felt the energy change. A dark, oppressive, almost choking sensation replaced the lightness of earlier, and I immediately went on alert. Something was about to happen—or already had. Without startling Hanlen, I looked around, searching for the source of the discomfort and any friends or foes to be found.
Memento Mori: Haunted New Orleans Series Page 2
