Memento Mori: Haunted New Orleans Series

by Rayvn Salvador

“Yeah, she’s amazing. I rescued her from a fighting ring in the bayou. We did a show not too far from where they were holding them, and she somehow got out of the pen and ran to the set where we were setting up for the episode. She was pretty beat-up, but I immediately took her to a vet, and they made sure she was good. She found me for a reason. It was right after I lost my sister. I think we healed each other.”

  I looked up to see Hanlen with a hand to her chest. “That’s amazing. Please tell me that you shut that place down. People who abuse animals like that deserve the harshest of punishments. Who am I kidding? I’d like to murder them.”

  “We absolutely busted them. I had the cops out there immediately and they were all charged, and the dogs were all taken to be treated and rehomed. From what I heard, they were all adopted. The assholes didn’t even realize she had gotten away. If it weren’t for Mystique, I don’t know that they would have been caught—at least, not before more damage was done.”

  When Mystique had finished eating, she plopped down on her bed with a groan and a sigh. She always made me smile. I gave her a rub and told her to be a good girl, and as Hanlen said her goodbyes, I sent a quick text to my neighbor, asking if he could let her out in a half-hour. Like usual, he was happy to help. I’d lucked out with my neighbors. Manny and his husband ran a dog walking and mobile grooming business and were only too happy to help me with Myst when I needed it.

  As we entered the SUV, Hanlen turned to me. “Wasn’t this place a temple and museum at one time?”

  I smiled. “One of them, yes. There are a few. There’s another well-known one on Rampart Street that I’m sure you’ve heard of. The apartment above it is actually the site of a super tragic murder and one of the most haunted locales in the city proper.” I looked over to see her rolling her eyes as I’d expected. It only made me grin harder. “But . . . yes. The downstairs of this building used to be the Laveau Museum. There was a fire about eight years ago, and it’s been shut down since. I had it fixed up and use it mostly for storage now. And occasionally as a headquarters for the cast and crew. There’s office furniture, computer equipment, and some other things in there.”

  “Wow,” she said, seeming impressed. “That’s huge. How in the world did you end up acquiring a property like that? Do you live there alone? I think I remember hearing that it’s been in the Laveau line for over a hundred years.”

  I was shocked. I had assumed she knew my history. Nearly everybody put two and two together when they heard my last name. And I couldn’t help but feel that maybe she was fishing for some personal information, too. That made something inside me warm. “It’s just Myst and me.” I waited a second and let that sink in and then continued. “It’s family land and holdings.” I paused for another beat, but she just pulled out into traffic.

  “Marie Laveau had seven children, only two of which lived. One of the two surviving daughters, her namesake, Marie Catherine Laveau, entered into a domestic partnership with a nobleman of French descent, and they, in turn, had fifteen children. Her common-law husband’s name was Christophe Dominick Duminy de Glapion.” I glanced at her and watched as it sank in.

  “Holy crap, Dev. You’re a Laveau?”

  “Glapion.” I smiled. “But, yes, I am. Fourth-generation.”

  “Just . . . wow,” she said. “Okay, I kind of get some things about you now.” She glanced at me again. “You know I don’t really believe in this stuff, but the history of the Maries and their offspring is vast and varied. And some of the things recorded were irrefutably proven without logical explanation.” She shot me a smile. “I promise to be more respectful. You’re like . . . New Orleans royalty.”

  I laughed. “You don’t have to worry about that. You’re fine.”

  Hanlen pulled into the lot at Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop and parked around the back. Lafitte’s was another of New Orleans’ hotspots for both tourists and locals alike. Not only one of the oldest buildings in the French Quarter but also—reportedly—one of the most haunted. And I could attest to the fact that they weren’t only stories.

  Most hauntings presented as mist and shadow. One of the main apparitions at Lafitte’s, the one said to be Jean Lafitte himself, showed himself to me as a full body rendering in full-on sailor’s gear. And he was a salty, foul-mouthed, trickster bastard. I’d also had run-ins with a woman on the second floor a time or two. She was always a bit shy, but when she finally decided to make herself known, she could talk your ear off if you let her. When we did our show there two seasons ago, we captured the electronic voice phenomenon footage to prove it. But outside of the ghosts themselves, there were rampant reportings of other occurrences—electronics dying spontaneously, jewelry mysteriously falling off, watches being wound, ghostly red eyes being reflected in the mirror behind the booth at the back, plants in the courtyard reaching out to grab patrons. It might be an interesting evening with all of us in there tonight.

  “Have you ever been here?” I asked Hanlen as we walked around to the front.

  “Once, but not for long. I stopped in one Halloween for a drink with some friends.”

  “Anything strange happen?”

  She looked at me. “What? Like ghosty stuff?” I nodded. “My cell phone died so I couldn’t call for a ride home, and I lost my wrap bracelet. That’s about all that happened. I was kind of pissed, truth be told.”

  I laughed. “You do realize that those are a couple of the things that most people who experience the paranormal activity in the bar report, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. Doesn’t mean it’s real.” She flashed me a grin that made me want to kiss it off her face.

  Whoa, Dev. Slow your roll. You just met her, and you don’t even know anything about her love-life situation yet.

  We rounded the corner, and I saw some of the crew at the tiny metal tables and chairs in the minuscule garden courtyard to the side of the building. Lafitte’s was pretty small all around, but they somehow packed a ton of people in there each night, and it never felt overwhelming. I figured it must be the magic of the place.

  “There’s some of the gang now.” I pointed, and Hanlen followed my finger to the group of four at the table.

  “I’m strangely nervous,” Hanlen said with a small laugh.

  “You shouldn’t be.” I bumped her shoulder with mine. “They’re all great people and they will be basically living in your house for a couple of days.

  “All right, let’s go meet the uninvited houseguests.”

  I laughed and we made our way through the tiny swinging gate and to the table. Everybody stood with smiles.

  “Okay,” I started. “Guys, this is Hanlen Arbor, our gracious host for the next several days.” Hanlen gave a shy little wave and then stuck her hands into her pockets. I smiled down at her.

  “This motley crew from left to right is Schuyler Liu, our amazing forensics expert.” The petite, dark-haired beauty waved and ran a hand through her raven-wing hair, her full finger ring getting caught in the locks. She had her dark eyes done up with both black and white eyeliner tonight.

  “You can call me Sky,” she said.

  I moved on. “Paxton Chase, who is actually an excommunicated priest—a story I’ll let him tell you later if you both want. We call him Padre. He handles all of our suspected dark activity.” The blond reached out and offered Hanlen a hand.

  “Larken Maynard, my super talented co-host, who you will hear called Birdie by just about everybody—except for me. I usually call her Lark.” The redhead saluted with two fingers, a newly hair-dressed curl dropping over her forehead.

  “And you’ve met R2, our Jack-of-all-trades.” Remy sketched a bow again, and Hanlen shook her head with a laugh.

  Everybody moved over and made room for us, pulling up a missing chair. Hanlen and I sat. “Where are Van, Halen, and Harper?” I asked.

  Lark looked at the building. “Inside, getting drinks. They just got here.” She raised her glass of wine and took a sip.

  “Wait,” Hanlen said. “Van
and Halen? Are those nicknames?”

  I chuckled. “Nope. Those are their given names. Van and Halen Arnot. Brother and sister. Their parents were huge fans. The team calls them the super twins. Van’s a ridiculous electrical engineer and builds a lot of our tools, and Lennie is a computer engineer who creates the kickass apps to go with them.”

  “Wow,” Hanlen said, a bit of awe in her tone. “I feel like I’m saying that word a lot.” She laughed. “You guys really do have it all on this team.”

  “There are even more that I use from time to time for special things, but this is our core crew.”

  Sky reached out and touched Hanlen briefly on the arm. “But we don’t all believe in this malarkey. I find great pleasure in debunking these stories, if you want the truth. But it’s an amazing show and a great team. Harper agrees with me. She’s a licensed psychologist. Every time we get a supposed possession case, we just look at each other and roll our eyes. But she’s amazing at calming our worried and sometimes traumatized clients.”

  “Hey, don’t dismiss it all offhand. I have intimate knowledge of demonic activity and dark hauntings,” Padre said and raised a brow at Schuyler.

  “So you say,” she said with a quirk of her lips just as two women—one brunette and one blonde—and a tall, tawny-haired man walked towards us from inside.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, standing to give Lennie and Harper hugs and fist-bumping Van. “So, the gang’s all here. Hanlen, this is Van, Halen, and Harper.” They all exchanged hellos and handshakes. “Now, do you want something to drink?”

  She seemed to think about it for a minute. “Can you get me a Zombie Killer?”

  I raised a brow. “No whiskey tonight?”

  “A girl can be impetuous. Cider sounds good.”

  “Done.” I squeezed her shoulder before walking into the establishment and up to the bar. I looked around at the patrons, seeing a few that I knew. The most well-known New Orleans Voodoo Mambo sat in a corner with a man. One of my previous clients sat on the other side of the place, raising a beer in my direction. I waved. Just as I was about to take my turn with the bartender, another familiar face appeared from the restroom area. He walked towards me, his surfer-boy good looks disarming, especially paired with the wire-rimmed glasses he favored. Burke was my newest member. The team hadn’t even met him yet. I hoped they would all get along.

  “Hey, man. So glad you could come,” I said and clasped palms, giving him a bro-hug. “Are you ready to meet the client and the crew?”

  “Very. I hope they like me,” he said and ducked his head.

  “They will. What are you drinking?”

  “Can you get me a Bud Light? Here’s some cash.” He dug into his pocket, but I stopped him.

  “I got it. Welcome to the brood.”

  We took the drinks back outside and approached the table. “So, guys, I’ve noticed we’ve been struggling a bit with the research side of things lately. You all have lives outside of the show, and I respect that. I don’t want any of us hitting the burnout stages or overworking ourselves. So, I hired us some help. I’d like to introduce you all to Burke Mathers. He’s a web sleuth and local historian who does some temp teaching at LSU a couple of times a month. I already used him to verify some things for Arborwood, and I hope we can use him more as the series progresses.”

  “Bless you, Dev,” Harper said and looked at Burke. “Welcome to the team. The big guy often has me doing a lot of the research, but I usually just end up wanting one of the super twins to write code to do the web scrubs for me.” She laughed.

  “I’m happy to help. Celebrated nerd and lover of all things true crime, historical, and supernatural. This is kind of a dream job.” He laughed. It sounded a little nervous, but I imagined that this would work out well.

  Though they didn’t say anything, Remy and Van looked a little strained, strange expressions on their faces. Neither was big on change. Anytime we brought someone new on or changed up something about the show’s processes and procedures, they balked a little. Neither ever gave me any guff, given I was the mastermind behind the show and technically their boss, but there was always a noticeable shift in their attitudes. Like tonight. But I decided to let it go for now. If anything happened, I’d handle it.

  The ladies were clearly enamored by Burke. He was charming and funny and had us all laughing well into the night. I even saw the guys joining in. This would be good for the team.

  I glanced at Hanlen, making sure she was okay. She’d been laughing and joking and trading stories with everyone. Flirting with me. I had snuck some casual touches, reveling in the electricity that always seemed to exist between us and the satisfaction of having her touch me in return. It was nice. She seemed so . . . light tonight. And I got the answer I had been wanting, too. Someone—maybe Lark?—had asked her if she was married, and she had said that she wasn’t, and wasn’t dating either. That was great news for me. I wanted to see more of her during this trip. Yes, it was a job, but she was a captivating woman, and I wanted to get to know her better.

  Later, Padre and I got up to get another round for everybody, and R2 and the super twins left, all of them having early mornings. I wouldn’t have to be out at the plantation until the afternoon, after their initial work was done. While Padre waited for the bartender to fill the order, I took the back hallway to the bathrooms. As I was glancing at my phone, I bumped into someone, only to have the newly familiar scent of eucalyptus wash over me.

  Hanlen.

  “We need to stop meeting this way, Mr. Glapion,” she said, her eyes a little sleepy, her posture relaxed.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “I kind of like it.”

  She leaned a shoulder against the wall next to me. “You do, huh?”

  “I do.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Having fun?”

  She smiled lazily. “I am. Your friends are great.”

  “They can be your friends, too.”

  “I may just take you up on that offer. Does that mean that you’re my friend, Dev?” Her gaze roamed my face, and I felt it in parts south of the border. Damn, she was potent.

  “I’d love to be your friend.”

  “I’d like that, too. The thing is, I think friends should help each other out.”

  “I agree. What did you have in mind?”

  “I’ve been doing some thinking. I think it would be really great to kiss you. Like . . . really great.”

  I tried so hard to suppress the smile. Yes, she was definitely tipsy, maybe even a bit drunk, but I imagined this was probably incredibly serious for her, too. Especially given her losses and the fact that she hadn’t been with anyone in a while as she’d told the girls. “I would be amenable to that,” I teased.

  “You would?” she asked, seeming surprised. Did she not realize how beautiful and captivating she was? Had our shameless flirting outside not tipped her off to the fact that I was more than interested?

  “How’s this for an answer?” I reached down and palmed the nape of her neck under the silky fall of her hair, my thumb caressing her cheek as I urged her head back. She rose on tiptoe to reach me, and our lips met in an indescribable melding of desire. Yet there was care there, too. On both sides. It was . . . everything. We gave. We took. We shared breaths. And I felt as if she reached my soul.

  She dropped flat to her feet and took a small step back, placing her fingers over her kiss-swollen mouth. “Wow.”

  “Wow, indeed.” It was all the answer I could give.

  I was officially a goner for Hanlen Arbor.

  The time we had for the show wouldn’t be nearly enough time in her company. And the next day without her as she did some work, and I did what I needed to do for the shoot, would be hell.

  Chapter 12

  “It was night, and the rain fell; and falling, it was rain, but, having fallen, it was blood.”

  ~Edgar Allan Poe

  Darkness always brought with it a calming sense of serenity, a cloak of rightness that rested on the
shoulders like a comforting weight. Yet, with that velvet hug came a gnawing hunger. A need to sate the desires of a dark soul. Tonight, was one of those nights.

  With eagle eyes, he watched his prey through the windows of the dimly lit building, moving slowly, struggling, nearly begging for relief. This was a kindness. An act of mercy. A good deed for not only himself but many—his target, their struggling loved ones, those with no time to help . . .

  It was a completion of the circle—eternal life for both him and his chosen—though in vastly different ways.

  He’d watched this quarry for a couple of nights now, taking in their habits, their defenses. He didn’t always do this. Sometimes, the darker side of him demanded instant gratification, and he acted on impulse like he had in the park with the motorcycle man, instinct driving him to choose. With this one, he’d nearly approached the night before, but something in his gut had told him that it wasn’t the time. Not yet. Now, however, the other inside of him demanded satiety, and he was helpless to refuse.

  Go. Take. Claim what is offered. What is yours to possess.

  The symphony of midnight washed over him, and a frisson of awareness skittered over his skin, dumping adrenaline into his veins better than any hit—even of the finest drug.

  When his intended opened the door and moved into the yard, as they did every night around this time, he felt another surge of excitement, almost sexual in nature, and sucked in a shallow breath. How fortunate this quarry was to have been selected. What an honor to serve.

  Distracted and intent on their nightly chores, his offering was caught completely unawares by the first flash of silver in the moonlight, rendering them malleable in seconds, severing the spine in such a way that it killed feeling but kept the blood pumping. He gently lowered them to the ground, careful to pay the proper respect. He was ready. Prepared. He had done this several times now and had a system, only getting better with each offering made.

  Brushing a gloved palm over a face so full of emotion and . . . life, it brought forth tears and a surge of gratitude, almost enough to feed the demon within—almost, but not quite.