Chapter 1

1

TALLULAH

“ I don’t like this,” Cathy murmured as we crept along the darkened hallway of the gothic-style mansion. Floorboards creaked under our feet and the air was thick with anticipation. “Can we go yet?”

“The tour just started.” I looped my arm around hers and pulled her closer. “I’ll protect you. I promise. Just relax. The spirits can sense your fear.”

“That’s not funny,” she said.

Up ahead, the tour guide finally stopped, allowing us to catch up with the rest of the group. We’d been walking past the Rampart Mansion when we’d encountered the tour, and I’d quickly scraped together some money to pay for two tickets. Over my dead body would I miss seeing the inside of the Rampart. Although, at this rate, it might be possible that it would be at the expense of my life because Cathy had not been happy. My roommate wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about experiencing the haunted past of the Garden District as I was.

She pursed her lips at me as we gathered in the cavernous main hall of the old house. “You’re paying for my drinks when we get to Mardi Gras.”

“Two drinks,” I agreed, then rolled my eyes and nodded when she held up three fingers. “Fine, but then no more complaining. This is going to be fun.”

“There’s nothing fun about this.” Her brown eyes narrowed and she shivered at my side, her head dropping back to take in the ornate chandeliers and the stained-glass windows of the hall. “It’s creepy, and creepy just isn’t really my vibe.”

I winked at her. “It is mine, though. Just give it a chance. You’ll love it.”

“I’ve been in New Orleans for four years, and I’ve been living within a bus ride of the Garden District for three of them, yet I’ve never taken one of these tours. That should tell you enough. I’m not going to love it. I’m only doing this for you. And free drinks.”

“Thanks, but there’s really nothing to be afraid of. It’s all?—”

“New Orleans is known the world over for its compelling, mystery-laden history,” the tour guide said solemnly, his voice low and eerie as he moved his eyes across the group with deliberate intent. “There are many people who believe that our cemeteries and other locations here in the Garden District are portals to the other side.”

“I didn’t need to know that,” Cathy muttered, tightening her grip on my arm.

“Here, tonight, you will learn about the chilling history of the Rampart Mansion, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get to experience the paranormal. Spirits linger here, ladies and gentlemen. During the war, this mansion once housed a mortuary, and as the evening progresses, you will discover why it is thought to be one of the most haunted houses in the area.”

“Great. That’s just great.” Cathy sighed, leaning into me as the guide motioned for us to follow him.

“He’s just trying to scare you,” I murmured as we set off deeper into the mansion. “It’s all part of the tour experience. The Rampart’s history really isn’t all that chilling. It was a mortuary for, like, two days. People even live here now. It’s privately owned by some rich guy, and he opens it up to the public for tours a couple of nights a week.”

She glanced at me, her black eyebrows lifting slightly as her head cocked. “And you know this how ?”

I shrugged. “I love history and all things horror, remember? There’s no better place where those two things come together than right here in New Orleans. It’s fascinating. I’ve been reading about it for years.”

“Why can’t you have a normal hobby? Like knitting or doing crossword puzzles?”

“Uh. Hard pass. Those kinds of things might make some people happy, but sitting still and whittling away at stuff like that? Not for me. I prefer everything that gives you the ick, Cathy.” I was a sucker for Halloween, hauntings, or any other weird and wonderful, inexplicable phenomena. “It’s not personal.”

I didn’t scare easily, but I loved the adrenaline rush if something or someone did manage to spook me. I was hoping I might experience that rush tonight, but so far, while our guide was an excellent storyteller, the stories just weren’t so creepy.

“In the eighteen hundreds—” he started, but my roommate clearly wasn’t interested in finding out what had happened back then.

“Hey, have you heard from Carter or your folks at all?” she asked, her question drowning out the story the guide was beginning to tell.

That question was the scariest part of the tour so far. My skin bubbled with goosebumps and a chill fell over me. “No, and they have no way of getting hold of me. I moved out here for a reason.”

All that stuff with Carter and my parents was in the past, where it belonged. As much as it wasn’t always easy to just shake it off, I had to. I drew in a deep breath, shoving the memories back down when they threatened to rise.

I didn’t want to talk about it. Ever. But as my friend, Cathy often asked anyway. Just to check in with me, she claimed, and I appreciated her concern, but I was starting to regret telling her. I’d only done it because I’d had too much wine one night and she was pressing me about being so mysterious about my past. Eventually, I’d caved and told her the whole story.

At the time, I’d figured it would prove to her that I wasn’t a crazy drifter. But Cathy was a worrier. A lovely, friendly, warm one, but a worrier all the same. And part of me had begun to wonder if she also just liked the drama. It didn’t involve her, so maybe she found some sort of entertainment in it all. It wasn’t basic, after all. It was complicated. Layered. A real pain in my butt.

“There are ways of getting a hold of people, you know,” she said, tugging on my arm to pull us both to a stop. She turned to face me, her eyes cast into shadow by the moody darkness of the house. “Do you remember my friend, Mel? Well, she’s dating a cop now and he said?—”

“Cath.” I reached out and took her hands, squeezing them as I gave her an impatient smile. “I’m fine. We’re here to learn about the Rampart’s history. Let’s leave my old ghosts out of it, shall we?”

“But Carter?—”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, or think about it, or worry about it,” I said firmly. “What’s important is that he and I are over. I left him. End of story. Do you want me to tell you some of the most gruesome details about this place’s history?” My tone lifted as I switched gears and let my eyes flick from here to there, peering into dark corners and cobweb-dusted windowsills. “It might make you feel better if you know the worst of it in advance.”

Her eyes widened, fear flickering in them. She glanced around like something might jump out at her. “Shit, Tal. We lost the group. We got separated from them somehow.”

I looked around and sighed when I realized she was right. “It’s okay. We just got distracted by well-meaning, but unnecessary questions. We’ll catch up to them. And if we don’t? You’re in luck. I can give a way spookier tour than our guide. First stop, the basement.”

Cathy gulped. “Absolutely not. Tal, seriously, no. My knees are literally shaking.”

Serves you right for pressing me about my past when I asked you to stop. I laughed to break the tension for my friend, squeezing her arm reassuringly. “I’m kidding, of course. This place doesn’t have a basement. It’s really more of a dungeon.”

With her arm clutched firmly, I dragged her down a dimly lit passage and into another, wondering if the guide had moved upstairs yet. I supposed it depended on how thorough the tour was. Half the rooms in this place had stories attached to them.

We took a few more turns, and it got darker and darker as we made our way into the depths of the house. The corridor we were in was windowless, and the walls were lined with old paintings, presumably of the notorious Rampart family who had owned this place for generations until the last of them had died, pruning the last branch of that notorious family tree.

“I don’t think the tour guide came down here,” Cathy said nervously.

I looked down at the floor and wrinkled my nose. “I sure hope not. These are new shoes.”

That finally got a laugh out of my roommate, banishing the shadows in her eyes, which had been my intention. “You are unbelievable, Tal.”

“You’re the one talking dirty about the tour guide,” I said innocently. “We’re not even on Bourbon Street and you’re already in the gutter.”

Her eyes twinkled in amusement. “I just want a fruity drink in a giant glass. Preferably in slushie form.” She jabbed her finger in my arm playfully. “The fact that I don’t have my hurricane yet and I’m in this shithole makes me the best roommate of all time.”

I bumped her shoulder with mine. “I love you too. But speaking of this shithole, did you know that when this place was put up for sale, three realtors quit?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m going to regret asking this, but why did they quit?”

I laughed. “Thank you for asking, Cathy. It’s because when they brought people to do viewings at night, they claimed to have encountered pissed-off ghosts.”

She scoffed but held my arm a little tighter. “They were probably just sucky realtors.”

“Probably, but also, I wasn’t joking before about the dungeon. Legend has it Colonel Rampart used it back in the day to torture slaves, prisoners, and even people accused of witchcraft.”

She shuddered. “I don’t know if you’re joking, but you’re scary good at telling messed-up stories. You should do, like, a podcast or something.”

I chuckled. “To be fair, it’s easy to make the Ramparts sound scary. This house is filled with history, quite a bit of it bad. Most of that family were not good people. No one mourned their passing from this earth. There’s even a rumor that one of the daughters was left to die in her bedroom, chained to her bed because she was bedeviled and her father refused to tarnish the family name by having people find out.”

“I’m sorry, bedeviled?” Cathy put her hands to her forehead and pointed her fingers like horns. “Was that old-time slang for horny?”

“Mental illness,” I whispered dramatically.

Her finger horns deflated like sad balloons. “Why, Tal? That’s so much less fun.”

“Her name was Annie. Apparently, she’s the most pissed-off ghost they’ve got here. I wonder if we’ll see her tonight.”

“Maybe you’ll see her.” Cathy shook her head. “I’m not the one who said her name, summoning her right to you. I swear. Use your brain, dude.”

Honestly, I couldn’t blame Annie for stomping around these halls, throwing the world’s longest tantrum. I knew all too well what it felt like to be smothered by your own family. Not as horribly as she had been, of course, but I could relate a bit.

“She won’t hurt us,” I promised. “She just wants to be heard.”

We crept down a dark hallway that seemed to grow narrower with every step. Cathy’s shoulders pulled in as if sensing the tightening of the space. “I’m never letting you plan our vacation activities again. I’m starting to think you’re bedeviled.”

Suddenly, a squawking noise rang in my ears. Cathy shrieked. Up ahead, through an open window, a crow took flight from a leafless branch, screeching again as it disappeared. Cathy stumbled back against me, and we both staggered back a few steps.

I bumped into something. Or rather, someone.

“Annie, I’m sorry!” I said, spinning around to find nothing but shadow.

Cathy pulled my shoulder and we retreated toward the window as a man emerged from the gloom. Cathy squealed and leapt a good four inches in the air. My heart galloped in my chest and I had a wide smile splitting my face.

It had been a long time since someone scared me that well.

The thrill was like lightning in my veins, bringing me back to life like Frankenstein’s monster. My whole body thrummed with restless energy and it was laser focused on the mysterious stranger in front of me.

Less excited, Cathy threw her arms up in surrender. “That’s it. I can’t do this creepy tour anymore. Meet me at Hoola’s Cafe when you’re done, and we’re making it four drinks at Mardi Gras. And they better be frosty.” She shouldered her way past me and gave the tall man a shrewd look and a wide berth. “And you should have better manners than to be creeping around in the dark like that. You’re not Batman.”

His eyebrows rose ever so slightly, but aside from that, he remained expressionless.

Cathy clomped down the hall, clearly already regretting her choice of heels. I was about to follow her when the man spoke. “Wait.”

Shit. He’s going to lay into me for wandering off from the group.

The man flipped a switch on the wall, and old-fashioned bulbs sparked to life up and down the hall. I got a good look at him in the light. I didn’t know who he was, but he definitely hadn’t been on our tour. I would’ve noticed him and imagined what our kids would look like.

Maybe he’s the owner?

Whoever he was, if Cathy had gotten a look at him, she never would have run away. The man was hot— and very much not creepy in normal lighting. With golden blond hair styled in neat, short waves away from his face and eyes that appeared to be a glittering, sparkling blue even in the low light, he was tall, built like he knew how to move, and handsome.

His strong features were sharp as he looked at me. He had a high brow and prominent, regal cheekbones, an arrow of a nose and a slightly square chin, and right then, every last one of those features were set in a mask of iciness.

His chin was raised, his nose just a little bit pulled up, his brow furrowed, and his blond eyebrows drawn together. Yep. He’s definitely going to yell at me for snooping around.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, sliding his hands into the pockets of an immaculately tailored three-piece suit. “This is private property.”

“Oh, I know.” Go for the distraction! Go for the distraction! “I grew up reading Anne Rice novels and I’ve always wanted to live in NOLA, so I moved out here about a year ago from California and I’ve been tending bar to make ends meet.”

The furrow of his brow deepened. “I asked you what you’re doing here , in this house. Not what you’re doing in New Orleans. The tour doesn’t come to this wing.”

“Right.” I nodded swiftly, my mind racing to come up with something better this time. “I knew that, actually. As soon as I realized that we were in the portrait gallery, I knew we’d ventured away from the route.”

“How did you know that?” His head was still cocked, his eyes completely focused on mine.

There was an intensity about him that made my mouth want to dry up, but I supposed I might’ve been intense too if I’d found a stranger wandering around my home. And what a home!

“Well, I, uh, I know a lot about these old houses,” I finally explained, shrugging as I lifted my eyebrows at him. “Yep. That’s it. I just know a lot about them. I enjoy researching the history, and when I moved here, I made a bit of a study of it.”

He looked at me quizzically but didn’t say anything. Shit. Keep going. Just keep going. Before he calls the cops. God, I can’t let him call the cops.

“I know more about these houses than the tour guides, and probably the owners for that matter,” I said quickly, starting to back away from him. “But enough about me. I should get going, though. Right? I should go find the rest of the group.”

“Just get out of my house,” he ground out and I nodded, finally breaking eye contact. Then I spun around and hurried back down the corridor.

I felt him watching me walk away and I glanced at him over my shoulder, wanting him to know that I’d caught him in the act. Contrary to how it might’ve gone down with most other people though, he didn’t look away when I turned.

Those eyes remained unapologetically locked on me and he didn’t move a muscle. His hands were still in the pockets of his undoubtedly expensive pants and his head was still slanted. Even his jaw was still tight. I spun around again, a smug smile spreading on my lips as I turned the corner.

I’d gotten under this homeowner’s skin and I was ridiculously proud of myself for it. I knew how much money he’d paid for this mansion when it had eventually been sold at an estate auction, and because of that, I knew the guy was frighteningly rich.

Yet here I was, a lowly bartender barely earning enough to pay the bills, and I’d gotten under his skin. For someone who’d grown up as sheltered as I had, it felt like an achievement. I grinned as I reached the foyer and made my way outside.

Maybe I should become a tour guide instead of slinging drinks. I loved a challenge and adored a good scare. Guiding haunted house tours for a living suddenly sounded like a dream come true.

As I set off down the sidewalk toward Hoola’s cafe, I wrapped my arms around myself and nodded. Yep. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I came all the way out here to live my own life, and this is what I want to do with it.