1. Hurricane Katrina Memorial

Hurricane Katrina Memorial

A group of tourists poured out of the bus and mingled around the entrance to the memorial. Slowing my pace, I slid in behind them. Blending in was a good way to hide, and I wasn't one not to take advantage of whatever Lady Luck threw my way. The tour guide started talking in a booming yet compelling voice. And wasn't he a sight? White jacket covered in what appeared to be blood splatters. Well, it sure fit for a ghost tour. Or murder. Or whatever.

The guide went on and on about the Katrina Hurricane Memorial and the atrocities of the city. The memorial was gorgeous in the daytime with its black stone walls, but at night, it was all shadows. Perfect for me. I ducked behind one of the dour monuments as the guide moved to the Charity Hospital and its history. Mass graves. Unknown poor people dumped there upon death. And then something about one particular guest . The niece of a mob boss had the poor soul killed and dumped with the other unfortunate souls in an unmarked grave. This one, however, wasn't content to rest. And late, late at night, if it was quiet enough, you could hear his music on the wind. "He was a musician, you see, and in fact..." I crouched and slid deeper into the shadows, thinking I was safe there. "…he was called the Prince of Jazz. He could sing like a bird and play any instrument, but he loved the piano best."

Another voice, deeper, richer, cut through the tour guide's spiel. "There. Grab him."

Shit. They found me . I sprang up and tried to run, but a big brute of a man grabbed my arm, and another stuck his leg out to trip me up. Then they had me. They held me tight and carried me over to the even bigger dude who was apparently in charge. "Good job." He put his index finger on my forehead. "If you don't have every penny, I'm going to beat it out of you in blood."

I tried to hold my hands up to plea my case, but they had my hands pinned. "You know I don't. Why the hell do you think I was running?"

"Smart ass." He looked around. "Perfect. Come on. Bring him."

"Where we going?" I asked, but even without the brute's answer, I knew. The memorial had been built on the grounds of Charity Hospital Cemetery. We were right there. It didn't take much to keep moving deeper into the property, away from the hurricane-shaped memorial. Well, it seemed quite appropriate for what my life had become.

"Abel. Get a shovel," he snapped, literally and figuratively, at the one man not holding on to me.

Not too long after that, I was digging my own damn grave in a remote spot on the grounds. Fuck my life. "This is bullshit."

"Every time you open your stupid mouth, I'm going to give you one more punch."

I grumbled under my breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Fuckers. After making me sweat my life away in this fucking heat, they were going to beat the shit out of me and bury me alive. I was already as good as dead and now tortured on top of it. This would be a long, painful death.

"Deep enough." The brute in charge stood and leaned over me where I stood in the hole. "Get out." He grabbed the shovel and yanked it away from me before I had a chance to use it as a weapon, and good for him because damn straight I would have. But I wasn't eager to crawl out of the grave only to get my ass beat. "Now. The longer you delay, the worse it's going to be."

"I'm dead either way. What does it matter?" And there would be no one to miss me.

Brute-in-charge gave an evil chuckle. "That hasn't been determined yet. But keep this up and it will."

He lied. I didn't have a chance of coming out of this alive. Maybe I could run again. It didn't matter. My life was worthless anyway. How long have I spent running and dodging and scamming? Since I was a kid, and I didn't know anything else. I didn't contribute anything. No, I took—to survive. But that didn't matter, especially now. I climbed up the side—it wasn't deep enough to take much effort. At the top, I flipped over onto my back in the grass. Resigned.

And the beating came. Kicks to my ribs and thighs to start. Then one of them hauled me up and good old Brute-in-charge punched me in the gut. Twice. Across the face once. If my jaw wasn't broken, it sure as hell would be bruised. "Throw him in the pit. Doubt he'll be able to get out of it in this shape."

"Yes, boss." Whoever was holding me dragged my limp body across the ground and let go. I landed hard. Dirt puffed up around me. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and curled into the fetal position. Maybe I had internal bleeding and would die quickly, but if the way the rest of my life was going was anything to go by, it would be slow and painful.

"I suggest you find the money. Fast." The assholes laughed as they walked away.

Wait. Walked away? I had been holding my breath, expecting a gunshot to the head.

Maybe I did have a chance to get out of this alive.

I heard someone saying something about making the boss happy but had no clue what he was on about. And it didn't matter as long as they left. I stayed still until I couldn't hear anything anymore. I felt a little dizzy, probably a concussion, and I might have dozed off after that.

What woke me was the sound of music. Faint, dancing in the air…here and then not. Then, clear enough, I could hear the sad melody.

I put my hands beneath me and pushed but the ground wasn't solid. I collapsed. On top of something…

Deity ! I was on top of a dead body. Fuck my life!

I scrambled back and away as far as I could in this tiny hole. I hadn't dug it very big. Didn't need to.

It was too dark to see anything. The moon and stars weren't nearly bright enough this close to the city, and no one had bothered putting lights this far out. When we'd come here, the memorial was no longer in sight, nor the towering building of the hospital either. And to think, they were renovating that monstrosity for apartments, but that wasn't the point. Getting the fuck out of this hole and away from that body was.

But then the music lifted again. Louder, and seemingly coming from right in front of me. A blue glow lit the place, allowing me to see the pile of bones that I had missed right in front of me, still covered in dirt but clearly bones. An arm that had been busted up, and a hand with mangled fingers and…

A glowing ring.

It was hard to tell beneath the azure light pouring from the jewelry, but it looked gold. Rich and silky. Could be worth enough to save my life. But I'd have to get it off the bone. And it was glowing. And making music.

I was afraid but had to take the risk. I mean, this was life or death— My life or death. And this fellow was already gone. No one else might have cared about me, but I still wanted to live, to survive. Fuck! My entire body hurt. I'd have boot print-shaped bruises covering my sides. Slowly, I inched forward, reaching my hand out toward the glow.

The music stopped, and the light dimmed, fading to nothing. I grabbed it as the last of the light faded and yanked it off the skeleton. I felt it, heavy in my palm, weighing more than I'd thought it could. And it was warm. Fuck ! What was I getting myself into? Ultimately, it didn't matter. If I wanted to see the sun come up the next morning, I had to try.

I slid the ring on my finger.

The music started again. This time, it was incessantly loud. Piano, guitar, a snare drum, and then a voice. It sang about a rose, and then I saw a figure on his knees in front of me. Head down. But he slowly looked up. And stared right at me. He solidified as I stared back. Big, brown eyes in a Clark Gable-like face. A younger Gable, though. Close to my age. Prominent nose, soft lips that turned down in pure sorrow. But then surprise mixed with it across his features.

"Holy fucking deities and Mars." I was seeing a mother-fucking-ghost. And not a fancy light show or spooky sheet, either. No, a man in a button-down shirt and a seriously confused one at that.

"Are? Are you talking to me?" he asked with a voice like buttered rum.

"Y-Yeah…"

The man sat up straight, shoulders going back. "Well. This is new."

"Y-Yeah…" Well, what the fuck was I supposed to say? To a ghost, a sexy ghost even.

"I'm Luc, Luc Marchand." He held out his hand, and I leaned forward to grip his long, slender fingers, but it went right through him. "Ahh…you're alive then. Well. This is also new."

"You, uh, you know you're dead?"

He nodded. "Been here a long, long time."

"You're a musician? I heard music." In fact, there was a trace of it still in the air, circling us but fading.

"Yes. What about you?"

"I…" What the hell did I tell this handsome man? Dead or not, I was a loser and nothing more. "Doesn't matter. Hey, I need to get out of here."

"I understand."

And wow, I watched as a blush bloomed across the face of this man, glowing in front of me.

"Gah! You're—" I was about to tell him how gorgeous he was. I was ridiculous. "Sorry. It was nice to meet you." Turning to the side, I climbed again, pulling myself up by measures. No easy fit with bruised ribs and jaw, and I still felt like puking from the gut punches. But I managed to get to the top. I rolled over on my back, looking up at the faint stars and wondering how the fuck I got here.

Not in the cemetery, in particular, but in my life. Running from goons over a gambling debt. Lady Luck was a cold-hearted bitch. But then again, I'd been running my whole life from one thing or another, never toward anything.

After catching my breath, I pulled myself up and started the long walk back to the French Quarter. To my surprise, Luc walked beside me. He turned with a smile. "Apparently, I'm coming with you."

"With? Me?"

"You took the ring." He pointed at my hand. "So, I go with you."

Deities ! It hit me then. He was attached to the ring. I didn't steal jewelry I could pawn for cash to save my ass—not that it would have been enough anyway—I stole a ring embedded with a ghost. I couldn't turn that over to anyone. It wouldn't be right. I sighed. Fuck my life . He was sexy and sweet, but I didn't much need a supernatural companion. My life was shit without that, so what the fuck would it be with it? "I'm Austin."

"Nice to meet you, Austin…uh…do you have a last name?"

"Broussard. As if it matters."

"Austin Broussard. That sounds lyrical on my tongue."

"That, uh, that's sweet." We made it to the front of the memorial and realized I had to get lost in the Quarter if I was going to have a chance of surviving. "It's going to be a long walk." I glanced over at him. "And we may have to run. I don't know if you're going to be able to do that in those shoes." They were nice, a leather and tweed oxford that paired nicely with his high-waisted slacks.

Luc stretched his arms and then put a hat on that I hadn't seen before on his head. It was a fedora, like Indiana Jones wore, though not dusty, and it had a wider band. "Well, Mr. Broussard, I cannot feel my feet. It's you that will be doing all the running."

"Hmm…okay then. And call me Austin. I think we're beyond formalities, right?"

"Maybe. But that's not how I was brought up."

I looked him over again. "What year do you think this is?" He looked like he could have stepped out of a fancy men's catalog.

"I have no idea. I was buried in 1924."

"Huh. Well, it's a hundred years later than that, my friend."

The smile fell from his face. I could see him thinking. "Two thousand and twenty-four?" His mouth hung open.

I headed right down the sidewalk along Canal. "Yep. We say Twenty-Twenty-four."

He didn't say anything else for a long time. We had a long walk back to the Quarter.