“And we have a standing date every year, on this date, so it’s okay.” She carried two small pillar candles and placed them on the coffee table.
Sarah was correct.
For the last six years, Sarah had attempted to communicate with Ian on the anniversary of his death. Like Houdini and his wife, Rosie and Ian had a code word. A word only they would know. It was something they’d come up with one night, after drinking about a gallon of wine and watching a marathon of The Dead Files on one of their lazy Sundays. Since he’d been just as into the paranormal as she was, it wasn’t that out-there that they’d come up with a word that would prove a medium was really communicating with one or the other.
It had taken Rosie four years to get the point that she was even remotely ready for something like that. She didn’t really have any questions for Ian. She just wanted to know if he was . . . okay. That’s all.
And for the last six years, Sarah had never been able to reach him. Rosie didn’t know what that meant. Sarah had always told her that didn’t mean he wasn’t around her. He just wasn’t coming through. Maybe he wasn’t ready to talk. Maybe he . . . maybe he wasn’t there , wherever there was.
Either way, Rosie was in awe of Sarah, and maybe even had a little girl crush on her, too. The fact that she could talk to those who had passed absolutely fascinated Rosie. Sarah had been more than open about what it was like and how it was when she was a child, but Rosie really couldn’t understand or even begin to know what it was like to hear voices that others could not, to feel what others couldn’t.
Sarah and those like her, who were truly gifted, were heroes in Rosie’s book.
“How was the tour?” Sarah asked.
“Not bad.” Being familiar with the drill, Rosie walked into the kitchen and grabbed the other two candles. She brought them into the living room, placing them in the center of the coffee table. “It’s just that a lot of people had questions, which I don’t mind, but we got hung up near the Sultan’s house.”
Sarah rolled her eyes as she turned off the overhead lights. The room was cast in soft, flickering shadows. The blinds were already closed, shutting out the bright lights of the city. She’d already turned on music. Well, it really wasn’t technically music. It was the low sound of ocean waves, background noise that helped Sarah concentrate and to drown out the sounds from outside.
Making her way back over to Rosie, Sarah knelt down on a thick, sparkly blue cushion. “You mean the house where there is absolutely no evidence of a Sultan or a Sultan’s brother living there? Or any evidence of a bloody, horrific massacre?”
Chuckling, Rosie dropped down onto her pillow. It was also sparkly, but pink. “One of the tourists wanted to know why we weren’t taking them to the Gardette-LaPrete House, and I tried to explain that there has never been any historical evidence that such a massacre took place there and while the place is beautiful, we don’t include stories where there isn’t some level of historical evidence. He argued, listed all these facts, which aren’t facts, and anyone with a degree in Googling could’ve figured that out.”
“Mansplained you, did he?”
“Yep.” She crossed her legs. “I told that guy that no one was saying the house wasn’t haunted. Just that there wasn’t anything factual supporting the legend. Not even a single report in any newspapers about the murders, and with something as bad as this supposedly was, it would’ve been in a newspaper.”
Sarah stretched her neck to the left and then the right as the flame of the candle danced over her face. “The place does give off weird vibes and I wouldn’t live in one of those apartments, but ya know . . .”
“Yep. Either you believe the Gardette-LaPrete House murders are real or you don’t. There is no in-between. Anyway, the debate caused us to run over. So, did you spend your evening arguing over a mass murder that may have never taken place?”
She laughed softly. “No. I kind of wish I had. I did a private reading with this couple who’d just lost their child.”
“Oh no.” Rosie’s shoulders slumped. Those readings had to be the worst, and Rosie wasn’t sure how Sarah managed to deal with them—the grieving family and friends who were so desperate to speak to their loved ones just one more time. But no matter how distraught those people were, Sarah wouldn’t lie to them. She wouldn’t tell them vague things like some mediums would to make them feel better. Sarah was always honest, even when it hurt. “Did you reach the child?”
Sarah brushed a loose strand of hair off her cheek. “No. Kids are . . . it’s always hard with them, especially when the passing is recent. I tried to explain that, but they wanted to try anyway. They want to try again, but I was able to convince them to give it a couple of months.” She smiled, but it was sad as she placed her hands on the coffee table. “By the way, you’re still planning on going to the Masquerade with me next week, right?”
Rosie nodded enthusiastically. “Hell yeah! I’m just glad you’re still going, but thank you again for bringing me as your plus-one. I’ve always wanted to attend.”
The annual charity Masquerade was where the wealthiest and most powerful of New Orleans rubbed elbows and God knew what else, so Rosie never had a chance to attend. She didn’t hobnob with the highfalutin crowd.
Sarah normally attended with her ex, who got the exclusive tickets because he worked in the district attorney’s office. As far as they knew, her ex wasn’t going to be there. Rosie kind of hoped he would be, because their costumes were sexy as hell, and she wanted Sarah to be able to rub all that he threw away in his face.
“You’re just excited because the house is haunted.” Sarah grinned.
“Guilty as charged.” The bedroom upstairs, the last one on the left that faced the courtyard in the back, was one of the most haunted locations in the city. Legend said a woman who’d been murdered by a jealous ex-lover the night before her wedding haunted the room, full-bodied-apparition type of haunting, and Rosie was so going to check it out.
Sarah shook her head. “Let’s see if we can reach Ian. Okay?”
Rosie nodded. Sometimes Sarah needed personal effects, but she tried to make contact without them at first. Rosie wasn’t holding her breath that tonight was going to be any different than all the previous attempts.
But she was going to try, because that was the promise they’d made each other. And maybe it was just a silly promise, one that Ian hadn’t taken seriously, but Rosie did.
“Close your eyes and picture Ian,” Sarah said, her voice soft in the darkness. “I’ll let you know if he comes through.”
In other words, that meant Rosie needed to shut up and let Sarah concentrate. So, she did just that, because Rosie knew that Sarah didn’t want her talking until she asked her a question. After all, Rosie could accidentally feed information to Sarah, and because they were friends and Sarah knew a lot about Ian, it was already difficult for Sarah not to fall back on what she already knew.
Closing her eyes, she pictured Ian. Or tried to. It was . . . God, it sucked to acknowledge this, but it was getting harder to piece his features together. She had to try really hard for the details not to be blurry and it took effort. Rosie knew that was common, but it still burned a hole through her chest.
Ian was handsome.
He’d been tall and lanky. The kind of guy who could eat fried chicken wings smothered in every sauce known to man and hamburgers daily and never gain a pound. Rosie so much as looked at a basket of chicken wings and put on weight, but not Ian. He’d had dark brown hair that was cropped close to the skull. Rosie liked longer hair on guys, but the short cut always worked for Ian since it showcased his high cheekbones. His skin had been a little darker than hers, courtesy of his father, and his eyes had been a rich, deep brown. Rosie held the image of him in her mind—an image of him smiling, because goodness, he had a beautiful smile. A smile that was so infectious that you couldn’t help but smile in return. And his laugh? Oh man, it had been just as—
“Someone is here,” Sarah announced, causing Rosie’s stomach to lurch. “The voice is faint. Very far away.” There was another pause. “It’s a female voice.”