The girl nodded and didn’t look the least bit surprised, to my intense relief. Then she sidestepped around me and walked to a shelf directly behind me, next to what it took me a few seconds to realize was an immense altar, complete with a painted portrait of what looked like a witch. The witch lady, who had snakes in her hair, was surrounded by fake flowers, beads, masks, cards, and signs warning visitors not to touch anything. I looped my fingers together behind my back…just in case I accidentally bumped into something and became cursed for all eternity (which wasn’t a stretch, considering how much crap was stuffed into the tiny space).
“Hmm, what you need is one of our ritual bags,” she said, more to herself than to me as she bit her lip, apparently determining which ritual bag would do the trick. She reached out and picked up a black velvet sack and handed it to me. I didn’t accept it because I wasn’t convinced a do-it-yourself cure was what I was after.
“Um,” I started as I worried my lower lip. “I was sort of hoping you could direct me to someone who could do the cleansing for me?” I cleared my throat, feeling like maybe I needed to explain myself better. “I don’t know anything about this sort of stuff, so I’d rather just find someone who does.”
She shrugged. “Why have someone else do it when you can do it yourself? It’ll save you a ton of money too.” She glanced at the price tag of the black velvet bag. “I mean, thirty bucks versus at least a few hundred, right?”
It was my turn to shrug because I wasn’t sure if in this instance, it was better to take the cheap route. “And you think that black bag will do the job?” I asked doubtfully.
“Put it this way, if I were you, I’d try this first. You might be surprised by its power.” She held the sack out to me. “And if your haunt still persists, you know it’s time to bust out the bigger guns, right?”
“I guess,” I managed. “What is this exactly?” I ran my thumb across the soft material, wondering if whatever was inside could really get rid of any bad energy in my house.
“It’s a ritual bag,” she repeated. “It’s created by one of our local spiritualists and each one is charged to cure whatever ails you. The Dark Moon ritual bag, which is the one you’re holding, releases negative energy. You can also use it for banishing unwanted connections, which, in your case, would be whatever malevolent entity is haunting your house. It calls on the moon for lunar protection. So just be sure you use it when the moon is waning.”
“When the moon is what?” I asked as all hope that I might rid my house of any malevolent ghosts promptly disappeared. I had no clue what a “waning moon” was, which meant we were already off to a bad start…
“Waning,” she repeated with a hurried smile, like she had more important things to do and my time was nearing its end.
“What does that mean?” I demanded, following her.
“A waning moon means the moon decreases in size as it moves from the full moon toward the new moon. The waning moon is the best time to use magic to banish or release energy. That’s why it works with the Dark Moon ritual bag,” she added before a big smile lit up her round face. “And, guess what?”
“I also get a set of vacuum bags to go with it?” I asked facetiously, regretting it as soon as her eyebrows met in the middle. Luckily, though, she dismissed the apparently unfunny comment and continued.
“It must be your lucky day because the moon will be waning this evening. That’s perfect timing for your ritual.”
“Oh, good,” I answered genuinely, because the last thing I wanted to do was wait any longer—I wanted the house cleansed, like, yesterday. When she started moving toward the rear of the store, I followed her again, because I still wasn’t sure what in the hell I was supposed to do with my Dark Moon ritual bag. “So, uh, how does the bag work?” I demanded. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
She turned around and pasted a less genuine smile on her face. “There are directions inside. But basically all ritual bags are filled with herbs, flowers, resins, crystals, ritual salts, sage, and a gris-gris. You just fill your empty mojo bag, which is also included, with whatever items you need in your ritual spell.”
A mojo bag? Was that a joke? I took a deep breath and exhaled, shaking my head and wondering what in the hell I’d just gotten myself into. “What’s a green-green?” I asked, not remembering the way she’d just pronounced the word.
She swallowed and there was a slight twitch in her left eye, which hinted that she was growing impatient with all my questions. “Gris-gris,” she started, enunciating the word and giving me a snide look as if to say, you pronounce it gree-gree, stupid, “is a huge part of New Orleans voodoo.”
“Okay.”
“It’s basically a small bag that you fill with magical ingredients for whatever purpose you’re after,” she finished. She turned her back toward me again as the sounds of footsteps announced that she had more customers. As soon as she saw she had an out, she left me standing there like an ugly dog with fleas, halitosis, and gas. I frowned but, figuring this was all the help I was going to get, worked my way up to the register where she rang me up as quickly as humanly possible.
As soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk, my cell phone rang. Reaching into my purse, I saw Ryan’s name on the caller ID. “Hi,” I said.
“Hey, neighbor, what are you doin’?”
I glanced up at Marie Laveau’s and sighed. I didn’t have a good feeling about everything that had just happened. Call me lazy, unimaginative, or just plain stupid, but I was really hoping someone would do the cleansing for me. “Um, I bought a ritual bag to cleanse my house of any negative energy that might have been left over after the Ouija board incident.”
He chuckled. “Nice.”
“So, what’s up?” I asked as I wondered why he was calling me. It was Saturday, so it wasn’t like he was working at my house and might have questions for me. No, this had to be a social call…well, maybe. Hopefully.
“Oh, I, uh, wanted to ask you if you’d be up for a dinner date this evening?” His voice was hopeful, but calm all the same. Didn’t this guy possess a nerve in his body? I had to smile as I thought if the tables were turned and I was the one asking him out, I’d be a nervous wreck. But not Ryan. Nope, he was the epitome of composed and collected.
I wanted to immediately say yes, that I would love nothing more than to go out on a date with him, until I remembered the waning moon, my haunted house, my mojo, and my bag of grease, or whatever the hell it was called. “I would love to, but I have to do this ritual thing tonight while there’s a waning moon.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was the king of all disinterest lines,” Ryan said with another chuckle.
“No, I’m being serious. I really have to do this ritual thing tonight while there’s still a waning moon out…before it crosses the sky and becomes new or whatever.”
“As opposed to a waxin’ moon?” I could tell he was shaking his head as if he were at a loss, like he often did in my company.
“I guess,” I answered with a little laugh. “I’m so confused about all of this stuff, I have no idea what I’m doing…waning, waxing…and what in the hell is a new moon?”
“You got me.” He was quiet for a few seconds. “Well, does your wanin’ moon ritual require that you be alone? Or can you have company?”
I shrugged because I didn’t know the answer. “I guess I can have company. I mean, the super-informative and helpful girl working at the House of Voodoo didn’t say anything about me needing to do the spell or whatever the hell it is alone.” And the truth was, I much preferred the idea of having Ryan with me. At least that way if something went wrong, I’d have the large barbarian there to protect me…
“Okay, let’s have dinner first and then we’ll do your ritual,” he said, a smile lighting up his voice. “Sound like a plan?”
I couldn’t restrain my happy smile. “Sure, sounds like a plan, Stan.”
Ryan picked me up from the Omni hotel at seven p.m. for our 7:15 dinner reserv
ation. He was dressed in dark jeans, black dress shoes, and a light-blue short-sleeved button-up, which made his olive complexion appear even tanner. I’d never seen him dressed to impress before, and impressed was an understatement. He was stunningly handsome. And showing up with a dozen red roses was merely icing on the cake.
When I opened the door, he didn’t say anything for a while, but simply looked me up and down before smiling broadly. “Wow, Peyton, you really look lovely…no, you look beautiful,” he corrected himself and handed me the flowers. “These pale in comparison.”
The roses actually did pale in comparison (well color comparison anyway) because I was dressed in a dark crimson fitted dress that ended just above my knees. The bodice was low and tight and did wonders for my bust. I’d accessorized with four-inch black strappy stilettos and pulled my hair into a chignon. I thought I looked the part of sexy and glamorous mixed with classy and feminine.
I immediately smelled the flowers and beamed up at him. “Thank you, Ryan, that was really nice of you.” Then I turned toward my makeshift kitchen, and eyeing a large glass tumbler, went for it. I released the doorknob and called over my shoulder, “Come in while I put these in water.”
Ryan obeyed, closing the door behind him as I filled the glass and arranged the roses inside it, admiring them as I turned back toward him. I was more than a little surprised to find him right behind me. “Oh,” I started, taking a step back.
“Sorry, I just wanted an up-close whiff of your perfume. It smells,” he inhaled deeply, “delicious.”
“Thanks,” I answered with a smile as I leaned in and smelled his neck, suddenly needing to be near him. “So is yours.” And I wasn’t lying—his cologne smelled of something soapy and crisp, but masculine all the same. When I pulled away from him, we both just stood there awkwardly for a second or two, staring at each other as if waiting for the other to make the first move.
“We should go,” Ryan said hurriedly as he started for the door. “Don’t want to be late.”
“Yes,” I said quickly, bringing up the rear, remembering my room key at the last minute before the door closed behind us. We didn’t say anything on the walk down the hallway, or in the elevator. Even though it was just the two of us on the ride down, neither of us uttered a word. When the elevator doors opened, I had to conceal my smile as I watched two women who were waiting to take our elevator gawk at Ryan as he strode by.
“Have you been to Antoine’s before?” Ryan asked, completely unaware that he was the source of so much female attention. We waited just outside the front entry doors to the Omni hotel while the valet retrieved Ryan’s truck.
“No, I haven’t,” I answered as the valet pulled Ryan’s white Ford F350 up to the curb. After tipping the man, Ryan held the passenger door open for me and I hoisted myself into the raised cab.
“Antoine’s is just down St. Louis Street,” the valet said. He had a look of puzzlement as to why we would drive when we could walk just as easily.
Ryan nodded fervently. “I’m aware of that, but did you see the heels on those shoes she’s wearin’?” He motioned to me with a laugh.
“Ah, good point, sir, enjoy your evening,” the elderly man said with a large smile.
Ryan bid him the same and we started down the street, with me feeling idiotic that we were driving such a short distance. “You know, I am capable of walking a few blocks?”
Ryan immediately shook his head. “Nope, tonight isn’t about what you’re capable of. It’s about what you’re comfortable with.” I smiled at him. Sometimes he was just so damn nice.
The drive to Antoine’s took maybe five minutes. Though I’d seen the restaurant from the street and never ventured inside, I was aware that Antoine’s was really a household name all around New Orleans. At one hundred sixty years old, it was also one of the oldest if not the oldest restaurant around.
Once we parked and made our way into the main dining room, I took in the white table linens covering square tables, which all had four wooden chairs. The dining space was incredibly open, with high ceilings, columns, and French décor. Once Ryan gave his name, the host showed us to our table, which was in the far west corner and decently set apart from the rest of the tables. Whether by accident or design, I didn’t have a clue. Ryan pulled my chair out for me and I sat down, accepting the menu as the waiter handed it to me. When the man took our drink order and retreated into the kitchen, I faced Ryan with a large grin. “So, what sort of food do they serve here?”
“French Creole,” Ryan answered as he took a swig of his ice water and leaned back into his chair, looking slightly ridiculous in the undersized seat.
I glanced down at the menu for a few minutes before deciding I had no clue what to order. I looked up at Ryan again, my eyebrows reaching for the ceiling. “Um, what would you suggest?”
He laughed. “Do you want to try somethin’ new? Or stick with somethin’ tried and true?”
I cocked my head to the side as I considered it. I mean, the right answer was to try something new, especially when I hadn’t really done a great job of sampling all the Louisiana specialties offered in New Orleans. “Why don’t you pick for us? I feel like being surprised.” It wasn’t the total truth, but I figured when in Rome, or in this case, New Orleans…
“Roger that,” Ryan said with a smile as he inspected the menu for another few seconds. Closing it, he studied me, an expression of amusement on his lips.
“What’s that look for?” I asked as the waiter arrived again.
“Do you know what you’d like to order?” the older man asked as he poured us glasses of sparkling Perrier per Ryan’s request. “Or do you need more time?”
Ryan shook his head and leaned forward, as if this ordering stuff were important business. “The lady has left the orderin’ to me.”
The waiter glanced at me and smiled. With an overbite, beady eyes, and long, crooked teeth, he reminded me of a large rodent. “Brave young woman!”
I just shook my head and laughed while Ryan glanced over at me with a smile before facing the waiter again. “We’d like to start with the gumbo.”
“Very good,” the waiter nodded as he scribbled on his pad and faced Ryan again expectantly.
“And the crevettes rémoulade,” Ryan continued in a flawless French accent, which immediately made me think of Drake. I pushed the thoughts of my ghostly housemate to the back of my mind and focused on my corporeal dinner date.
“The what?” I asked with a muffled laugh.
“The dish is a very famous one, consisting of our shrimp in a special rémoulade dressing,” the waiter answered, pronouncing every word as if he had a spoonful of peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth.
I just shrugged, since the waiter’s description didn’t really clear much up for me.
“For our main courses, I would like the filet de truite amandine and the pommes de terre soufflées,” Ryan continued as he narrowed his eyes at me. It seemed he was trying to decide just what dish would suit me most. “For the lovely lady, the poulet sauce Rochambeau.”
“Very good, sir, and are you happy with your Perrier? Or would either of you prefer another beverage this evening? Perhaps something alcoholic?” the waiter continued his efforts to persuade us.
Ryan nodded immediately. “I’d like a double Jameson served neat, please.” Then he faced me. “Peyton, what do you drink?”
I glanced up at the waiter and smiled. “An amaretto sour, please.”
Ryan nodded like he was pleased with my choice. “How very Southern of you.” I didn’t respond but watched the waiter walk away as I wondered what in the world Ryan ordered for our dinner.
“To answer your question,” he said, interrupting my thoughts as I took a sip of my Perrier before focusing on him again.
“What question was that?”
“The one about why I was givin’ you the look I gave you,” he answered while doing it again.
I nodded, blotting the water on my lips with my linen napkin
before returning it to my lap. “Ah, yes, why was that?”
Ryan chuckled and shrugged. “Because you took me by surprise and I was surprised by my own surprise,” he finished with another hearty chuckle as he shook his head and leaned back into his chair, appraising me silently.
“I’ve taken you by surprise?” I repeated, frowning because I wasn’t really sure what to make of Ryan. I mean, I figured it was fairly obvious that we were both digging each other—well, that is to say this wasn’t just a friendly date. No, there had to be more going on between us. We had chemistry for sure.
“Yep, you have,” he answered immediately. He continued to gaze at me and I felt like I might lose myself in the low-lit amber of his eyes. “Little did I know the night Hank called me and asked me to check on you durin’ that storm that you would later convince me to repair your house and, now, expel your ghost.”
I smiled and shrugged. “You make it sound like the expulsion of my ghost is going to be a big deal. I mean, what’s a little exorcism, really?”
He chuckled and shook his head, his eyes still on mine. “You’re really somethin’, you know that, Peyton Clark?”
I didn’t really know how to respond so I figured a good old-fashioned thank-you worked best. “Thanks, Ryan.”
He just nodded, taking another sip of his Perrier, his eyes never leaving mine. “Your ex-husband was a fool to let you go.”
I swallowed hard at the mention of Jonathon. I hadn’t thought about him in a while, but whenever I did, a sinking sort of feeling took hold of my stomach, making the rest of my body feel tight, constricted. “He was a lot of things.”
The waiter returned with our drinks and said nothing as he served them on the table. Ryan nodded his thanks and took a sip of his whiskey. I stirred the ice cubes in my amaretto sour while I tried to banish thoughts of Jonathon from my mind.
“Peyton?”
I glanced up at Ryan and nodded. “Hmm?”