The House on Prytania (Royal Street #2)(80)
Author: Karen White

 

“A girl has to be prepared for all weather—you know how unpredictable it can be on the coast this time of year. And I never know what kind of swimsuit to bring, depending on what sort of activities I will be participating in and if it’s warm enough. Plus, if mealtimes are formal or casual or both, I need to make sure I’m prepared.”

 

“Of course.” Jaxson reached for the two small duffel bags Sarah and I carried, and he gently tucked them in between Jolene’s baggage.

 

“Where’s the rest of your things?” Jolene asked.

 

“It’s only one night,” I said.

 

“I really hate to say this again, but bless your heart, Nola. And Sarah? Well, I’m here to help.” She looked us up and down, stopping at Sarah’s sneakers. “What size shoe do you wear?”

 

“A six. Sometimes a six and a half.”

 

“That should work. And I love your sweater and skirt.”

 

“Thanks. My mom bought me the whole outfit so I’d have something to wear in New Orleans besides my school uniform.”

 

“I figured your mama had something to do with it.” Jolene smiled until she turned to me, taking in my fleece jacket thrown over a white long-sleeved T-shirt.

 

“They’re clean,” I pointed out. “And I’m wearing the pants you made me buy when we went shopping. Besides, I don’t need to impress anyone.”

 

“Remember, Nola. We don’t dress nicely to impress people. We try to look good on the outside so we feel good on the inside. It’s about respecting others and yourself so that others see the most confident and dignified you that you can be. Right now, you’re dressed like you’re going to a dogfight. In the dark. And those Birkenstocks should be thrown on a bonfire. Wherever did you get those?”

 

“Our family friend Dr. Wallen-Arasi gave them to me as a grad school graduation gift. She said they would be like walking in her shoes—literally. And they’re super comfortable. Really, Jolene—they’re fine. Besides, I don’t have time to change. We’re already running late.”

 

“Nola Trenholm,” she said. “Have I taught you nothing? As I’ve said before—it is always better to arrive late than ugly. Now, march yourself upstairs and let’s rethink your outfit. And I’ll grab the tin of brownies I made to take with us while we’re at it. I’m giving them to Sarah to hold. Otherwise they’ll be mostly gone by the time we get there.”

 

She gave me a warning look before taking my elbow in a surprisingly strong grip and leading me up the stairs.

 

We pulled out of the driveway a good forty-five minutes later than planned, with Jaxson holding up Mardi and waving his paw while Jolene reminded Jaxson where she kept the dog’s wardrobe so he’d be comfortable with any weather changes.

 

As promised, I texted our ETA to Michael, receiving a quick Can’t wait! in response. I hadn’t even put down my phone before another text binged. I didn’t recognize the number other than the 504 New Orleans area code.

 

Champagne is chilling! followed by an emoji of two champagne flutes and a bottle.

 

Another text from the same number appeared right below the first. This is Angelina btw followed by a smiley face emoji.

 

“Doesn’t she know that you don’t drink?”

 

I turned to see my sister leaning over the front seat, reading my texts. “Sarah—put your seat belt on!”

 

“It is. It’s only a lap belt. Just chill, Nola. I can tighten it. But then you have to answer my question.”

 

“Actually, I don’t—”

 

“They must not,” Jolene interrupted. “But they know you’re coming, so I’m sure they have lots of tea and lemonade and Co-cola. I also packed some sparkling vitamin water that looks like champagne just in case Nola wants to get fancy.”

 

“As long as I can wear my Birkenstocks. I put them in my backpack when you weren’t looking.”

 

“I know. That’s why I took them out and replaced them with a cute pair of ankle boots that will look darling on you.” She gave me a warm smile that made it impossible to be angry with her.

 

Instead of arguing over what staticky station to play on the car’s AM radio, I suggested using my phone to listen to a recent episode of Beau and Sam’s podcast. Sarah objected at first, until I promised her that the podcast was meant to be more informative than scary. With the promise that we’d turn it off if she felt frightened, we began listening. “You might even find it more interesting since you’ve met the cohosts. I think you’ll enjoy their dynamics—very much good cop / bad cop.”

 

At the mention of Sam and Beau, Jolene slid a glance toward me, which I chose to ignore, and I would never have admitted that for the first ten minutes I couldn’t focus on the subject being discussed, as I was too tuned in to how natural their repartee was, and how well versed they were in each other’s opinions and feelings.

 

But then the term “shadow people” caught my attention, drawing me into what Sam was saying. The Choctaw called them “soul eaters,” but every civilization since the beginning of time has had some mention of these dark beings, referring to them as ghosts or a collection of negative energy.

 

Or as I like to call them, Beau said, figments of active imaginations where people are in a dark room and see a coat hanging on the back of a door, or a pile of blankets on a bed, and think it’s some paranormal being.

 

“Do you hear that?” Sarah asked, her voice tight.

 

I turned to look at her, pressing herself against the backseat, her eyes wide. “Hear what?” I asked.

 

“The whispering on the radio. In the background.”

 

I raised the volume on my phone and held it up between Jolene and me and listened closely. Beau was still speaking. And then a so-called psychic will be called in to get rid of this supposed dark energy, charge a small fortune for removing the coat or pile of blankets, and the poor guy really thinks the psychic has done something. Just another example of . . .

 

Sarah slapped her hands over her ears, and I lowered the volume. “What are you hearing?” I asked.

 

“It sounds like a crowd of people speaking all at the same time, but I can’t understand what they’re saying. But I don’t think it’s . . . nice. I think they’re talking about us.”

 

Memories of the phone call with the strange screaming and the unsettling photo of the shadow figure in the closet and the horrifying moments I’d spent trapped inside shook me with tremors. I hit Stop on my iPhone, silencing Sam and Beau and whatever it was that Sarah had heard.