Shadows (Bayou Magic 1)

“I mean, I’m right here, just waiting to be enjoyed.”

He pushes me onto my back and takes a tour of my shoulders with his lips. Tingles float over my skin, making me feel more alive than ever before.

Each time we’re together, it’s better than the last. I don’t even know how that’s possible.

“I love your skin,” he murmurs before catching a nipple with his lips. “So soft, so pink.”

I push my fingers through his hair, happy to let him lazily work his way across my flesh. He’s not an impatient man when it comes to sex. He likes to linger, enjoy, and it makes my toes curl.

I’ve never met anyone like him. And I know that there will be no one like him ever again.

So I lie back and enjoy the lazy, sexy ride.“This is the Andrew Jackson Hotel.” I point behind me and smile at my group. Oh, my goddess, it feels good to be back at work. I didn’t realize how much I loved this job until I couldn’t be here for a while. “This was an all-boys school, way back in the day.”

I talk about the school burning down, and how the boys are said to still be there, haunting the halls.

This group has been lively, with a few more hecklers than usual, but a few quick-witted comebacks from me seems to have calmed them down for the most part.

“We’re staying there,” a man says, making me smile.

“Someone on my tour always is.” I wink and lead them farther down the street, giving them little details about specific buildings. Not all of them are haunted, some of them are just interesting because of how old they are and what may or may not have taken place there once upon a time.

The best part of the tour this evening is that there are no new shadows. Nothing different at all tonight, and that makes me happiest of all. The girls are truly at rest, and we’re ready to get on with our lives.

To go back to normal. Whatever that is.

“How do you know all this stuff?” a guy asks as we walk down the sidewalk. “Are you psychic or something?”

“What would you say if I told you that I am psychic?”

“I would say you’re full of shit,” he replies bluntly.

“Well, I’ll just say this then, I went to college to study American history, with an emphasis on Creole history, here in Louisiana. I’m from the area, and I love the folklore here. Most everything I tell you on this tour can be verified in history books.”

“Only most?” he asks.

“Well, the rest of it depends on whether you believe in the paranormal or not, doesn’t it? No one can prove the existence of ghosts. Even spirits caught on film can usually be explained away. Double-exposure, reflections, weird lighting, that sort of thing. And, yes, people have their own experiences, but that’s just hearsay, right?”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asks me.

“Sugar, you can’t live in New Orleans and not believe in ghosts. They’re all over the place. So, yes, I do believe they exist.”

“So, you’re saying spirits are just roaming around, trying to dick with all of us?”

“No, not at all. In fact, not all ghosts are intelligent.”

He blinks at me blankly.

“There are theories that some spirits are caught in a loop. Like…an echo. They do the same things over and over again, whether someone is there to see it or not. They don’t know that anyone is there. They may not even know they’re dead. It’s like a recording.

“And then there are spirits that do know they’re dead, and they haunt. Maybe they haunt a place or a thing or a person.”

“Whoa.” He holds up a hand and stops walking. “A person?”

“Sure, it’s happened. For whatever reason, a spirit attaches itself to a living person, and no matter where the person moves or where they go, the spirit goes with them.”

“Creepy AF,” he says and grins at his friend, who’s been standing by, listening silently.

“Now it’s time to talk about more dead people,” I say and wink as I stop in front of the LaLaurie mansion and reinforce my shields. Even though things have been routine on tonight’s tour, this is the one place that still makes me uneasy.

Maybe because the woman who owned it—and still haunts it—was as evil as the man we just caught.

Maybe more so.

I’m only about thirty seconds into my speech about the mansion and its history when there is a loud pop and sparks fly everywhere from above.

We all duck out of the way and look around in confusion. Are we being shot at? Did a bomb just go off somewhere?

“The streetlight exploded!” someone exclaims, pointing to the light directly above me. I look up and, sure enough, smoke streams from where the bulb once was, and the filaments are still glowing from the explosion.