“I don’t know for sure. For now, a bench is not too far from here, and it’s a nice little picnic spot. We’ll sit there and have our drinks and dinner.”

  “Fine.” He still looked a little dazed at her vague warnings.

  “Look. Sometimes I have to move fast in my world,” she explained, “and there really are no answers sometimes. That’s just the way it is.”

  “Got it,” he said, shaking his head.

  Just then the waitress returned and handed him a bill, which he promptly paid. Skylar snatched the bag and led the way out of the restaurant courtyard. He quickly followed suit.

  She didn’t even bother to check if he followed her or not. Either he would catch up or he wouldn’t. She had the food, and, right about now, all she cared about was getting some sustenance. She had drained herself way too much, trying to save him. Normally she wouldn’t begrudge that energy to anyone, but something so weird was going on with Gage, and she couldn’t really understand it. It wasn’t so much his own energy that worried her but those malevolent energies surrounding him.

  So, as soon as she could get done with all this, and him, the better off she would be.

  Leading the way to the bench that she had in mind, she moved quickly, keeping from the crowds as much as she could. When she was finally there, she stopped and sent out a silent warning beacon to see if anything nearby would trigger something unpleasant. She didn’t always know what that could mean or how best to deal with it.

  Ever at her side, Thomas shared, “Looks good,” and such cheerfulness was in his voice that she wanted to glare at him too. “Besides,” the ghost added, “we’re awful happy that you’re actually having dinner with somebody.”

  “And that means nothing to me,” she muttered, shaking her head at the thought of her shopful of ghosts, feeling gleeful because she was having dinner with this man she barely knew.

  Gage, however, heard her grumbling. “Sorry. What was that?”

  “This place will be fine,” she muttered, with a wave of her hand at the surrounding area.

  He nodded. “Okay, … if you’re telling me that it’s really better than the restaurant.”

  “Yes, it is,” she murmured.

  He sat down, and she handed him the bag. “Now, can you take a moment and explain to me why it’s better?”

  “No, I can’t,” she stated, “because honestly, I don’t know.”

  “So, what then? You just honor your instincts without knowing why?”

  “When it comes to this woo-woo stuff,” she noted quietly, “that’s often the only warning you get.”

  “But what could happen?” he asked, studying her intently.

  “Remember that coma you found yourself in just a while ago?”

  He reflexively choked. “Are you saying that could happen again?”

  “Well, it happened once, so it can definitely happen again. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but now, with your uncle missing, and something that theoretically could be attached to me somehow, plus the fact that you’re here, and we had that little scenario in your hotel room—also attached to me—I’m definitely getting weird vibes around us.”

  “So, can you tell me—” Then he stopped, shook his head. “I can’t even believe I’m asking this, but is it possible to tell who might be doing this, if in fact, someone is behind it?”

  She looked at him with a sardonic glance. “Do you mean someone doing it versus something doing it?”

  He shrugged and had the good grace to look embarrassed.

  “I have met a couple not-very-friendly ghosts,” she shared, “and I have heard horror stories of vindictive evil ghosts. Not all spirits turn into these wonderful, lovely people,” she murmured. “A lot of them are looking for ways to get back to the world that they left. They haven’t accepted the fact that they have actually died and thus have no intention of going on to the light, into the next stage of their life, only focused intently on trying to get back.”

  “Is that even possible?” he asked, curious.

  “In theory it shouldn’t be because everything we’re taught in our normal world says that, when you die, either you go to heaven or hell.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Oh no. I gave up on those overly simplistic fairy tales a long time ago.”

  She looked down at her sandwich and noted that her huge appetite had almost soured on her. She quickly took a bite, knowing that she would need the energy. Just because she had to help this guy out of one bad session today didn’t mean she could skip going to the graveyard again tonight. She went practically every night for one purpose or another, it seemed, whether she wanted to or not. But Gage didn’t know about that, and the less he knew, the better.

  Skylar had nearly finished her sandwich, managing to scarf down most of it in what seemed like just a few bites. Gage sat beside her, watching her. She sighed. “Hey, nobody said I had good manners.”

  He laughed. “It didn’t even seem as if you thought about it. It appeared as though you ate because you needed the sustenance, and that was all there was to it.”

  “This meal, yes.” She nodded. “Unlike earlier, when I could take the time to just relax and enjoy.”

  “But you can’t now,” he stated, with a nod. “Got it.”

  That had him continuously looking around, trying to find whatever it was that had set her on edge. Good luck to him because she didn’t even know what the hell it was herself. She just knew that something followed them from the ethers. The same damn thing that she had seen hovering over him in the hotel room. But she wasn’t at all sure he was ready to hear about the evil murdering spirit of the tarot cards just yet. Indeed, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to investigate it any further either. Better the evil spirit went straight back to where it came from and left her and Gage in peace and quiet.

  But somehow she didn’t think it would be that easy.

  *

  “You are the most fascinating person I have ever met,” Gage blurted out, as he studied his sandwich.

  “That’s not a good thing,” she replied.

  He looked up at her, startled.

  “You have a vast experience of people in your world,” she noted, “and a lot of varied relationships under your belt. I don’t like the idea of being the odd or curious one who you can’t figure out.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” he protested.

  “Good thing,” she stated. When she made this weird swipe of her hand, he almost felt it, like a slice in his belly. He stiffened and straightened.

  She looked at him in surprise. “What?”

  “When you made that hand movement, I could almost feel it viscerally.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “Interesting,” she murmured, as she turned to look around again.

  That’s all she did, constantly checking behind and around, as if she were looking for somebody either following them or who otherwise posed some kind of danger. She definitely wasn’t resting or enjoying the space she was in. “Would you rather go home?” Gage asked her.

  “No, I would not.”

  He had to be content with that because she sure wasn’t forthcoming with any explanation. “Anything you’re willing to tell me about this, I’m really desperate to hear.” Then he took another bite of his sandwich.

  “Better you just go back to whatever town you came from and forget about all this.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” he said, “because I have to find Jonesy and this strange new ability of mine is definitely something in my life that I have no control over. People are already starting to think something’s wrong with me.”

  “Get used to it. There will always be those who think something’s wrong with you from here on out,” she declared. “I’m not sure if you were planning on getting out of the business world anytime soon, but you might want to consider it.”

  “Because?”

  “Because somebody is likely to make a vote of no-confidence against you for any boards that you hold positions on.”

  He frowned and thought about it and nodded. “The trouble is, the more I’ve been asking questions, you’re right. The more people have looked at me strangely.”

  “Of course they have, because nobody wants to know about this stuff. Everybody wants to stay in their nice quiet little beds and sleep their nice happy dreams, without confronting that their whole world isn’t what they thought it would be when they come close to dying.”

  “As somebody who came damn close to dying,” he added, “I can agree with that.”

  “You came damn close to dying twice,” she said, “because, don’t kid yourself, you were near dead earlier tonight. I almost couldn’t save you.”

  He felt the shock bleaching the color from his face. “That’s a little harsh to try to understand.” He paused for a long moment. “All I did was walk up the stairs to my hotel room and collapse on the bed.”

  “And we have to figure out why,” she stated, “because that’s not normal.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you say that,” he replied, “and that you won’t completely desert me on this.”

  She winced, and he realized it had been a slip of her tongue. “I would appreciate any help you can give me,” he noted, “and I’m definitely getting the heebie-jeebies sitting here now.” He straightened and looked around, crumpling up the last food wrapper in his hand.

  “Good, because we’re about to get company.”

  “What kind of company?”

  “At the moment”—she tilted her head—“it’ll be ethereal.”

  “So, a ghost?” Gage asked.

  “Yeah, let’s see if you can actually see this one.”

  He shook his head. “You know I’m okay if I don’t.”

  “Which is probably why you aren’t seeing them. If you’ve seen one or two,” she explained, “and you’re not seeing any others, chances are you’re putting up walls to tell them to stay away.”

  “Does that work?”

  “Sometimes,” she confirmed, “and then eventually you realize it takes more energy to put up the walls than it takes to just ignore the ghosts.”

  That startled a laugh out of Gage. “Well, maybe you should tell me what I’m looking for.”

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “You tell me what you’re looking at.”

  He twisted to look at her, but she was serious. He sighed, settled back down, and looked around the area where they sat. “It’s a nice little garden area,” he mentioned.

  She nodded. “It is. And generally it’s ghostly quiet.”

  “So why is it not now?”

  “Because something has disturbed them,” she stated sadly.

  “And what could possibly disturb a ghost?”

  “All kinds of things,” she murmured, “but often it’s when somebody they care for is about to be hurt.”

  At that he winced. “Seriously?”

  “Very seriously. And, in this case, too many ghosts are gathered here, so they’re disturbed about something else.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” he muttered.

  “Doesn’t help much though,” she countered, “since we still don’t have any answers.”

  “Can’t we get any?”

  “Maybe. This is the French Quarter. This is where voodoo and hoodoo and all the good stuff exists,” she replied on a laugh. “Ghosts are always in this city, and they’re always upset over something. It can be as simple as a building coming down that they didn’t want destroyed because they have a connection to it,” she shared, “or the fact that somebody on the ethers has a gripe against one of them, and he’s coming to try and destroy the life of someone he doesn’t want to continue to live.”

  “Does he get to make that choice?”

  “No, of course not,” she declared, turning to look at him. “Yet that doesn’t mean they stop trying. And I have heard about cases of possession, where a strong spirit will actually overtake a weaker physical body and try to live the life through them.”

  “Wow,” he said, “that is just terrifying.”

  “You should be terrified,” she agreed. “You should have just enough knowledge now to realize how twisted and warped the energy world out there is.”

  “Sure,” he admitted, “but I wasn’t thinking it was twisted and warped after death.”

  “It’s no different,” she noted. “Seriously the people over there are just as twisted as they are here.”

  “Are you talking about those who actually made it to heaven?” Then he stopped and asked, “Wait. Is there even a heaven?”

  “There is,” she confirmed. “There is a light for those of them who get to go there. I’m not sure what happens to those who don’t—or if there even are those who don’t. All I know is, when I see the light, I try to convince the ghosts to go toward it. They don’t always cooperate.” And then she muttered under her breath, “Most of the time they never cooperate.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “I think a lot of the time it’s because they think it’ll be boring, or they’re scared of change, or they’re having way too much fun over here to want to go over there.”

  At that, an apparition appeared in front of them, so close that Gage jumped.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Skylar told him in a calm, almost bored tone. “That’s Thomas.”

  Gage took several slow deep breaths, remembering that she had mentioned how Thomas was from Abraham Lincoln’s era. Gage tried hard to see what he was supposed to see.

  “You’re trying too hard,” she murmured. “Just accept that he’s there and don’t worry about what he looks like.”

  “All I see,” Gage noted, “is this ghostly white.”

  She muttered out loud, “Thomas, can you crank it up a bit?”

  Instantly the apparition in front of Gage started to shine brighter and brighter.

  “Now don’t look directly on,” she explained. “Look slightly to the side.”

  When Gage twisted his head to one side, he could almost see somebody walking nearby. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, if you try to focus too much fully on, when you’re not used to it, it’s really hard to pull all of it together to show an image. But peripheral vision is quite a bit stronger, especially when it comes to this stuff. So tell me what you see.”

  “Well …” Gage stopped. “It’ll sound stupid.”

  “Of course it does. It always sounds stupid,” she shared.

  He laughed. “Well, I see an older man in a black suit and a top hat.”

  “Right. So, as I told you, that’s Thomas.”

  He nodded slowly. “He’s holding a young child by the hand.”

  “Yeah, that’s Ada, his granddaughter,” she murmured. “She died with him.”

  “So why has she not crossed over?”

  “Because her grandfather won’t cross over,” she answered. “So the two of them are stuck here, but they have each other.”

  “And over there they won’t?” Gage shook his head. “You know what? This is just a little bit beyond belief.”

  “Yeah, it is,” she agreed, “but that’s just the facts of life.”

  “Not for anybody else,” he murmured.

  “Nope, not for anybody else. Anybody else wouldn’t give a crap about this stuff because they wouldn’t believe you and would want to lock you up for even mentioning it.”

  “Do you ever get worried about that?”

  “All the time, but I tend to keep my mouth shut and to keep out of all this.”

  “And what do the bones have to do with anything?”

  “That is none of your business,” she snapped, and her answer was so fast and so sharp that he knew it was a huge deal.

  “And what if I want to make it my business?”

  “Then you’ll probably regret it,” she declared. “Some things in life you should never play with. And talking bones is one of them.”

  “And how do you know a talking bone versus a nontalking bone?” he asked in exasperation. Getting that look from her again, he continued. “I get it. You don’t have all the answers, but I surely don’t have them. You’re really good at this stuff, and you can do things that I probably can’t even begin to imagine. But all you do is keep telling me not to do something, when I don’t even know what it is that you’re talking about. How can I avoid doing something if I don’t even know what it is that I’m supposed to stop doing?”

  She burst out laughing, and he was stunned at just how beautiful her face shone, when she was filled with a delighted joy. When she had finally calmed down a bit, wiping tears from her eyes, he quipped, “I’m glad I could entertain you.”

  “I am too,” she admitted immediately. “I hadn’t realized how much I needed that.” Nonplussed, he just stared at her. She reached over, patted his hand gently, and added, “You have been very good entertainment today.”

  And that was so not what he wanted to hear.

  At the look on his face, she smiled and suddenly added, “I understand. You want to be anywhere but here, and you don’t want to have any of these kinds of conversations that make you feel like you’re an idiot. You’re not an idiot, and I’m just trying to warn you that some things are not as fun and as pleasant as we think they’ll be.”

  “No worries there because I don’t think any of this is fun or pleasant,” he stated in a harsh tone. “I was just looking to find a way to save my sanity, while I tried to find my uncle.”

  “Well, you may have to do one or the other,” she noted, “but, in this case, I’m not sure that both are doable.”

  He stared at her. “Do you mind elaborating?”

  “It has to do with the tarot card set your uncle was after,” she replied. “It is fairly well-known in the collector circles as having predicted several murders—and, having predicted them, people then believe firmly that the tarot deck itself has powers. And anything with power is what people naturally want, whether they are gifted or not. And generally they want power so they can abuse it.”

  He nodded. “This makes a lot of sense so far.”

  “Good. I hate to think I’d lost you at this point. The other issue that comes up is that particular tarot card set hasn’t been seen in at least a century, as far as I know.” She gave him a one-arm shrug. “And I have no idea what the connection is to the bones.”