Labor of Love Read online

  Palling around with a psychic had its drawbacks. It was one thing for her to give me a reading when I was paying for it, but when she told me something she saw because she felt compelled to tell me—well, quite honestly, it made me worry.

  Nearly a dozen people stood around, waiting for our hostess or tour guide or whatever she would be calling herself tonight.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” Jenna said—three times—like a mantra.

  Which made me think maybe she did believe in them. She sounded nervous. I knew she didn’t like scary things.

  “I have a feeling Sara will have us convinced before the night is over,” Brady said.

  “Yeah, well, just don’t let go of my hand,” I ordered. “And hold me close if I get scared.”

  “I hope you get scared,” he said in a low voice near my ear.

  “Me, too.” A delicious shiver went through me. “I can practically guarantee it.”

  He was standing behind me, and he tightened his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. He dropped a kiss onto my bare shoulder.

  Oh yeah, I might get scared, but it would be the good kind of scared, where we held each other close and laughed. Or maybe just kissed. I was starting to like him so much—and that scared me most of all.

  When she finally arrived, Sara was dressed all in black, a black, hooded cloak swirling around her. It seemed like the fog was trailing in behind her. Her vibrant red hair was the only visible color. She was wearing it down and it flowed past her shoulders.

  “Good evening,” she said in a very melodramatic, haunting voice. “Does anyone not have a partner?”

  Everyone was already paired up.

  “Good,” she said. “Now, I want you to hold your partner’s hand and no matter what happens, don’t let go. People have been known to disappear on the streets of New Orleans and never be seen again.”

  A chill went through me. Yeah, she was going to have us believing in ghosts.

  “We are known as the most haunted city in the country,” she continued. “And sometimes the spirits get jealous of the living. If you listen closely as we walk through the streets, sometimes you’ll hear them crying, sometimes you’ll hear them singing, sometimes you’ll hear them dying.”

  I squeezed Brady’s hand and rose up on my toes, so only he would hear me. “Are we sure we want to do this?”

  “Oh yeah. And if you get so scared you need someone to sleep with you tonight—I’m there.”

  I didn’t think I was going to get that scared, but who knew?

  And okay, quite honestly, snuggling up with Brady appealed to me. It was frightening how quickly and how hard I was falling for the guy.

  He was nice, he was fun, and he was hot. I just liked the way I felt when we were together. Like we were part of something.

  “Follow me as we seek out the lost souls of New Orleans,” Sara said in that spooky voice she’d perfected. It sent more chills over my flesh.

  Must have sent chills over Brady’s, too, because he put his arm around me, like holding hands wasn’t enough to keep us from getting lost. We headed up Royal Street.

  “New Orleans history is rich with hauntings. Some of the spirits are here because of something left undone. Some feel compelled to remain and re-create the circumstances of their death until justice has been gained. Most spirits are playful, causing mischief. Especially those who died as children. There are rare accounts of spirits causing harm, but rest assured that you’ll all be safe tonight. The spirits know me, and they know we mean them no harm. That we mourn their passing, and that we’re here to remember.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad,” I whispered, starting to relax.

  I felt something brush against my bare calf. I looked down, but there was nothing there. I shivered.

  “You okay?” Brady asked.

  “I thought I felt something.”

  “Like what?”

  “A cat maybe. A very, very soft cat. It was just a light touch.”

  “Probably nothing.”

  “Probably.”

  But it hadn’t felt like nothing.

  “Over here we have a mansion that reflects our city’s dark history,” Sara said.

  We stopped in front of a large gray building as Sara told us about Delphine Lalaurie and her physician husband. Wealthy, they were known for their lavish parties until it was discovered that they were monsters, performing surgical experiments on their slaves.

  “Within the manor,” Sara said, “there have been reported sightings of a man walking about carrying his head.”

  A shudder went through me.

  “Is that what she calls being playful?” I whispered.

  Brady chuckled. Did I sound spooked? I thought I sounded spooked.

  “And on foggy nights, you can hear the screams of those who were abused within those walls. They are still crying out for justice.”

  Sara took us down Orleans Street, where on rainy nights the ghost of a priest who’d led a funeral procession to bury the remains of wrongly executed men could be heard singing.

  Brady tightened his arms around me and rested his chin on my shoulder. I felt breath whisper across my neck. I told myself it was his. It had to be his.

  “Thank goodness it’s not raining,” he said.

  “Really.”

  “Are you believing this stuff?” He sounded totally stunned.

  I twisted my head around. He was grinning.

  “Don’t you?” I asked.

  “No. This is all bogus.”

  Was it? I didn’t know anymore.

  At 716 Dauphine Street, Sara told us about the ghost of a sultan who was murdered along with his wives and children and now haunted the four-story house.

  “One of my favorite spirits remains here,” she said. “I’m fairly certain it’s one of the sultan’s children. It likes to tickle necks.”

  I felt a light prickle over my neck. I hunched my shoulders and turned to Brady. “Don’t.”

  “What?”

  “I know you’re trying to scare me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  What was I talking about? Because he was holding my hand, and no way he could have touched my neck without twisting around—and that I would have noticed.

  Maybe it had been a moth or a mosquito. Some little insect of the night.

  Every street she walked us along had tales of horrific murders—a man had killed his wife and the ghost of his wife had killed his mistress. What was that she’d said earlier about ghosts not causing harm?

  Although the night was warm, I felt chilled. At one point, I thought I saw an apparition—a woman in a white nightgown—but it was gone so fast that I couldn’t be sure.

  When we’d circled back around to Sara’s shop, she seemed really pleased with herself. Maybe because it looked like several people were pale. I probably was, too.

  “In two weeks, John and I will take you on a vampire tour. He loves fresh blood! Sleep well,” she said, before whipping her cloak around her and walking off. It seemed as if she disappeared from sight sooner than she should have.

  “Okay, that was creepy,” Jenna said.

  “You mean the tour, or John liking fresh blood?” I asked.

  “All of it. Sara was a little out there at the end.”

  “I can’t see Ms. Wynder with a vampire,” I said.

  She laughed. “Me either.”

  I figured they’d laugh if I told them that I thought I’d felt something. So I kept quiet, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. New Orleans was definitely a city for those who believed in the supernatural. And even those who didn’t could have their skepticism challenged.

  “Anyone hungry?” Tank asked.

  I wasn’t, but I welcomed anything to take my mind off the tour.

  We went to McDonald’s. Not very New Orleans-ish, but it was late and they were open. And the lights were bright—I suddenly had a love of bright lights—so there were no spooky things lurking about.

&nbs