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“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, theyaregood 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 hewason 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, butHaunted New Orleansdoesn’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 thatIthought 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.
