Then again, his blood always carried a little flush of excitement during Mardi Gras season. The entire city buzzed with energy this time of year, and he slowed his pace to admire the decorations the residents had put up in honor of New Orleans’ most celebrated holiday.
A wrought-iron fence with fleur-de-lis posts hung heavy with thousands of strands of plastic beads in shades of green, gold, and purple, and a yellow cottage with blue shutters boasted yards of garland in the same colors with matching wreaths and giant fleurs-de-lis hanging in the windows. Across the street, shiny, scalloped fabric in the signature festive hues draped from a second-story balcony, and oversized beads and carnival masks hung from the shutters.
He made a left on Bourbon Street and side-stepped around a group of women celebrating a bachelorette party. The bride-to-be wore a white veil attached to a headband, and the silver glitter on her dark skin glinted in the streetlights. Her entourage wore pink sashes with “Bride Tribe” emblazoned across them, and they all carried yard glasses filled with syrupy daiquiris.
“Hey, cutie.” A blonde shuffled toward him, her ankles wobbling in her five-inch heels. “Do you live here?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. Are you lost?”
“No.” Her laugh came out as a snort, and she covered her mouth. “We’re doing a scavenger hunt, and we need a picture with a local.” She pulled out her phone and squinted at the screen. “A local who doesn’t work in a bar. Do you work in a bar?”
“No, but I—”
“Hey, Denise, I found one.” She stumbled into him, catching herself on his shoulder.
Blake clutched her arm until she steadied and then stepped away. The bride sashayed toward him, her stilettos in her hand, and he cringed at the sight of her bare feet on the pavement. “You really should wear shoes out here. No telling what you might step on.”
She ignored his comment and posed next to him, holding two fingers up near her face. “I’m ready.”
“Hold on.” Blake backed away. He’d faced the wrath of a jealous lover before, and he wasn’t about to let it happen again. “I’d really rather not.”
“Please?” The blonde batted her false lashes, revealing the sparkling pink shadow on her lids. “It’s just one little picture.”
“And then her fiancé sees it and comes after me? No, thanks.” While their behavior was typical for a bachelorette party, there was no way he was setting himself up to be the target of a jealous rage. Not again.
“What if we’re all in the picture?” the blonde asked. “We can’t go back to the bar until we get this. Pretty please?”
The rest of the tribe gathered around the bride and said, “Please,” in unison. A woman with long braids lost her balance, falling face-first into her friend. The other woman caught her, and the whole bunch burst into a cacophony of laughter.
He turned to make his escape, but the blonde clutched his arm. “Hold up, cutie pie. We haven’t got the picture yet.”
Blake sighed. “All right.” He joined the group, standing rigid and shoving his hands in his pockets to look as innocent as possible.
The blonde leaned in and snapped a selfie with them. “Thank you. You’re awesome.” She slipped a strand of pink beads over his head before the group headed toward the next bar.
Blake picked up his pace, making a right on St. Ann and heading home. Two blocks away from New Orleans’ most famous street, Blake’s apartment and museum sat in a prime location for both living and running his business. The brick façade with maroon shutters gave the downstairs portion of the building just enough creepy curb appeal to draw in potential customers, and the eerie window displays featuring items used in magical rituals as well as embalming supplies were sure to catch people’s attention.
He’d covered the windows in brown paper, for now, piquing visitors’ curiosity as he waited to settle on a grand opening date. Now that his merger with the tour company was finalized, things were starting to look up.
It had to be fate. Everything that went down in New York must have happened for the sole purpose of sending him home. Sure, it could have been coincidence, but what a crazy bit of serendipity for him to see Sydney again when he had.
He’d been back in New Orleans for six months and hadn’t run into her until tonight. If they’d met earlier, she’d have turned up her nose and walked away like she had all those years ago when he’d told her his plans to move to New York.
Now she’d have to talk to him, and maybe…maybe he could convince her to give him another chance. He had no plans of leaving this time, and his feelings for her were already clawing out of the grave he’d buried them in eight years ago. Then again…
He may have deserved to be dumped, but not the way she did it. Nobody deserved to be ghosted.
Besides, they would be working together. He’d learned the hard way that office romances never worked, and he refused to make that mistake again.
He shuffled toward the side entrance leading upstairs to his apartment and found Claire, his cousin’s daughter, sitting sideways on the porch steps, her shoulder against the wall, her finger tracing the bottom panel of the wooden door.
Stopping in front of her, he fished his key from his pocket and waited for her to notice him. She appeared lost in thought, her brow furrowing, the sadness in her eyes tugging at his heart. At nineteen years old, Claire had endured more tragedy than anyone should ever have to. He cleared his throat.
“Hey, Blake.” She dropped her hand into her lap and smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I was wondering how long you were going to stand there.”
“What are you doing?” He sank onto a step next to her.
“Waiting for you.” She tucked her brown hair behind her ear. “How’d the tour go?”
“Good. It’s a done deal. We’re a museum and tour company now.”
“That’s great.” Her eyes brightened. “I did some more research on The Axeman murders. It looks like he had more victims than they originally thought. There might be more weapons out there. Do you want me to do some digging? See if they’re in anyone’s private collections?”
“We’ve got an axe and a cleaver. That’s enough for that particular crime, and anyway, you need to focus on your studies.”
She scoffed. “Please. My classes are so easy I can make A’s with my eyes closed. I sleep through half of them.”
“They’ll get harder.”
“Doubt it. Did you know The Axeman snuck in by removing a panel in the door? What kind of a person sneaks into someone’s house, unarmed, and uses the victim’s own tools as a weapon? That was one twisted individual. I bet he got off on it.”
Blake cringed. “A lot of people think it was mafia-related. A hitman, not a serial killer.”
She shrugged and picked at her fingernails.
“Maybe you should lay off the crime research for a while. I don’t think it’s good for you right now.”
“No, I need this.” Her eyes widened, and she sat up straight. “It helps me feel…less alone. Knowing that Brooklyn wasn’t the only victim of a senseless killing helps me cope. Moving here may have taken me away from everything that reminds me of her, but it will never take her out of my mind. She’ll always be with me.”
The passion in her words tightened his chest. He couldn’t imagine what she’d been through. “Your dad is worried about you.”
“Step-dad. Anyway, do you want to watch a movie or something? Hang out?” Her tone flipped from intense to casual in a beat, something her parents warned him to look out for when she moved here.
“Claire, you’re nineteen.”
She crossed her arms. “And you’re thirty. What’s your point?”
“You’ve made friends in the dorm, right? What about your roommate? Don’t you want to hang out with her? At least try to have a good time so I can tell your parents you’re making an attempt?”
“Working for you is my attempt. I have a job. I’m acing all my classes. That’s enough.”
“School has always
been easy for you, but you need to learn to enjoy life again.”
“The way you enjoyed your boss at the museum until her husband got fed up?” She arched a brow, challenging him.
“They were separated when I dated her.” He gritted his teeth, attempting to quell his frustration. Claire tried his patience to no end, but after everything she’d been through, he let it slide.
“You lost your job, but I guess that’s okay, since you enjoyed doing it.” She inclined her chin.
Blake blew out a slow breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring as he counted to ten in his mind. “This conversation isn’t about me. Honestly, Claire, I’m worried about you too. It’s ten-thirty at night, and you’ve been sitting on my doorstep all evening. Are you sure you’re okay?”
She visibly shivered and rubbed the back of her neck before squinting at his chest. “Nice necklace.”
He glanced down at the beads. “I was ambushed by a bachelorette party on my way home.”
“That explains the dicks.”
“Dicks?”
“The beads are dicks.” She laughed. “You’ve been walking around the French Quarter with a bunch of dicks around your neck.”
“Seriously?” He took off the necklace and examined it. Sure enough, what he’d thought were simply cylindrical-shaped beads were actually tiny pink dicks with well-formed ball sacks threaded end-to-end. “They’re awfully detailed for being so small.”
Claire picked up the other end of the strand. “Look at that. They even have a little ridge around the head. How cute. Tiny, but cute.”
Blake chuckled. “Well, size doesn’t matter anyway, right?”
She snorted. “The only people who say that are men with small dicks and the women who love them… They love the men, I mean. Nobody loves a little dick. Can I have it?”
“Be my guest.”
She slipped it over her head and slid a thumb across her phone screen as she stood.
Blake rose to his feet. “Where are you off to?”
“My roommate just texted. Looks like I’m going to a party. What time should I come in tomorrow?”
“Regular time. Sean’s team is coming in at three.”
“Great. I’ll see you then. Ah!” She squealed and jumped as a black crow swooped down from the street, landing on the steps in front of Blake’s apartment. “What is that?”
He waved an arm at the animal to shoo it away, but it barely flinched before ruffling its feathers and screeching at him. “Damn crow’s been hanging around for the past week.”
Claire inched toward it. “They say crows are bad omens, you know.”
“They’re pests is what they are.” He stomped on the wooden step, and the bird flew away. “It keeps dragging trash out of the can and dropping it on the sidewalk. I might have to invest in one of those plastic barn owl decoys to keep it away once the museum opens.” Then again, a crow would add to the creepy vibe he was going for.
“Good luck with that. See you tomorrow.” Claire turned and strode away.
“Be careful out there,” he called before she rounded the corner.
“Yes, sir.” She grinned and gave him a mock salute before disappearing behind a building.
Blake shook his head and unlocked the door, trudging up the steps to his second-floor apartment. He’d promised his cousin he’d look out for Claire when she started college. Giving her a job at his museum had seemed like a good way to keep tabs on her, but he’d been second-guessing his decision lately. A less hands-on approach might have been better, but it was too late for that now. At least she was finally making friends. Her parents would be thrilled to hear about her progress.
He slipped out of his jacket and tossed it on the couch before kicking off his shoes and padding into the bedroom. Pulling the string to turn on the light, he peered at the top shelf in the back of his closet. A small cedar box sat wedged in the corner behind a stack of old CDs he couldn’t bring himself to part with.
The box scraped across the shelf as he tugged it down, but a loud bang reverberating through the bottom floor overpowered the sound. He jumped, nearly dropping the container, but he tightened his grip on the smooth wood and carried it to the dresser.
Setting it down, he stood still, breathing deeply to calm his sprinting heart and listening for any more phantom sounds. Sean had warned him that bringing in all these artifacts related to tragedy might attract ghosts—ones attached to the objects as well as wandering spirits.
The heater hummed as it kicked on, and someone outside shouted. Otherwise, the room was devoid of sound. He shook his head, chuckling at himself. Get a grip. Ghosts were simply people without bodies. Sean had assured him of that. But…what if the disembodied person were a murderer in life?
The sound of light footsteps emanated from the living room, a sound he’d heard every night since he moved in. This was part of the residual haunting he’d been told about. Spirit energy from a ghost that had already moved on to…wherever…lingered in the building, repeating the same motions at the same time. It wasn’t intelligent, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
That didn’t stop him from tiptoeing into the hallway. He held his breath as he peered around the corner, half-expecting to see the ghost of The Axeman standing in his living room. As usual, the space sat empty.
He exhaled a curse and shuffled to his bedroom. He’d lived in this city twenty-two years of his life, and the idea of ghosts had never scared him before. But Claire’s research on all these crimes, particularly the gruesome murders, had him jumping at every damn sound he heard.
Once the team did their investigation and reassured him nothing was dangerous, he’d sleep better. Until then, he’d have to get used to sharing his space with unknown ghosts.
His gaze locked on the cedar box he’d retrieved from the closet, and his pulse quickened. He carried it to the bed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress as he lifted the lid. His expired passport sat on top, and he moved it aside, shuffling through various mementos until he found what he was looking for: a pewter sundial pendant hanging from a strip of black leather.
He set the box aside and held the necklace up to the light. He hadn’t thought about this pendant in ages. When he first returned to New Orleans, Sydney had crossed his mind a few times. He’d considered looking her up to see how she was doing, but she’d it made it crystal clear she was done with him when they broke up, so he’d dismissed the idea as quickly as it had formed. It was a good thing too.
Seeing her tonight had stirred up emotions he’d thought were dead and buried. Hell, he’d only been fooling himself. He used to think Sydney was the one. He may have succeeded in concealing the emotions, but they were still alive and kicking.
He should’ve tried harder. Sure, she’d blocked his number and changed her routine so they didn’t cross paths, but he’d only made a few attempts to contact her. He’d talked to a couple of her friends, but all they’d tell him was that Sydney didn’t want to see him.
He should have gone to her house and waited outside her door, but his pride kept him from sinking to that level. He was graduating, moving to New York to get his Master’s degree, and Sydney was a freshman.
She’d broken his heart. He’d have done whatever it took to make their relationship work. He’d have flown home every weekend to see her if that’s what she wanted. If she’d have just talked to him…
But she didn’t. She dumped him via text and never spoke to him again. Who does that? He’d turned his devastation into anger and headed for New York without looking back. Without realizing what he’d left behind.
He clutched the pendant in his palm, closing his eyes and focusing on the energy. His skin tingled as he opened himself to the stories it had to tell. In his mind, he saw the day Sydney gave the necklace to him. They’d been dating for a little over a month, and he’d always admired it. She said the sundial had significance, though she wouldn’t elaborate on why, so when she’d taken it off and clasped it around his neck, the gesture seared
into his heart.
She had cared for him at one time. Her emotions, though faint, still seeped into his skin as he focused on the necklace.
His own energy attached to the object was much stronger. He’d worn the damn thing for two and a half months after she dumped him, hoping she’d change her mind and at least tell him goodbye before he left.
He never heard from her again, and the hurt and anger he’d used as fuel to propel himself out of the state felt as vibrant as if it had happened yesterday. These were the emotions he needed to focus on. He had to remember the pain, or he’d fall for her all over again.
It was time to snuff out the burning embers of their past. They were coworkers now, and that was all they’d ever be.
Chapter Four
Sydney left Antoine’s with a full stomach and another big item marked off her to-do list. With the plans for her krewe’s annual masquerade finalized, all she had left to worry about for Mardi Gras were her costumes for the parade and the ball. That and the stress of navigating the busy streets and keeping her tour groups together when the mass of tourists descended upon the city, but she’d been handling that for years.
Her phone buzzed as she made a left on St. Ann, and a text from Blake illuminated the screen: Are we still on for 3:00?
A weird flitting sensation formed in her chest as she typed her reply: On my way. She waited a few seconds for a response, but nothing came through, so she shoved her phone into her pocket. Had he texted Eric and Jason too, or was he afraid she’d skip the meeting because of their history? Probably the latter.
To be fair, faking food poisoning had crossed her mind. Migraines were always convincing excuses, but she was a professional. So what if her heart flip-flopped in her chest every time he looked at her? She’d get over it eventually.
She refused to be the reason the company died, so she had to.
The moment the thought crossed her mind, her vision tunneled, the blue and gold kaleidoscope eclipsing her perception of the real world, the sinking sensation dragging her down to Wonderland at record speed.
Love & Omens Page 3