“So, you didn’t give me a ton of detail the other night about your time in New Orleans. How did you and Dev meet?”
She took a sip of the French 75 she’d ordered. “I was working in Jackson Square as a tarot and palm reader—like I do now when I’m not working full-time for the show. I had just been finishing up with a client when I felt this presence so strongly that it nearly took my breath. I looked up and met Dev’s turquoise eyes from across the Square, and it was like kismet. He walked toward me, I stood up, we came face-to-face, and at the same moment said, ‘I think we’re supposed to meet.’ It was like something out of a movie. We both started laughing, struck up a conversation, and he invited me to give the show a shot. I did a little work as a trainee, and when he saw that it all came naturally to me, he basically introduced me asHaunted New Orleans’co-host. We’ve been working together ever since.”
“Wow,” I said, taking a drink from my pint of Abita Boot. “Now I can see why you guys just seem so natural. It really is like it was meant to be. You’re almost like siblings the way you mesh.”
Lark got a faraway look in her eye for a minute. “He’s the best. And I owe him everything.”
“I think you had a hand in how great you’ve done. Don’t sell yourself short.”
She smiled and ducked her head a little. “Thanks for that.”
“Always.” I took another sip of the crisp, refreshing brew. “Where are you living? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”
“I actually took over Dev’s old place when he moved in with Hanlen at her plantation house, Arborwood. It’s great. Perfect location, right in the middle of everything yet sufficiently quiet. And we use the downstairs, which used to be Marie Laveau’s voodoo museum, for the show’s headquarters.”
“Wow, how did Dev manage to snag a place like that?”
She laughed, and I wasn’t sure what I’d missed. “Oh. You probably don’t know if you haven’t done any research into the show,” she said. “Dev is related to Marie Laveau.”
“Shut up,” I said, my brows reaching for my hairline. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she said and shrugged.
“Geez, what a group. What can you tell me about your so-called ghost crew? I keep hearing about them on the show as I’ve been watching, but the way the episodes are edited, I know I’m missing pieces.”
She took another drink, shaking her head as if what she was about to tell me was a lot. “Well, the group has grown. We have a soldier from the War of 1812 named Desmond. Dev mentioned him yesterday. He does a lot of running for Dev, getting messages to other spirits. Dev’s sister Wren and her partner Findley are integral pieces. The R?DRΩM killer murdered Wren not that long ago—a couple of years, I think—and Findley died in a tragic car accident the night he found her body. Sky actually worked that case for the Louisiana State Crime Lab. Then there’s Dev’s cousin, Reagan—orGunnieas he calls her. R?DRΩM murdered her, too, but over ten years ago. We found out when we met Hanlen that they had been best friends, kind of grew up together, and were living together and out at the club the night she died. It’s a small world.” She paused. “That was a lot. Sorry.” She blew out a breath.
“It really was,” I agreed. Then I thought about how Lark and I had reconnected, and the seemingly random ties we had between people and events even now. “Is that it?”
“Actually, no. We also have Burke. Another terrible tragedy. Dev had just hired him to be our lead researcher when we started the Arborwood investigation. When the killer tried to get closer to Hanlen . . .” She let out a breath and swallowed hard. “Goddess, this is still really hard to talk about. He . . . he ended up taking Burke’s life.”
“Jesus. I’m so sorry.” My guts twisted at the horror of it all. I couldn’t even imagine what any of that had been like for them.
“Yeah, it was hard on all of us. Burke is a great guy. But it was especially difficult for Hanlen. She felt really responsible. We’ve assured her that she couldn’t have known and couldn’t have done anything, and the fact that he wanted to stay and can still work with all of us softens the blow a bit, but . . . that whole thing was rough. I’ll tell you more about it some other time.” She looked over my shoulder. “Our food’s coming.”
It was, indeed. Lilliana set our steaming plates in front of us and left us to enjoy. The seafood étouffée was as amazing as I remembered, and Lark let me sample her courtbouillon, which was incredible. We’d also ordered some oysters Rockefeller to share.
We passed a bit of the time in companionable silence, just enjoying the atmosphere and our meals. When we were nearly done, and I was about to burst from both the food and my need to ask questions, I finally just gave in.
“Lark?”
“Yeah?” she said, dabbing her lips with her napkin.
I sighed. “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about the past, but Turner mentioned that you told the team some stuff.” I immediately saw her anger in the set of her jaw and the look in her eyes and knew I had to continue fast. “He didn’t tell me anything, he just told me that you revealed a lot of your past to them. And it really affected him.”
I saw her soften just a tiny bit. “Yeah, I saw that, too. I honestly worried I was the reason that he wasn’t coming to work, but I couldn’t fathom why.”
I had to tread carefully here. Again, it wasn’t my story to tell. Still, I needed her to know why I was so interested—aside from me just wanting to know more about her.
“Has Turner told you anything about his past or how we met?”
She shook her head.
“We met a few years ago while working on a job for Allumer Âme, Inc., building homes for underprivileged individuals. I was doing the construction, and Turner was brought in for a bunch of engineering work.”
“That’s kind of sweet,” she said and took a sip of her gin concoction.
“Turner comes from a similar background as we do. I’m not sure if you knew that.” I had to tread carefully here.