Memento Mori: Haunted New Orleans Series

by Rayvn Salvador

  “What did he say?” I asked, not believing those words had actually come out of my mouth.

  “He said that I would be stupid if I didn’t jump at the chance to work with a researcher and historian who basically now knows everything.”

  “What are the Akashic Records?” I asked, needing a bit more to understand the context.

  “For those who believe in divine wisdom,” Dev said, “the Akashic Records are a compendium of all universal events. Thoughts, words, emotions, intent . . . everything that has ever occurred or will occur in terms of all life forms—both human and not.”

  “Geez. That’s intense,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Dev answered. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you have to admit, it’s a comforting thought.”

  He wasn’t wrong. If those we’d lost were wherever they ended up and inherently knew when things would happen and how they tied into events of the past, it would be like having the best guardians ever. Maybe Reagan was watching out for me and guiding me. I loved that thought, but it didn’t stem the pain I still felt. And I had another question.

  “But if they know everything that happened and will happen, then why don’t we already know who killed them?”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not how it works. I mean, it is,” he said, “but there are rules. One of the biggest ones being that they cannot know their own fates—past, present, or future—and they can only access the records if they actively go searching. It isn’t like just having the entire knowledge of the universe instantly in their heads. They can easily access things to get answers, but not if it pertains to them. There has to be balance. And because people like me exist and can talk to those who have access to that knowledge, someone, somewhere, decided that it wouldn’t be fair. Not to mention, as we’ve found, if the person being researched has ties to someone who has ties and so forth, the knowledge gets . . . muddy and a bit obscured. Which is why my sister and Findley have yet to discover who killed Wren, even though they’ve had other murders to investigate.”

  “Well, that’s bullshit,” I said, and Dev laughed.

  “You’re not wrong,” he agreed.

  Dev said goodbye to the historian, telling him that he didn’t think it would be a good idea for Burke to stick around when the police came to handle things with his body, and I absolutely had to agree. He’d been through enough. I couldn’t believe I was entertaining the idea that a psychic and a ghost had just led us to a murdered corpse, but I couldn’t deny the facts. And I couldn’t ignore that I felt compelled to believe just about every word that came out of Dev’s mouth. It was unusual yet comforting.

  “I suppose we should call this in,” Dev said, and I nodded. He made the call, ringing Detective Miller directly, which I thought was a great idea, and then we waited. I was sure that this would be a long-ass night. Again. So much for us getting some rest and some private time before the shoot.

  How in the world had a trip to New Orleans to oversee a frickin’ TV show turned into such a clusterfuck of murder and mayhem?

  Chapter 19

  Dev

  We’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep. Detective Watkins had been determined in trying to find a way to make us look guilty, while a frustrated and exhausted Detective Miller tried to get to the bottom of the real story. Between once again spending hours at the police station, us checking Hanlen out of her hotel, and simply not being able to shut off our minds, it had been a restless night. After Hanlen had shared some information about the dreams she’d been having, I’d realized that a dark spirit had likely been visiting her. We’d moved her things to my place immediately.

  I’d texted everybody on the show to let them know what’d happened and assumed that those who saw it didn’t get much sleep either. This case would be a rough one for all of us. It was maybe the first time in forever that I sort of wished we didn’t find much on the first night, which would allow us to beg off a bit early and start again tomorrow. The only possible positive was that if history were any indication, the more vulnerable you were during an investigation, the more contact could be established if the spirits decided to be cooperative, so this could be a boon—as horrible as it was to think that.

  Hanlen walked up the stairs with Myst after taking her outside, and I set aside my tablet. “Hey, you two.”

  “Hey, yourself,” Hanlen said with a jaw-cracking yawn. “It’s after noon, and yet I feel like it’s dawn.” She yawned again. “Geez,” she said with a head shake. “Sorry. There is quite possibly not enough caffeine in the world for this day.”

  I stretched, my neck and back popping in the silence of the room. “You aren’t kidding.”

  Myst went to curl up in her bed, and Hanlen ran a hand through her long hair.

  “Come here,” I said and wiggled my fingers at her. She rolled her neck and shuffled over, plopping down on the couch and then lying across my lap. I massaged her scalp and raked my fingers through her silky strands. She let out a little hum of appreciation.

  “Mmm, that feels nice.” She sighed, and I smiled. It did feel nice. Despite everything, all of this felt nice. The joy of being with Hanlen wasn’t something I had expected, but I’d known there was something between us from the moment I ran into her on the street. And that sense of rightness had only increased as the days passed in her company. Our relationship had been one forged in the fires of tragedy and sorrow, but there was no denying that I was falling hard for Hanlen Arbor.

  “Are you ready for today?” I asked.

  “Besides wanting to fall asleep on my feet already . . . yeah, actually. I am.” She smiled up at me, and I brushed my fingers across her cheek. She shifted, and her necklace slipped free of her pajama top. I looked at the golden veve, the sigil sparking in the light and with the magic imbued in it and wondered once again why it was extra-familiar to me.

  I knew the symbol well. I had a similar talisman on my keychain for my patron lwa. But there was something else familiar about it. Something that resonated with me and my energy and magic. Still, the why behind that remained elusive. I knew if I let myself keep it on the periphery, my intuition would eventually fill in the holes, but my curiosity got the better of me.

  I fingered the gold and picked up the pendant, rubbing it between my fingers and feeling a jolt. Interesting. There was more than just residual protection magic in the talisman. There was soul magick. Someone had literally put a bit of themselves into this piece of jewelry.

  “Who gave you this again?” I asked.

  “The best friend I told you I lost? My sister for all intents and purposes? The one who was murdered? This was hers. She never took it off. We basically grew up together, at least during our later teen years, and then we moved in together in the city after graduation.” She shifted to stare up at me, and the look of sorrow in her eyes nearly made tears spring to mine.

  “The morning after the police notified me of what’d happened, I found this in a bowl on the hallway table. To this day, I still don’t know why she wasn’t wearing it that night. Like I said, she never took it off. But it was there, and now I’ve rarely taken it off.”

  I let the veve drop to her chest and gently pinched her chin, leaning down to kiss her sweetly. “I’m so sorry, mon amour.” The natural use of the endearment startled me for a second but then settled like a warm weight in my chest. I did love her.

  I loved Hanlen.

  Whoa.

  I brushed the hair back from her face. “What was her name?” I asked.

  A dreamy smile filled her expression. “Her name was Reagan, and she was the most incredible human being on the face of the planet. Reagan Legendre.”

  Everything in me locked. My muscles, the blood rushing through my veins, the breath in my lungs.

  Merde.

  Reagan Legendre. Daughter of Jacques and Phillipa. The second marriage between those two distantly related families in history, the first being Marie Laveau’s youngest daughter, Marie Philomene to Emile Alexandre Legendre.

 
Whose many-times great-granddaughter became Reagan Legendre.

  My cousin.

  Better known to me as Gunnie.

  Holy shit!

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Hanlen asked, placing her soft palm on my cheek and bringing me back to the present. “Are you seeing something?”

  “Message from spirit,” I lied. How in the world did I tell her that her murdered best friend was my murdered cousin without bringing up all sorts of hurt? I decided it could wait until later. Nothing about this was pressing at the moment.

  “So,” I said, “are you ready to get up and get set for a long-ass day and night?”

  She sat and stretched. “I am. Make me another cup of coffee while I hop in the shower?”

  “Absolutely,” I said and grasped her cheek and neck, bringing her in for a thorough kiss, moving down to swirl my tongue over the pulse point in her neck and then moving up to nibble on her earlobe.

  “Mmm,” she said. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to say screw the show and keep you in bed all day.”

  I nipped her again and then moved to place another kiss to her delectable lips. “I would like nothing more. But . . . as they say, the show must go on.” I rose, bringing her with me, a small squeak escaping her lips. When I let her back to her feet, I made sure to let her body slide down mine so she could feel how much I wished that answer was different.

  “Deveraux Glapion, you tease.”

  “Guilty as charged,” I said and kissed her again before swatting her bitable ass. “Off with you. I need to make my goddess some coffee.”

  “Goddess, huh? I like it. I think I could get used to that.” She raised a brow with a quirk of her lips and then sauntered off to the bathroom, an extra sway in her hips. Just as she was about to disappear into the room, she looked over her shoulder, threw me a sassy wink, blew me a kiss, and then disappeared.

  I groaned and shook my head.

  She might be the death of me.

  The plantation looked amazing in the mid-afternoon light, the live oaks casting shadows on the façade and creeping across the ground like searching hands. I’d asked Aaron and James to get some additional shots of the place because it looked so good right now. Almost as if she were dressing up for the party to come.

  The gang was gathered a bit down the driveway where Larken had set her circle the other day. I’d just gotten off the phone with Remy, and he’d walked me through what he’d done to get things ready. I was grateful that he’d come out here while he wasn’t feeling well, but because he was still sick, we would be without our best tech.

  To add insult to injury, Van had called about a family emergency, something with their grandmother up north, so we were navigating the first shooting day without my two engineers, too. I’d called in another temp that we used from time to time, Jeremy. I didn’t know him all that well and thought he was a little odd, truth be told. He was super quiet and seemed to look through people at times, and there was always a hint of that warning energy I got when people weren’t all the way on the side of good, but he was a hard worker and, sometimes, beggars couldn’t be choosy. Which was where I stood now. I needed the help, he was available, and he was ready to do the job. I just hoped that nothing went wrong that needed to be fixed immediately, and that Remy and the super twins would be back to work soon. I was spoiled. My team was the best, and I hated to be without even one of them.

  I looked back at Lark. The witch stood near the salt and dirt line, her long, black duster sweater blowing in the breeze, the pentagram necklace at her throat winking in the light. She’d smudged us all with sage earlier and gave us each a unique, charged and blessed crystal to carry with us in our pockets.

  She raised her blade high overhead and then turned to each of the four cardinal directions, her lips moving with her invocation.

  Hanlen leaned in to me to whisper, “What’s with the dagger?”

  “It’s called an athame. It’s a ceremonial tool that she uses to direct energy. Have you ever seen the Harry Potter movies?” I asked, and she nodded. “You know how they use their wands? It’s the same concept, albeit greatly simplified.”

  She nodded and backed away a bit, rubbing her arms. She was most definitely sensitive if she could feel the energy that Lark was currently raising.

  Lark made an upward slicing motion in front of her, ground to sky, and then said, “From north to east and south to west, hale to the guardians. I, Larken, sister, daughter, friend, enter this circle with perfect love and perfect trust, for the good of all, according to free will, so mote it be.” She stepped across the salt and graveyard dirt line and then turned to face us.

  “Now, each of you. Step across the line and say, ‘I enter this circle with perfect love and perfect trust.’” She looked at Hanlen. “I know this is new and probably really weird to you. Are you okay?”

  Hanlen glanced at me and then back to Lark. “Yeah, I’m good,” she said. “Actually, I’ll go first.” She smiled. “I enter this circle with perfect love and perfect trust.” She stepped over the line and went to stand behind Lark.

  I was so proud of her. I knew she still had some reservations, but she was taking to this bright new world with surprising aplomb.

  We each followed suit, entering the sacred space that Lark had created.

  “I ask the Lord and Lady to bless this circle so that we may be free and protected within this space.” She ran her athame down the same line she’d drawn up earlier. “The circle is now cast, sacred space is made, and all within its boundaries, both living and not, are under the protection of the maiden, mother, and crone until the circle is closed. So mote it be.”

  When I knew the cameras weren’t on us, I turned off my microphone and pulled Hanlen to me to kiss the top of her head. “Are you ready? Now you get to see me in action.” I smiled, and she grinned up at me.

  “Abso-frickin-lutely,” she said.

  We all walked to the courtyard entryway, and everybody took up the places we’d discussed earlier, Aaron and James on their marks and ready to record the different angles we needed. I turned to James.

  “We’re ready to enter this amazing two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old plantation home and see what awaits us. This dwelling is rich with history and rife with stories. Something our crewmember, Burke Mathers, would have loved. Burke passed suddenly before the filming of this episode. On behalf of myself and the entire cast and crew of Haunted New Orleans, I want to dedicate this episode to him.” I turned to Aaron so they’d get a different angle for editing. “This one’s for you, brother. Thank you for everything.”

  I walked to the side of the entryway wall and knocked three times. “Knocking is a ritual gesture.” I turned to the camera briefly. “It is also a sign of respect to let anyone inside know that we’re coming.”

  I moved to the middle of the space and knelt, taking the things I needed from my mesh bag. Everybody closed in around me, and I felt Hanlen’s soft palm on my shoulder for a brief moment before she backed away to join the others. It gave me strength.

  “The Guardian of the Crossroads has a personal symbol. A geometric design known as a veve. All of the lwas have one, each special to them.” I started drawing the sigil. “Papa Legba, dealer of destinies, intermediary to the spirit world.” I finished the veve and sat back on my heels for a moment, gathering my energy.

  I placed my palm over the middle of the veve and whistled. “To all the spirits of all directions . . . We call upon you spirits of fire, I want you to come through.” I lit the candle sitting at the south point of the sigil.

  “The spirits of water, we request you.” I sprinkled Florida water in a circle around the veve, starting on the west side, the blessed cologne acting like holy water and as a connection to the element.

  “The spirits of air, we request you.” I waved a feather over the symbol, starting in the east.

  “The spirits of earth, we call to you.” I reached into a small pouch and sprinkled some graveyard dirt mixed with tobacco on the sigil, s
tarting in the north, the earthy herb mixture representing the element and also acting as an offering to the lwas.

  “We give offerings, as well, to feed your way,” I sprinkled some peanuts over the veve, one of Papa Legba’s favorites, and then took a drink from my flask, spraying spiced rum in three directions—also a favorite of not only the Guardian of the Crossroads but also other spirits. “Does anyone have any coins?” I asked.

  As we’d discussed, Hanlen, Larken, and Schuyler came forward with coins, dropping them onto the sigil.

  “I, Dev Glapion, descendant of Marie Laveau. I, Devereaux, of many names in the past and in the future, call upon the spirits of this place and to Papa Legba. We ask that we may communicate with you. May we see you, may we hear you, may we photograph you with great respect. Open the way. May I present my friends.” I turned to the group. “Please state your full names.” They each did as requested. “We call upon them. We let you open the way for them to come through today.” I whistled again and smacked my palm left, up, right, and in the middle three times. “Open the way.”

  I stood and turned to face the group, smiling. “The way is now open.” I tucked my things into my bag and walked into the courtyard backwards, turning to the camera once I was in shadow. “Things in Vodou and Voodoo are mirror images. Therefore, it’s always more powerful to walk through a portal backwards.” The group followed suit, and once we were all inside, I motioned for the camera guys to cut for a second.

  I walked to Hanlen. “Are you okay?” I asked. She looked up at me, her expression a little awed.

  “I’m . . . I’m great. That was amazing. I’m still so new to all of this, especially believing in any of it, but there’s no denying the way the things that you and Larken do make me feel. Can I kiss you, or would that be breaking some rule?”