Heather Graham - Ghost Walk

The boy slipped his hand into his grandfather’s, then touched his face. His grandfather offered him the wisdom of the native peoples; his mother had brought him the fanciful mystery of a faraway country and the beliefs of the Old South. “It will be all right,” he said simply, knowing his parents were still alive in his heart and would always watch over him from above.

“My boy.” His grandfather wrapped him close.

Yes, the boy thought, his parents would be fine, in a world past all pain, all strife. But all the same, they were gone.

His father would never throw him up in the air again, play ball with him, teach him, tell him tales of the Great Spirit. And his mother would never match those tales with her own Gaelic whimsies. The soft tinkle of her laughter would not come again, nor would she tell him that he was a big boy, yet tuck him into bed anyway.

They would never offer him their deep, unconditional love again…

No, that wasn’t true.

He knew that love as deep and abiding as theirs had been was eternal. And there was comfort in that, a comfort that could ease loss and pain.

But there were other elements in the world that were also eternal.

Just as there was love, there was hatred.

Just as there was gratitude, there was vengeance.

He believed that he had a gift, and that his gift was special. But it wasn’t long before he learned that he was destined to face far more than the soft touch of love in the night.

About the Author

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

COMING NEXT MONTH

“Six, please,” Nikki DuMonde said. “Six.” She was smiling, but firm as she emphasized the number, indicating the tray where there were only five cups of café au lait. She and Andrea Ciello were in line at Madame D’Orso’s, as they so often were. Madame herself was wonderful, but apparently she was busy, and the young woman behind the counter seemed overwhelmed. It seemed quiet enough right now. Though many of the little terrace tables were taken, there was only one other person inside the café at the moment, and he was slumped against the far wall. She glanced toward him. He had looked up once and had an attractive face, eyes that were intelligent, cheekbones hard and sculpted. But his clothes were ragged, with a slept-in look; he was unshaven, and his hair was shaggy and unkempt.

“Six coffees, six orders of beignets,” Andy added, flashing a smile as the girl added a cup to the tray along with plates filled with the delicious pastries so famous in New Orleans—and better, in the minds of the locals at Madame’s than any other place in the world. “S’il vous plaît,” she added.

As the girl turned to ring up their order, Andy assessed Nikki with her exotic dark eyes. “My treat today,” she said.

“Don’t be silly.”

“No, ever since I came aboard, you’ve been wonderful.” She had only been a tour guide for Myths and Legends of New Orleans for about four weeks. For Nikki, it was old hat.

“Hey, we all rely on each other, since we always work in pairs. And you’re doing just fine.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Andy said, tossing a length of her sleek dark hair over one shoulder. “I know all the stories, and sometimes I get chills, like there’s someone looking over my shoulder. But you…Nikki, it’s like you see ghosts.”

Nikki shrugged, glancing around the café. “Maybe it’s just ingrained,” she said. “I went to school with half the palm readers and voodoo queens working the Quarter these days. I guess it’s like…well, walking into any place that’s really historical…and…”

Nikki frowned and floundered, looking for the right word.

“Creepy?” Andy suggested.

Nikki shook her head. “Where deep feelings existed, where trauma occurred—like Westminster Abbey in London. When you walk in there—”

“The place is like one giant cemetery,” Andy said dryly.

Nikki laughed. “Yeah, it is. But you can get the same feeling at a Civil War battle site—even with all the bodies removed. I guess it’s a way of feeling the past, of history, people, the emotions. Remnants of the lives that were lived there, lost there.”

“You see ghosts,” Andy said, nodding sagely.

“I do not see ghosts.”

“You have an affinity for them.”

Nikki was growing uncomfortable. “No. I told you. It’s just a feeling of…history and the human condition, that’s all,” she said firmly. “Everyone gets it at some point, at some place.”

Andy reflected a moment. “Well, I do feel something in several of the cemeteries. And now and then in the cathedral, there’s a kind of…vibe.”

“Exactly,” Nikki agreed. She reached for the tray, but Andy was getting it, so she turned to head back to their table and nearly screamed.

The derelict had risen. He was in front of her, his mouth working, as he reached for her.

She couldn’t help but recoil, but even so his hands touched her shoulders. She thought he was going to collapse against her, but he straightened, his mouth still working as if he was trying to say something.

He needed money, she thought.

“Here,” she said quickly, reaching into her purse. She pulled out a bill and, pity replacing her feelings of revulsion, said, “Get yourself a real meal, please. No alcohol or drugs, please. Get food.”

She felt his touch again as she went quickly past him, Andy in her wake, hurrying with the tray.

The others were outside, but before they could reach the table, Andy said softly, “Nikki, that was really kind of you.”

“He’ll probably just drink it or shoot it up his arm,” Nikki said.

“No, maybe not. Actually, he didn’t look like a junkie.”

“Just a bum.”

“There but for the grace of God go I,” Andy murmured beneath her breath. Nikki turned to look at her, but Andy shook her head. She had been in trouble with drugs; she’d been dead honest with Nikki when the two had first met. She’d been clean for years, however. She seldom even drank now, unless it was a special night out, a celebration.

At the moment, however, she clearly didn’t want to say any more, not in front of the friends waiting for them: Nathan, Julian, Mitch and Patricia.

They all worked for the same tour company, and they were making a success of it, despite the competition in New Orleans. Maximilian Dupuis, the founder of the business, had taken Nikki on board first. Max had found her through the articles she’d been writing for one of the local tourist papers.

Max himself was really something. Tall, dark and bony, he resembled a vampire and could have haunted New Orleans just fine himself, though the cigars he loved to chomp on kind of ruined the impression. Nor was he really interested in ghostly occurrences himself.

Max was out to make a buck.

His brilliance was in putting together what the public wanted and in the art of delegating, he had told Nikki. He’d had the cash to start up the business, she’d had the ability and the knowledge. When he’d hired her, she’d suggested bringing in Julian, who’d been her best friend forever. As they’d prospered, they’d added the rest.

Nikki was Max’s number two. She was responsible for hiring new guides, then for training them. It worked out well, since Max didn’t particularly like to stick around and run the business. Max liked his money and having other people work for him, so he could travel the globe. At the moment he was hiking in Colorado.