Emi much preferred the formerly living to demons. She was used to the dead. Used to what they were capable of. That being said, the spirit she’d taken on this evening certainly had a lot of spunk and fire. Most of the dearly departed would have conceded by this point. Not the one haunting this building; it was determined to remain where it was.
It had teeth, and it wasn’t afraid to show them.
Jerk.
Emi cast a warm look at the couple, who were close to her age but seemed so much younger. Their eyes still held a certain innocence about them, despite what they’d been living with. They’d not seen as much as she had in their lives. This would be their traumatic life experience. A story they regaled others with at fancy dinner parties one day in the distant future. A footnote in the story of them.
This was nothing compared to what Emi had lived through. Simply thinking about her past again could take her back to that dark place. A place she couldn’t go to mentally and come out on the other side whole.
She didn’t want to scare Helen Joy or Sam, but she couldn’t lie and tell them everything would be all right. It wouldn’t. At least not yet anyway. There was still more to be done. “It’s not gone. Father Angelo will be able to come back now and complete his exorcism. That will take care of it.”
“It’s still here?” asked Helen Joy, her voice shaking as she clung to Sam. Her blond hair looked wild from the ordeal. It had blown about and whipped into her eyes during the height of the spirit’s tantrum. Prior to it all, she’d never looked anything but totally put together—wearing the latest in fashion, dressed in high-dollar clothes, her manners impeccable. But now she seemed lost, scared, disheveled.
Emi felt bad for her.
Helen Joy was a nice person with a good heart. She didn’t deserve the fear and torment that the spirit had put her through. Not many did.
“Yes, it’s still here,” confessed Emi. “When Father Angelo came to me asking for help, I told him it would be a process. I was brought in to help weaken it to the point he could expel it. We’ve had to do something similar in the past more than once. It’s worked well to date. I’m sure he cautioned you when he became involved that this wouldn’t be fixed overnight. This spirit has been here a long time. It’s powerful and angry.”
Sam let out a shaky breath. Of the two of them, he’d been the one better equipped to handle the reality of their situation. From the get-go, he’d done his best to joke off the events, making light of them as much as he could. “And Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“Right,” said Emi. “The activity will calm for a while and it might seem like all is well and that he’s gone. He’s not. He’s wounded right now, but trust me. He’s still here. He’ll strike back, and it will be worse than before. But you’ll be ready for him. And Father Angelo is prepping for what he needs to do. When he comes back it will be with spiritual guns blazing.”
The couple shared a look that said they didn’t think they’d be ready for anything, and were already pushed to their breaking point. She wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to leave, giving up on their dream of living near the French Quarter or in New Orleans at all. She had to admit that if she were in their shoes, and had no real knowledge of the supernatural, she’d have wanted to run too.
“Remember what I told you,” she said, hoping they’d listened when she’d explained everything in detail to them before starting the cleansing.
Sam nodded. “We need to show no fear, and we need to avoid challenging it.”
Helen Joy touched his chin. “You can’t provoke it anymore. Did you hear her?”
He sighed. “Yes. I’m sorry I challenged it. I didn’t know it would lash out and hurt you to get back at me.”
Emi could sympathize with their plight. She, more than most, understood that real evil was out there. She also knew they’d never survive if they tried to take on the dark energy headfirst. They simply weren’t equipped to deal with it in such a way. “Yes, that’s it. Wait for Father Angelo’s call.”
Helen Joy moved out of Sam’s embrace and rushed Emi, wrapping her arms around her tight and hugging her. “Thank you,” whispered the woman.
“It’s not over,” reminded Emi, returning the embrace. She hated leaving them alone, but she couldn’t stay. The cleansing had weakened her and she needed to be far from the house to regain her full strength.
“I know, but now we have hope.”
Emi drew back slowly and took a long look at the couple. They loved one another. It was easy to tell. Their love was pure and true. It was the kind of love everyone deserved, but few received. They’d last no matter what. But they’d more than likely head out of town.
She couldn’t blame them.
If she could outrun her problems, she would. Try as she might, she’d never been able to. At least not yet. She had a sinking feeling that the only way she’d escape her problems would be death. She wasn’t willing to throw in the towel on life just yet.
I’ve got a lot of fight left in me too.
She gathered her bag and then headed toward the front door. Sam and Helen Joy would be all right at least for the next few days. By then, hopefully, Father Angelo would be able to rid the place of the bad entity. If not, Emi would go head to head with the spirit again; only this time she’d avoid holding back. In the end, it would learn she was the scarier of the two.
She left the couple to give the couple time together by themselves. As Emi stepped out of the house, the heavy oppressiveness she’d felt inside lifted. Taking a deep breath, she savored the scents of the city she’d come to love.
When she’d arrived in New Orleans, she’d been a scared sixteen-year-old. She’d learned the lay of the land and who to avoid if you wanted to stay safe. She’d also built a network of friends of all ages.
Some were transients, like herself. Others had been born in the city and planned to one day die there. And some simply found themselves there, making a living doing what they loved.
Emi’s Uncle Yanko had taught her how to use her skill set to make a living when she was young. He’d done much the same thing, as had her mother, whom she only knew from stories her uncle had told her. The siblings had been close, each possessing similar gifts. Her uncle would remark on how much Emi looked like her mother. She wouldn’t know. There were no pictures of her parents that had survived the fire.
Emi had barely made it out of the flames alive.
Her uncle had saved her life when she was only three. He’d then raised her as his own, staying on the move with her, afraid to be in one place too long. The fear that whatever had killed her parents would come for her too had always been at the forefront of his mind. He’d done all he could to prepare her for the truth of what existed in the world—what went bump in the night. Bad things were real and quite capable of killing a person.
In the end, he’d paid the price for protecting her with his life.
Her heart hurt, thinking about Yanko. She missed him so much. Missed his laugh, the funny ways he’d tried to brighten her days. She even missed how serious he always got when training her. And mostly, she missed knowing she had a real family.
“You do have a family,” she said softly, thinking of the people she’d come to know well in New Orleans—Hector, Nile, Cherry, and so many others. “They’re just not related by blood.”
She continued walking on the darkened side street, totally unafraid. She wasn’t armed. She didn’t need to be. She was a weapon all unto herself. Another gift her uncle had made sure to give her. And as much as she appreciated his training, she hated violence, doing her best to avoid conflict whenever possible.
She kept walking, finding as much joy and love for the buildings around her now as she had when she’d first arrived eight years ago. The homes on the street all sat on the edge of the sidewalk and had no front yards, as was the case with nearly every building on or near the French Quarter. She’d heard one of her friends who gave architectural tours to visitors describe the homes as cottages. They
were all one story and had high-pitched roofs. They all had the same large windows that were shuttered over and the same two steps up to the entrances. Each was painted a different color. Some more vibrant than others.
That was something she loved about the city. People weren’t afraid of color. And while the street should have felt cookie-cutter, as all the homes were the same style, it felt anything but. It screamed personality. Some people had planters filled to the brim with beautiful plants. Others had ferns hanging near their entranceways, and some had nothing. Yet they were all perfect to Emi.
Even the one with the evil spirit.
It wasn’t the house’s fault some jerk of a dead guy had decided to lay claim to it and scare anyone residing there.
Her feeling of euphoria died quickly as she felt the thrum of dark power pulsing over the area, as if searching for something or someone. It barreled at her in a way that was so fast and so powerful, she could almost see it. Pulling on what her uncle had taught her, she drew up her natural wards and froze in place a second before the ripple of dark energy blew past her.
She held her breath, as if that might help keep her from detection. It wasn’t the first time she’d sensed the negative energy pushing out and over the city. It had happened nightly for the past several months. The first time she’d sensed it, she’d instantly been taken back to childhood, back to memories of flames surrounding her. Back to the horrors of losing her mother. While she could no longer remember her mother’s face, she would never forget her screams.
Screams that had all been for Emi.
Emi shivered, the remembered pain bringing with it a chill. She hesitated, making sure the negative energy that had scanned the area was gone before she dared to move and pull a light sweater from her bag. Having lived in NOLA so long, she was always prepared for any type of weather, from a chill in the air to rain. It should have been too hot for a sweater, as it was still summer though on the latter end of it, but there was a nip in the air. One that only people sensitive to the other side and evil could feel. She knew the darkness searching the city was causing the chill, and she suspected she wasn’t the only person feeling it.
A group of women staggered around the corner, each one holding the other up. She wasn’t sure which was more intoxicated than the other. From all outward appearances, they were in a dead heat. When the redhead on the end tripped over her own two feet and nearly bit it face first, she won. The other two women with her cackled and helped her to stand upright—kind of.
The women spotted her and drew up short, still holding each other upright. The redhead smiled wide and laughed. “Ohmygod, look at her. She’s dressed like a hippie chick.”
The brunette next to her tried to shush the woman. It didn’t work. The redhead continued making comments about Emi’s choice of clothing.
Never one to care what others thought of her, Emi held her head high and kept walking.
“Wasn’t she up by Jackson Square the other night telling fortunes?” asked a girl with a pixie haircut.
Hiccupping, the redhead swayed more and then laughed. “She looks like a Gypsy. You know, I heard they’re all thieves.”
The brunette tugged harder on the redhead. “Crystal, enough. That isn’t true and it’s not polite to call them Gypsies.”
Emi hid her laugh. Her mother’s people were Roma. Had her uncle still been alive, he’d have found humor in the women as well. He had never cared how others referred to his heritage. He had bigger things in life to worry about. Like real-life monsters.
Ignoring the women, Emi kept walking in the other direction. To her surprise, she felt the dark energy scanning the area again. It had never done it more than once in a night.
As she had before, she came to a grinding halt, drawing upon her natural wards, waiting for it to pass. It took its time, weaving in and out of every nook and cranny. When it reached her, she remained perfectly still, afraid to so much as breathe.
Again, memories of her childhood came flooding back. It took all she had to keep from shuddering and drawing attention to herself. The second the energy moved on, mystically searching other areas, she ran in the direction of her home. She didn’t need it spelled out for her. The darkness was on the hunt, and when it found its prey, there would be more blood on the city’s streets.
There had been an increase in murders in the months since its arrival, and she knew that wasn’t a coincidence. Whatever the thing was, it was a killer. Plain and simple.
Deep down, she knew she should try to seek it out and destroy it, but there was a level of fear there that she’d not experienced since she was a child. Whatever it was, it was powerful, and the odds were it would wipe the floor with her. Still, innocent people were dying, and she might be able to stop it. The dilemma had eaten at her conscience for weeks.
For now, she needed to rest. She’d expended a great deal of energy helping Helen Joy and Sam.
Chapter Four
The slightest hint of dawn began to show in the sky and relief started to sweep through her. The dark energy always vanished during the daytime.
She quickened her pace, making her way down the side streets, weaving back in the direction of the French Quarter. When she spotted a boarded-over building that at one point had been painted a shade of blue with hints of gray, she exhaled. Home sweet home. She made her way around to the side of the building and pulled open one of the loose pieces of particle board.
Emi walked through the rundown hallways of the building she’d taken to calling home. It had seen better days. Much better days. At one point it had been beautiful, as noted by the hidden architectural details throughout, but that time had been long ago. At some point in its life span, it had fallen into disrepair, and no one had taken the time or money to bring it back to its former glory. Its reputation preceded it and the owner had been unable to sell, so he’d permitted it to rot.
The saddest part was, it was still inhabited by spirits who did remember when it was beautiful. The ones who knew they were dead spoke of how it used to be, and the few who still didn’t believe they’d crossed over saw it the way it was, not the state it was truly in.
Denial was a beautiful thing.
Still, she felt a strange bond with the home. Able to sense what had happened within its walls over its life, Emi felt pity for the building, wanting it to know peace and love within it once again. It had an ugly past, filled with murder, despair, and evil, but she was doing her part to dispel that and help it find its way back to peace. For all its horrors, it had been home to happiness as well. Of good times, parties, laughter, and even several weddings. It had seen children born and raised in it. Like a person, it had good and bad in its life.
A shadow shot past her so quickly that it made her long dark hair move. Emi reached up and adjusted the scarf she wore much like a headband. She ignored the entity, seeing it for what its brush-by was—an attempt to frighten her. It would take far more than shadow figures to send her packing. She’d seen real evil in her life. The darkness in the house didn’t compare.
The door at the end of the hall opened and a young man in his mid-twenties stepped out. He always looked disheveled, but Emi knew that was what he was aiming for. It was part of his way to protest. Though she’d never been fully clear on what, exactly, he was protesting. He came from a good home, from a family who had means and were good to him. So good that they gave him a monthly stipend to live off of, but he chose instead to squat in the building with her and the spirits who called the abandoned place home.
“Hey, Emi,” said Taylor, smiling wide.
She returned the smile and came to a stop, noticing he had a bag slung over one shoulder. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Home for a bit,” he confessed, looking marginally embarrassed over the revelation. “My sister is having a baby, and I’d like to be there for her.”
That was great news. Taylor had pulled away from his family somewhat, only touching base when Emi asked about them all. It was good to hear he’d
reached out on his own and had the desire to be there for his sister, whom he spoke of often.
“I bet Colorado is beautiful this time of year,” she said, having had long talks with him about his family before. They lived in Fort Collins, Colorado, and ran a tech firm that was located there. Taylor would talk about his time spent at Rocky Mountain National Park, and all the time he spent exploring the state. She’d never been there, but the mental picture he’d painted for her seemed wonderful.
Taylor had been given the finest in educations and had been expected to take over the business. Instead of doing that, he’d moved to New Orleans. He’d quickly fallen in with a group some of the locals took to calling gutter punks, though Emi didn’t like the name.
She also didn’t care much for the group Taylor had fallen in with. Thankfully, he’d been slowly breaking away from their toxic influences. He’d even reached out to her, asking if he could stay in the same building she’d been calling home for nearly a year. She’d warned him that it wasn’t for the faint of heart, that it was haunted, and he’d been fine with it all. Of course, he’d not actually believed her to start with, but quickly learned she’d been telling the truth.
It had only taken one long night of the items in his room being tossed about by an angry entity for Taylor to see the light. As if that hadn’t been enough, Fredrick had decided to show himself to Taylor once. It had been brief, but that was all that was needed. Taylor had screamed and run out of the house, refusing to enter again for hours. Emi explained that Fredrick was harmless and good-natured. Taylor hadn’t looked like he believed her.
He glanced back at the door he’d come from then gave her a wary look.
She stepped closer. “Things still moving on their own in there at night?”
“Yeah. Around three in the morning,” he said with a shudder. “I watched my books levitate for over an hour. Does the thing ever get tired?”
“That was just Mrs. Pumpernickel again,” said Emi, nearly laughing. The spirit was one who didn’t accept she was dead. She understood she was, but she didn’t act like it. To her, it was just another day. Taylor’s room was once hers, so she tended to move things around, scaring the daylights out of Taylor in the process. It was never her intent to do so. She never really seemed to notice Taylor, only Emi. And she didn’t see the house for what it had become. To her, it was her crowning glory.
Area of Influence (Immortal Ops Book 8) Page 4