Ghost Walk. Heather Graham

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      She blinked. There was a soft glow of green light emanating from her clock, and a thin gleam coming from the bathroom, from the night-light she kept on. She had failed to fully close the draperies across the sliding doors in her bedroom. Though she faced the small garden area at the rear of the house, enough light made it into the back that a gentle glow came in through the window. Though the light seemed pale and misty, she could see the basic shapes of the furniture in her room.

      And the woman at the foot of the bed.

      Andrea was standing there, clad in a long T-shirt advertising the New Orleans Saints. Her long dark hair was tousled, as if she’d just gotten out of bed.

      “Andy, what are you doing here? What are you talking about?” she asked, glancing over at her bedside clock. Almost 4:00 a.m. They had only parted at two, and after all those Hurricanes, Nikki felt as if her mind was moving on a very slow track. In fact, her head was pounding. She had to be dreaming, but it was unfair for her head to hurt so badly in a dream.

      “Go away, Andy. You’re the one who kept ordering the drinks,” she grumbled miserably.

      “The bum in the coffee shop, he’s dead, Nikki.”

      Nikki shook her head, which made it hurt even more. “Andy, we didn’t know the guy. We couldn’t know if he’s dead.” She stopped to think for a minute, but between the liquor and exhaustion, she knew she wasn’t doing too well.

      “How did you get in here, anyway? If you guys are trying to scare me… Did Julian put you up to this? Hell, I don’t really care right now. Go away. And lock the door behind you when you go.”

      “Nikki! Please…help!”

      “I understand a joke, Andy, but I really feel like hell. So…ha, ha, go away.”

      “Nikki, for the love of God,” Andy implored. “Wake up…I think…I think it’s you they’re after.”

      “Andy, go away. Go home. What the hell are you doing out dressed like that, anyway? Look—I’m closing my eyes. When I open them, you’re going to be gone. And if those other idiots are with you, tell them to get out, too.”

      “Okay, I’m going to open my eyes, Andy, and you’d best be gone!”

      She opened her eyes. To her amazement, Andy was gone.

      “Make sure my front door is locked when you go!” she called.

      She sighed. She needed to get up and make sure that the door had been locked. She should close the drapes—and avoid the sun that was going to tear into her eyes in the morning. But none of them had to work tomorrow morning. Not until night…the eight o’clock tour. Ample time to recover, and so, to get in all the healing sleep she needed. She should get up…

      She couldn’t quite do it. Couldn’t quite make herself get up.

      She closed her eyes, and went back to sleep.

      When Nikki woke in the morning, she didn’t even remember at first that she’d opened her eyes to see Andrea in her room. Her head was still thudding. She managed to crawl out of bed and into the bathroom, and down several aspirins. In the kitchen, she decided toast would be a good thing. Coffee first, because she couldn’t bear life without it, then toast and orange juice.

      Walking back into her bedroom, she unlatched her glass doors and walked out on the little balcony that looked over the small courtyard in the back of the house where she lived. The antebellum grande dame had been restored beautifully—into six apartments. She had chosen her own when the work had barely been completed because of the two upstairs bedrooms, hers, that she slept in, with the windows that faced the garden, and the spare bedroom, that she used as an office, that overlooked Bourbon just beyond the small front yard and brick fence. Then, to make it all the more wonderful, downstairs her front entry wasn’t through the main hall, but was a separate entrance, a one-time servants’ door. It opened to the far end of the broad porch, an amenity accessible to all the tenants, but convenient to her. The porch looked on to grass and flowers and the swing that fell from a huge old oak. Downstairs, the street was blocked from view—and vice versa—by the brick fence. From the front, all the music and mayhem of the city could be heard, but in the rear, all was quiet.

      A slight breeze filtered in. Fall was coming, and with it, days and nights that were beautiful, still warm, but relieved of the drop-dead humidity that could plague the city.

      She determined to shower quickly and dress. That might help.

      It did. Her hair still damp, in jeans and a knit shirt, she walked out to pour her coffee. The headache was beginning to recede. She took her coffee outside.

      It was at the front door—where she discovered both her bolt and the chain lock still in place—that she remembered the dream. She smiled to herself.

      Hurricanes.

      She’d never have another.

      So—the crew hadn’t sneaked in on her last night, determined to play the world’s most annoying practical joke.

      She really had dreamed it all up!

      Andrea would be amused when she heard about it. No…she wasn’t going to say anything to Andrea at all. That would only bolster the teasing concept that she had no life other than her work, that her life would be much more fun if she did submit to more alcohol upon occasion, and that she was…well, something of a workaholic.

      She took her coffee outside, sat in one of the big wicker chairs on the porch, and looked out at the lawn and the eternal flowers there. Pretty. The breeze was pleasant.

      A few more cups of coffee, her toast…and she might feel like living again.

      She closed her eyes, letting the air caress her cheeks, ease away the night of living it up a bit too much—well, for her, anyway. But she was very serious about her work for Max. She might be underpaid for the amount of responsibility she was taking on now, but she knew that Max had big plans. He wanted to go around the country with his tours. Nikki had always loved to travel, and once Max got going, she wanted in on the whole thing. People simply loved this kind of tour. And no matter where a city might lure lots of tourists, there were surely ghosts to be found!

      All right, this was her special turf. She’d spent her life here, right here, in the French Quarter. If there was a story out there, she’d heard it. The history of the city was something she could recite in her sleep. And she loved it. Funny, that made her think of Andy.

      When she’d first met the girl, her friend had been amazed that she still loved living in New Orleans. In fact, she’d burst into laughter when Nikki had urged her to tell her why she was grinning like an imp.

      “It’s just…well, you’re not a drinker. And it seems you always want to go somewhere without crowds…so, why live in and love New Orleans?”

      The question had startled Nikki. “It’s home. It’s all I know. And, okay, so I’m not a big boozer. I love jazz! I love the artists on the street, and the performers…and even the people who pass through!”

      And she did.

      “What on earth do you do during Mardi Gras?” Andy had demanded, still laughing.

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