“I think he’s just ready to move on. I can’t say I blame him.” Emily unwrapped the tissue paper and found a copper key and a small ceramic statue of a butterfly sitting on a daisy. Holding her tattooed wrist next to the statue, she admired the artist’s work. He’d done a beautiful job recreating the butterfly to mimic the one on the figurine.
“Is that the statue that started your sister’s butterfly collection?”
“This is the one. I was ten years old when I gave it to her.” A fresh pang of guilt shot through her chest, and she set the statue on the table. “I have a bad habit of starting her obsessions, don’t I?”
Trish rubbed her hand across Emily’s back. “Her death wasn’t your fault.”
“So my therapist says.” She shook her head to chase away the intruding thoughts. “Let’s go see what’s inside this box.”
Taking the key to the kitchen countertop, she pulled the box away from the wall and ran her hand across the top. The etched inscription felt rough against her fingers, and a tingling sensation spiraled up her arm, turning into a sharp pain at her shoulder. She yanked her hand away. Had that ever happened before?
“Are you okay?” Trish stepped behind her.
“Yeah. It shocked me a little.”
“It’s wood. How could it shock you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I touched the metal hinges. It’s fine.” She ran her thumb across the key in her palm. “Here goes.”
A thud drew her attention away from the box. She snapped her head around and found the butterfly statue lying on its side on the table. “Did you knock it over?”
Trish raised her hands. “I was standing right here. I didn’t touch it.”
She stepped to the table and picked up the trinket. “I bet I set it down on the edge of the tissue paper, and it fell over.” That had to be what happened. There was no other explanation…none that she would entertain, anyway. She moved the statue to the small table by the door and set it in the place her sister’s picture once stood.
She made it halfway to the kitchen when something thudded on the carpet. Turning around, she found the figurine lying on the floor. She snatched it up and examined it. Luckily it wasn’t broken. She nestled it behind some books on a shelf, hoping that would keep it in place.
Trish eyed her warily. “That’s weird, Em.”
“What’s weird?”
“Your sister’s butterfly keeps flying around.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. Her thoughts could not go in the direction Trish was leading them. “It didn’t fly; it fell.”
“Twice.”
“So?”
“Maybe it’s Jessica telling you not to open the box.”
She crossed her arms. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“You’re only fooling yourself. I was there, remember? I may not have seen what you and Jessica saw, but I sure felt the effects.”
No, no, no. She would not think about it. As long as she believed ghosts didn’t exist, nothing could hurt her. “We were teenagers; it was our overactive imaginations. Besides, even if it was Jessica’s ghost, she died a year ago. Why would she come back now?”
“Maybe she’s attached to the box. Didn’t Robert say she loved it?”
“She used to stare at it a lot, and she didn’t want anyone else to touch it.” Jessica had practically wrestled it from the estate planner’s clutches when she bought it. She’d seen something in the antique hunk of wood for sure.
“See? Maybe she’s attached to it.”
“All the more reason to open it, then.” Emily slid the key into the lock and waited, holding her breath and half-expecting everything to fly off the bookshelf. It was stupid. This whole ordeal was idiotic. It was just a box. The butterfly was only a trinket. There were no spirits attached to anything because spirits didn’t exist, and she would keep telling herself that for as long as she lived.
Still, she hesitated to turn the key. A nagging voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to stop, but she silenced it. Just like she’d silenced every inkling of thought that had anything to do with spirits for the last ten years.
Trish gripped her shoulder. She turned the key. A small click sounded as the lock disengaged.
“Don’t open it.” Trish put her hand on Emily’s. “What if the lady at the antique store is right? What if it’s not your sister’s ghost attached to it? What if it’s evil?”
“It’s not evil.”
“Maybe it has some negative energy attached to it.”
“Now you sound like Sean.” She lifted the lid and peered inside. Her heart sank. “A feather.” She’d spent the past week obsessing over what treasures could have been inside her sister’s box, and all she found was a stupid feather. “Well, that’s disappointing. Why would she have a feather?”
“I don’t know.” Trish picked up the plume. The slick, iridescent feather was so black, it seemed to turn blue in the sunlight. “It looks like a crow feather. Crows are bad omens.”
Emily arched an eyebrow at her friend. “Seriously?”
“When you see a crow, it’s supposed to mean someone you love is going to die.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She snatched the feather from Trish’s hand and dropped it into the box.
“You should get rid of it. Just in case.”
“It was Jessica’s. I don’t want to get rid of it.”
“I know, Em. But it gives me the creeps. And you said Sean doesn’t like it either. Is it worth causing problems with Mr. Perfect?”
She closed the lid and sighed. “I did already tell him I’d get rid of it. He didn’t even want me to open it.”
“Whatever Jessica kept in this box, it’s gone now. And it doesn’t sound like Robert wants to talk about it anymore. It’s time to let it go.”
“You’re right. It’s only a box, and I have her butterfly. That’s more sentimental than a rotten piece of wood.” She scooped the box into her arms, fully prepared to walk out the door and head straight to the dumpster. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was almost as if the box wanted her to keep it, which was ridiculous because it was just wood and metal. But still…
She set it on the counter and pushed it against the wall. “I’m not even going to worry about it now. Let’s go have some fun, and I’ll toss it in the dumpster when I take out the trash tomorrow.
Trish eyed her skeptically. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” She was absolutely sure the box was going on a shelf in the back of her closet where no one else would find it.
Chapter Twelve
Sean sat at his dining room table and ran his hand across the smooth wood surface. Images of Emily in her red lace lingerie danced behind his eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile. It was true he’d never had a meal at this table, but the way he’d feasted on the delectable Emily last night would forever be seared in his mind.
He reached for his sketchbook, tempted to immortalize his luscious vixen with pencil and paper, but he refrained. With any luck, he’d be the only person to ever see her in that state of undress again. And he already had one intimate sketch of her. No need to press his luck with another.
Putting the sketchpad away, he pulled out his notes from the afternoon meeting. The committee protested when he withdrew from the auction. He’d still be there to run the logistics, but he wasn’t about to put himself up for bidding when his heart belonged to Emily. Unfortunately, they’d already run the press releases promising twenty available bachelors. He’d have to find a replacement, but that shouldn’t be too hard. His newest employee, Eric, had all the women swooning on his tours. He was young, but that could play in his favor. Now all he had to do was convince him to cooperate.
He tapped his pencil on the table and chewed his bottom lip. The house was quiet. Too quiet. He almost wished a ghost would pop in to say hello, but he’d poured enough salt around his property to keep it spirit-free for two weeks. He’d blocked out all forms of spirit energy from his consciousn
ess so he could focus on building Emily’s trust. But since he wasn’t seeing her tonight, it wouldn’t hurt to go for a walk and see if any of his old friends were hanging around.
He slipped on his jacket and left through the front door. Taking a right when he reached the sidewalk, he strolled under the canopy of live oaks, admiring the play of light and shadow on the colorful façades. The grand houses of the Garden District always seemed more magnificent at night all lit up from the inside, gas lamps burning on their front porches.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply and relaxed the block he’d created in his channel. His head felt lighter, but not in a dizzying way. It was almost as if he’d been relieved of a headache he didn’t realize he had. If any spirits wanted to be seen tonight, he was open to seeing them.
As soon as he rounded a corner, the blonde woman appeared in front of him. Of course, the first spirit to show itself would be her. He’d sensed her following him ever since he blocked her out. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stopped walking and nodded.
“Good evening, ma’am.”
She had definitely gotten stronger. Her appearance was almost solid, not a trace of death remaining in her features. The sadness in her eyes tugged at his heart. She lifted a hand and mouthed the word please.
“You’re still having trouble with your voice. I wish I could coach you on what to do, but I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Help her.” The strangled sound was barely audible.
“Can you tell me who I need to help?”
She opened her mouth to speak again, but no sound emitted. Her image wavered as panic flashed in her eyes.
“Okay. Stop trying to talk. I think that’s draining your energy. Maybe you can find some other ghosts around. Talk to them, and maybe they can help you figure out how to use your voice.”
She clasped her hands in front of her chest, pleading with her eyes.
“Tell you what: I’ll ask you some questions, and you shake your head yes or no. Okay?”
The ghost nodded as a couple walked by, the woman eyeing him suspiciously.
He smiled and nodded a greeting. “Good evening. I’m just talking to a spirit friend.”
The woman gripped her partner’s arm and picked up her pace to get away from him. Sean grinned. He’d gotten used to people thinking he was crazy for talking to ghosts from time to time. Of course, they only thought he was crazy until he talked to a ghost they’d known. Then he was suddenly amazing. A blessing, they would call him.
He focused his attention on the blonde ghost. “I’m guessing by the trouble you’re having, you’re not recently deceased. Have you been dead a while?”
She nodded.
“And the person you want me to help isn’t you?”
She shook her head. “Help her.” Her image faded as she said the words. She reached for him, and then she dissipated.
She’d be back. A spirit that determined wouldn’t quit until she got what she was after. Hopefully he could figure out a way to help whoever needed helping before it was too late.
* * *
Bass thumped so hard Emily thought her heartbeat might lose its rhythm. She scanned the mass of writhing bodies, bumping and gyrating to the blasting music, certain she felt a pair of eyes boring into her. Other than the same drunk guy she’d been fending off all night, no one paid her any mind.
But the sickening suspicion she was being watched followed her to every bar and dance floor she and Trish had visited. She downed her fifth gin and tonic, hoping to dull the sensation, but the alcohol only made her more suspicious.
She was being stupid. She’d let all the talk of spirits and evil and negative energy go to her head. Now she was certain there was a monster lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting to scare the daylights out of her as soon as she let her guard down.
She clutched Trish’s arm and pulled her off the dance floor. “Can we go somewhere quieter? This place is giving me a headache.”
“Oh, poo. You’re not having any fun.” She stamped her foot and lost her balance, falling into Emily’s arms.
“Hey, now. That’s my thing, remember?” She laughed and stood her friend upright. “And I am having fun, but it’s too loud here. Let’s go back to the piano bar.”
“All right. But Josh is coming with us.” She grabbed the guy she’d been grinding against and pulled him toward the door. Unfortunately, his drunk friend came with them.
They walked down Bourbon Street, Trish hanging on to Josh’s arm, and Emily trying her best to stay away from Josh’s friend. She’d already forgotten his name, and she didn’t care to remember it. He smelled like cheap beer and ashtray.
She walked a few feet in front of the guy, but he still managed to reach out and lay a clammy hand on her shoulder.
“Hey!” She spun around. “Hands off. I’m not interested.”
He looked at her like she was crazy. “I didn’t touch you.”
“You grabbed my shoulder.”
“Em, he didn’t.” Trish put a hand on her elbow. “Are you okay?”
Was she okay? Her head was still pounding. She still felt like someone was watching her from the shadows, and now she was imagining people touching her. Was it the alcohol or was she going crazy?
“I’m fine. My head just hurts. I think I’m ready to go home.”
“Okay. Do you mind if I stay out with Josh?” She raised her eyebrows, emphasizing exactly what she meant.
Emily pulled her friend out of Josh’s earshot. “Are you sure? You’ve had a lot to drink.”
“No more than you. Anyway, I know Josh. We’ve hooked up before. It’s nothing serious.” She winked.
Emily had to laugh at that. “You haven’t changed. Okay. Be safe.”
“I will. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She managed to make it home, though she stumbled over her own feet more times than she was proud of and looked over her shoulder more times than that. She was being paranoid, and the alcohol had intensified the feeling rather than dull it. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, she peered up at her door. Climbing seemed like such a daunting task.
She sat on the bottom step and held her head in her hands. Staying outside all night wasn’t an option. She needed to haul her butt up to the top and faceplant into her bed. With a heavy sigh, she heaved herself to her feet and trudged up the stairs.
She counted six steps before her head started spinning, and she had to sit down again. Only nine more to go. Or was it ten? Or Twenty? Hell, she couldn’t even remember the walk home, much less how many stairs led up to her apartment. Grabbing the rail, she pulled to her feet and placed one foot above the other until she reached the landing.
The lock seemed to have shrunk. She turned the key in every direction, trying to fit it in the hole, but it wouldn’t go in. Leaning against the frame, she gave the key a final shove into the lock, yanked on the knob, and flung the door open.
As she stepped inside and flipped on the light, the heaviness in her head flushed out with the adrenaline that flooded through her veins. Tables lay on their sides; chairs were upended, and the contents of her bookshelves lay scattered about the floor. Instinct drew her to her sister’s box first, but it sat unscathed on the counter where she’d left it. Lifting the lid, she found the feather still nestled in the bottom, but the key was missing.
A quick scan of the living room revealed the key lying in the middle of the mess. She scooped it up and shoved it into her pocket. Someone had broken in. That was the only logical explanation. But wasn’t the front door locked when she got home? She searched her mind for a memory of unlocking it, but her thoughts scattered like billiard balls every time she tried to grab on to something.
Police. She needed to call the police.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“I need to report a break-in at my apartment.” She gave the operator her address and checked her bedroom. Everything here seemed to be in place.
Was anything stolen? That would be the f
irst question the police would ask. She went back to the mess in the living room. She didn’t have anything of much value. The TV was still there. Her iPad lay on the floor amidst the mess with the screen cracked. Lovely.
Nothing seemed to be missing. And if no one broke in, then it must have been…
No. She would not let her thoughts go there.
The police arrived and examined her apartment. No sign of a break-in. Her front door must have been unlocked when she left with Trish that evening. She tried her best to keep her head straight while she gave her statement, hoping the officer would take her seriously. Was she slurring her words? She couldn’t tell.
Since she couldn’t report anything missing, they wrote it up as vandalism and reminded her to keep her doors locked.
Vandalism. That’s what it was. Just some punk kids having their fun. She could wrap her mind around that explanation, and she would hold on to it until the other idea in her head drowned with the hangover she was sure to have tomorrow.
The officers left, and she shuffled toward her bedroom, ready to curl up under the blanket and hibernate her buzz away. She glanced at the floor to avoid tripping and found Jessica’s butterfly statue lying on the carpet, one wing snapped off and lying next to it.
She bent down to retrieve it and choked on a sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she scooped up the broken figurine and carried it into the kitchen. Stupid alcohol was making her emotional. It was only a statue. It wasn’t like her actual sister was broken, though the rush of emotions made it feel that way. But Jessica was dead, and she wasn’t coming back. Not even as a ghost.
What was wrong with her? She needed to go to sleep, but she didn’t want to be alone. She dialed Sean’s number before she realized what she was doing.
“Emily?” His raspy voice, thick with sleep, calmed her racing thoughts.
“I’m so sorry. Did I wake you?”
“It’s okay, baby. What’s wrong?”
She sucked in a shaky breath. “Someone broke into my apartment and vandalized it.”
Love & Ghosts: Crescent City Ghost Tours Page 16
