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“Did I wake you?”
“It’s fine.” I yawned, my jaw cracking. “Just had a strange night full of dreams and . . . just an odd night. I guess I finally fell asleep again and my body made up its mind how much sleep it needed.”
“Wedidhave a pretty eventful evening the other night, and you are in a strange place.”
“That’s an understatement.” I put the phone on speaker then stood and stretched, carrying the cell with me into the bathroom so I could peek at the damage and decide how much work I’d have to do to look human. “What’s the plan for today?” I asked.
“The team and I accomplished a lot yesterday off the property, but I need to get the lay of the land at the plantation and was hoping you could tell me some of the storiesyou’veheard, show me the hotspots, and fill me in on some of the history of Arborwood—both things you know are true and the possible urban legends, so I can add them to the things we’re already looking into.”
“Yeah, I can do that. It’s all silly nonsense, but I guess that’s kind of your thing.”
“It’s not nonsense, Hanlen. It’s history. Life and death. Experiences.” He was stern, but he didn’t sound upset. I still felt a little bit bad about trashing his livelihood and passion.
“I’m sorry. I really am.” I blew out a breath. “I think I need caffeine. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. But I made it very clear to you that I don’t believe in this stuff.” Memories of my dream last night—because ithadto be a dream, right?—came back to me, and I shook my head to clear it.
“Um . . .” I looked at the time again. “I can meet you over there at two. Or, I can come and pick you up wherever you are. Whatever’s easier.”
“I don’t have to schlep gear today. Just need to take a few notes and some pictures. It’d be great if we could ride over together. Take your time waking up and doing what you need to do. I’ll text you my address and see you whenever you get here.”
I yawned again. “Yeesh. Sorry. That sounds great. I hoped to salvage my hair from yesterday, but I clearly need a full—and long—shower. I feel utterly drained.”
“No worries. See you soon.”
“Sure thing. Bye.” I tapped end on the call and stretched again, leaning in to see how bad the bags under my eyes were. My necklace fell forward a bit and I looked down, only to see a big red welt on my chest. I fingered the mark. It didn’t hurt, but it was strange, and it brought back memories of the dream I’d had, and how I could have sworn my necklace had felt hot and almost electrified.
What the hell?
Chapter 9
Dev
Hanlen texted me when she arrived, and I locked up and headed down the stairs. Her SUV sat near the curb, and I saw her inside, head down, intent on her phone. I knocked a knuckle on the glass, and she unlocked the doors for me.
“Hey,” I said as I slid into the leather seat.
“Hey, yourself,” she replied and flashed me a smile as she locked her phone and secured it in the center nook. She still looked tired. Beautiful, but tired. I wondered how her night at The Ravisan had gone. We’d filmed a show there about a year ago, and the activity had been off the charts.
“You ready to go?” she asked. “Nothing to pick up on the way?”
I patted the backpack at my feet. “Everything I need for today is right here. Onward.”
She pulled into traffic, and we headed for the highway. We didn’t have to go as far as Iberville Parish, where some of the other larger plantation manors were located, but Arborwood was still about a thirty-five-minute drive. Plenty of time for me to ask some questions. Though the more I thought about it, I wanted to know more about the woman than the house. I really needed to get my head on straight. This episode was kind of a big deal—not that they all weren’t. Still, the plantation was one of the oldest, and the eyewitness accounts of paranormal activity were far and wide—from family to various out-of-staters who’d come to the city on vacation and snatched up the rental for their long weekend or week-long getaways.
“So,” I said, “did you and your family actually live at Arborwood?”
She glanced over at me before returning her attention to the road. “We did. I spent most of my teenage years there. We got the house from my paternal grandmother when she passed, and we lived there from the time I turned ten until I graduated from high school. And then my parents got divorced and moved away. Now, I just pay for the upkeep and hope that renters don’t trash the place.”
I couldn’t imagine not wanting to live somewhere as grand as Arborwood. It was a stunning piece of architecture, and the history was rich. The Arbors were still known in the parish, despite none of the immediate family living in Louisiana any longer. And then there were the hauntings . . .
From what Hanlen’s mother had said, there had been reports of a child apparition—which we had been unable to uncover any historical data for—the classic woman in white, a bohemian woman in long skirts and head scarves, and a ghost they called The Colonel. It would be interesting to find out if some of the things people reported were poltergeist activity—manifestations made real by the energy of a living person or persons, even from afar—residual hauntings—things that happened in the past with such energy that they continued happening in the present like echoes, or if there were real, active, and intelligent spirits in the home and on the grounds.
I turned to her. “Did you ever have any strange experiences while you lived there?” I asked.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes a bit. “You mean the bad plumbing, the ancient home settling into the swamp, and the faulty wiring? Sure, I had plenty ofexperiences.”
I couldn’t hold back a small laugh. “You really don’t believe in any of this, do you?”
She looked at me then for a beat before refocusing on the road. “I don’t mean any disrespect, Dev, I really don’t. But, no, I don’t believe in ghosts.”
