Exhaling slowly, Rosie watched Sarah lift her hand to the space behind her left ear. That’s what she did whenever she was hearing someone. She would mess with that ear, tugging on it or rubbing her fingers behind it, or tilt her head in the opposite direction.
“Whoa. Wait.” Sarah’s head jerked. “There’s another voice. It’s louder. Very loud and it’s coming through.”
Rosie’s brows lifted. That . . . that had never happened before. She leaned forward and then stopped as the flames on the candles flickered rapidly. As she frowned, her gaze bounced between the candles. The flames had moved like there was wind, but there wasn’t even a ceiling fan running.
A chill skated down Rosie’s spine as she lifted her gaze to Sarah as a sixth sense kicked in. Not the kind of sense Sarah had, nothing as finely tuned as that, but it was the same feeling she got on investigations, right before something freaky happened.
Sarah was rubbing at the back of her ear. “It’s a male voice and . . . and he’s saying . . . he thinks it’s a pretty name.” She shook her head. “He is talking about your name, too, but . . .”
Rosie ordered the hope swelling in her chest to chill out. Just because it was a male coming through and he knew she didn’t like her full name didn’t mean it was Ian. Her grandfather had come through once, just like her grandmother, three years ago, and so had a cousin.
Though, they’d never mentioned her name before. So that was . . . odd.
Sarah’s lips pursed as her nose scrunched. “Who . . . I don’t know. I keep hearing the word . . . ‘peonies’? Yes. Something to do with peonies.” She opened her eyes. “What is the deal with peonies?”
Her lips parted on a sharp inhale. “Peonies are my favorite flower.”
Nodding slowly, Sarah closed her eyes again. “Okay. But it’s something about . . . something about peonies today?”
“Today? I don’t—wait. Yes.” Her eyes widened. Holy crapola. . . . “I took peonies to the cemetery. I always do. Every year.”
She tipped her head to the side. “You did something with those flowers, right? He’s saying—slow down,” Sarah ordered softly. “Yes. Okay. You gave those flowers to someone?”
Rosie’s mouth dropped open. A shiver danced over her skin. Just because she was around the supernatural a lot, that didn’t mean she still didn’t get freaked out.
And she was a little freaked out.
There was no way, none whatsoever, that Sarah would’ve known that. She hadn’t even told Nikki that she’d run into Devlin at the cemetery and spoken to him.
“Yes,” Rosie said, her hands closing in her lap. “I did give the flowers to someone—”
“Half of them,” Sarah corrected.
Rosie’s heart skipped a beat.
“He’s saying that was nice of you,” Sarah continued, her eyes open now. She wasn’t looking at Rosie, but staring into one of the flames. “He’s . . . I’m sorry. He’s kind of all over the place, and half of what he’s saying isn’t making sense.”
Now her heart had sped up. Had Sarah finally connected with Ian? “He can hear me, right?” When Sarah nodded absently, she drew in a shallow breath. “What is our word?”
Sarah’s gaze flew to hers. “This isn’t Ian.”
“What?”
“This isn’t him,” she repeated. “I don’t . . . I don’t even think this spirit knows you.”
Okay. Now she was more than a little freaked out. “What?”
“This happens sometimes.” She flinched as she refocused on the flame. Then her eyes widened. “He saw you at the cemetery. That is right.”
Rosie leaned forward again. “What is he saying?”
“He keeps saying that he doesn’t belong there. That he shouldn’t be there.” She curled her fingers around the lobe of her ear. “I think he means . . . he shouldn’t be dead.”
Well, that wasn’t entirely surprising. A lot of dead people didn’t think they should be dead.
“He’s angry. Very angry.” Her head twitched again. “What about the peonies—oh.” She looked at Rosie again. “He’s saying you shouldn’t have given the flowers to him.”
Her stomach twisted. Okay. Yet another detail Sarah didn’t know. Rosie never mentioned a guy. Was this spirit talking about Devlin? “Why shouldn’t I have?”
Sarah grew quiet. “Ungrateful,” she muttered, her lips thinning. “Mistake. He made a mistake. That’s what he keeps saying.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I can’t get him to calm down. He’s . . . God.” She dragged her hand over her head, shoving the shorter strands back. “He’s enraged. He keeps shouting that he doesn’t belong there.” Her chest rose with a deep breath. “Death.”
Rosie cocked her head to the side.
“Death,” Sarah repeated, making a sudden choking sound. “He’s saying . . . something about his death. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Really?” Rosie sighed.
“Wait.” Sarah touched her neck. “He’s saying—oh my God.” Her eyes widened. “Nope. I’m done. I can’t—I’m done. I’m closing off this connection.”
“Okay.” Rosie nodded jerkily. “Close it down. Close it—”
Sarah suddenly jerked back from the coffee table as her hands went out in front of her. Her eyes were wide. “He’s here.”
“Um, I’m not following.”
“He. Is. Here, Rosie.” Sarah’s gaze latched on to hers. “Not in the metaphysical sense. Don’t you—”
A loud thud came from above, like a giant hand smacked into the ceiling. Both of them jolted.
The candles blew out—every single one.
“Holy shit,” Sarah whispered, and Rosie heard her jump to her feet.
Goose bumps rose all over Rosie’s bare arms as she stared into the darkness and her heart thumped heavily. She strained to see or hear anything, but all she heard was Sarah rushing over toward the door. A second later, the living room flooded with light and Rosie was staring at the colorful pillows all along Sarah’s couch. Slowly, she twisted at the waist, to where Sarah stood.
Sarah stared back at her. “Rosie. . . .”
“That happened.” Her eyes felt like they were going to pop out of her head. “That really just happened.”
Dragging in deep, rapid breaths, Sarah nodded. “He kept saying . . .”
“What?”
“He kept saying . . . God, I don’t want to even say this out loud, but I need to.” Visibly pale, she pulled away from the wall. “He kept saying, the . . . the devil is coming.”
Chapter 3
The only two devils Rosie sort of knew were the perfectly sugared beignets that were to blame for her rounded hips and a de Vincent.
But could this spirit be talking about a de Vincent? Or was it a de Vincent? That just sounded out of this world, but . . .
Clutching the bottle of wine, Sarah sat down next to Rosie on the couch. All the lights were turned on in her apartment, and Sarah had put the kibosh on any attempt Rosie wanted to make to communicate with whoever the hell it was that had come through. Sarah claimed the spirit was gone now, but as Rosie sipped from her wineglass and Sarah drank straight from the bottle, she wasn’t sure she believed her.
“Has that happened before?” Rosie asked as she pulled her leg up onto the couch.
Sarah stared straight ahead, her blue eyes focused on a pink-and-blue, bohemian-style wall tapestry hung behind the TV. “Yes. Not often, but sometimes a spirit will sort of . . . ride another spirit through the connection. I’ve done readings where complete strangers showed up and wanted to talk. I mean, sometimes the spirit knows the person, and the person just doesn’t realize that, but there’ve been cases where it was a random spirit hitching a ride.” She turned to Rosie as she lifted her hand to her neck. She began rubbing it again. “I think . . . I think he was trying to jump me.”
Rosie sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you serious?”
She nodded.
“That’s . . . that’s not good.”
And it wasn’t. Jumping wasn’t the same thing as full possession, but it could still wreak havoc on a person’s mind, body, and environment. It occurred when a spirit jumped into a person’s body to communicate through them. People might find themselves saying things they normally wouldn’t, having odd accents and even mannerisms that were unlike them. When a person was jumped, they might even experience how the spirit died, and that could really mess with someone’s head.
And from her own experience with investigations, Rosie knew that only a very strong spirit or a very determined one could jump a living human.
“You know, I’ve let spirits in many times during readings, when they wait for permission, but this guy . . . he wasn’t waiting for permission. He wanted in and he was furious.”
Feeling guilty, Rosie touched Sarah’s arm and winced when the woman jumped a little. “I’m sorry. I—”
“This is not your fault. You don’t need to apologize, but I do need to tell you this, and not just because you’re my friend.” Still white-knuckling the wine bottle, she dropped her hand and twisted toward Rosie. “I’m pretty sure this spirit didn’t know you personally, but I got the feeling that he . . . he hitched a ride with you and not another spirit and it wasn’t a mistake.”
Rosie’s brows lifted as she nibbled on her lower lip. That wasn’t something anyone wanted to hear. Not even her.
“Do you have any idea of who that could’ve been?” Sarah asked and then took another big, healthy gulp of the wine.
Rosie could easily be a spirit beacon, especially considering all the investigations she’d taken part in with NOPE over the years, but she didn’t think it came from any of those cases. She looked away from Sarah, not sure if her suspicions were on point or not.
“What are you not telling me?” Sarah demanded.
Drawing in a deep breath, Rosie leaned forward and placed her wineglass on the coffee table. She hadn’t really allowed herself time to think about her brief meeting with Devlin, because there truly was no point, but she couldn’t help but feel like they’d had a . . . a moment, hadn’t they? That indefinable connection that even strangers could make in a short period of time.
“Okay, this is going to sound crazier than what just happened, but when I was at the cemetery today, I saw this guy drop his flowers in a puddle,” she told Sarah. “They were ruined and he’d tossed them, and I had more than enough flowers. I split the peonies and found the guy to give them to him, because that had to suck, you know?”
Sarah nodded slowly as she took another drink.
“I swear I had no idea who he was until I found him and he was standing in front of the de Vincent mausoleum. It was Devlin de Vincent.”
“The Devil.” Sarah let out a hard, short laugh. “That makes me feel better that he could’ve been referencing a nickname and not the actual devil.”
Rosie snorted at that.
“You know, literally everyone seems to know his nickname, but no one knows why they call him that or how it got started.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I guess the nicknames for all the brothers started when they were in college up north, but yeah, I would love to know why they call him that.”
“Ditto,” murmured Sarah. “What happened when you gave him the flowers?”
“We chatted for a couple of minutes and then I left. I thought he was there because of his father. You know, he passed recently.”
She blanched as she lowered her gaze. “Didn’t he . . . ?”
“Yeah, he killed himself. I said that I was sorry to hear about his father’s death, and he corrected me, said the flowers were for his mother,” Rosie continued. “I figured he just wasn’t ready to even acknowledge his father’s death, and I totally understand that. Anyway, that’s where the whole peony thing is from. I didn’t even tell Nikki about that when I saw her tonight and you know she works in the de Vincent household. Do you think the spirit was him—Lawrence de Vincent?”
“God.” Sarah leaned back against the cushion, lowering the bottle to her stomach. “You know, it’s possible. He could’ve been hanging around Devlin or the cemetery, saw you, and attached himself.”
“But why? I didn’t know him and I don’t know Devlin. That was the first time I saw him in person.”
“Sometimes the reason why a spirit attaches to someone is never known.”
Rosie’s lips pursed. “Well, that’s not cool.”
She slid her a dry look. “Most people would be more freaked out about that possibility.”
“Most people don’t hunt ghosts.” Rosie shrugged, but she was a little disturbed. Especially if this ghostie was an angry one. She wasn’t about that kind of life. “I mean, hey, if I’m going to be haunted by a ghost, I figure a de Vincent is like the gold standard.”
Sarah giggled and then smacked her hand over her mouth. “That’s not funny.”
“Yeah.” Rosie grinned. “It kind of is.”
Sarah let her head fall back against the couch. “But seriously, I don’t know if that was Lawrence or someone else, but I do know he was angry and . . . I think . . . I think he said something else, right before I closed down communication.” She exhaled roughly. “I don’t know if I heard him right. He was trying to jump me and I don’t need that, so I cut him off, but if he was Lawrence . . .”
“What? What do you think he said?”
She turned her head toward Rosie. “I think he said he was murdered.”
Not unexpectedly, Rosie had one hell of a time falling asleep that night.
Back at her apartment and in her bed, she stared up at the glow of the dark stars stuck to her ceiling. They didn’t glow green. They were a soft, luminous white, but yeah, they were still tacky.
Rosie loved them.
They reminded her of infinite space, and while that may be a weird thing to want to be reminded of, she sort of found it comforting that in the big scheme of things, she was just a tiny speck of flesh and bone on a giant rock hurtling around the sun.
The stars also helped her fall asleep. Usually. But not tonight. Tonight she could only think about the reading with Sarah and the question her friend had asked her before she’d left.
“Are you going to say something?”
Rosie snorted-laughed into the relatively dark bedroom. Was she going to say something? To who? Devlin? Yeah, that was not going to happen. Her reluctance had nothing to do with Rosie not believing Sarah. She totally believed her. Sarah had connected with someone who was very angry and quite possibly could’ve been murdered, but—and it was a big but—who in the world would believe Rosie if she came up to them and said something like that?
It was one thing for her to readily believe what Sarah told her, because Rosie had seen some bizarre shit, but someone who most likely didn’t believe in the supernatural, even if their house appeared to be haunted, probably wouldn’t be open to a virtual stranger walking up to them and dropping that kind of bomb.
Because it would, in fact, sound like she’d donned her crazy pants.
Groaning, Rosie rolled onto her side and her gaze traveled across the room, to the heavily curtained bedroom window. It was the only window in the room. She was grateful for investing in those blackout curtains, because none of the bright, flashing lights from the French Quarter seeped through that window.
Rosie sighed.
There was no way she could say anything about what happened tonight. She didn’t know the de Vincents well enough to approach them, but she could tell Nikki. Even though her friend believed in the supernatural, she seriously didn’t think Nikki would feel remotely comfortable telling any of the de Vincents what Rosie had heard, because again, it would sound a little insane.
Besides all of that, and all of that was enough for Rosie to keep her mouth shut, Sarah and she couldn’t be sure that it was Lawrence who’d briefly come through. Wasn’t like the spirit had entered with a name tag. Yes, it seemed like it was him. It made sense, after all. Rosie had been at the cemetery and given Devlin peo
nies. As creepy as it sounded, Lawrence could’ve been hanging around either his son or the cemetery and for some bizarre reason hitched a ride with Rosie.
Shifting onto her back again, she closed her eyes and blew out a ragged breath.
Anything was possible, which meant that spirit could’ve really been Lawrence and it also meant that it could’ve been someone totally unrelated to the de Vincents, and it was just a strange coincidence or it could’ve been another de Vincent other than Lawrence. For decades, that family had been plagued by deaths and all kinds of drama. They were cursed! Lots of their family members had died, many in weird and bizarre manners.
But what . . . what if it had been Lawrence? What if he had come through the reading and wanted it to be known that he hadn’t killed himself? That he’d been murdered? That was a big deal. Wouldn’t they want to know that?
If the shoes were on her feet, she would want to know. She figured she had a unique perspective on things, but this wasn’t about her.
“Ugh,” she moaned, rolling onto her stomach and planting her face in the pillow.
“The devil is coming.”
Her thoughts kept turning, but finally, after forever, and after kicking half the blankets off her, she fell asleep. She had no idea how many hours passed before she was jarred out of dreams about lemon sorbet by the shrill sound of her phone ringing.
Groaning, she smacked around on her end table, blindly reaching for her phone. Her hand hit an empty plastic glass, knocking it to the floor.
“Damn it,” she muttered, lifting her face from the pillow. Blowing a thick curl out of her face, she stretched over and snatched up her phone. Squinting, she saw Nikki’s smiling face on the screen. It was a god-awful time in the morning; the kind of time that wasn’t even really morning in Rosie’s opinion.
She answered as she let her head fall back to the pillow. “Hello?” she croaked, and then winced. She sounded like she’d inhaled fifty packs of cigarettes.
Moonlight Scandals Page 3