Heather Graham - Ghost Walk

Yes, she believed in ghosts, or if not ghosts, per se, a memory that lingered in certain places. It sure as hell wasnt something she was going to share with anyone.

Nikki DuMondes newest employee is standing at the end of her bed at four oclock in the morning begging for help. Its a joke, right? Besides, as manager of a successful New Orleans haunted-tour company, Nikki doesnt scare easily. But in the light of day, harsh reality sets in as a police officer informs her that Andy was brutally murderedat the exact time Nikki swears the distraught woman was in her room.

No one believes her except for Brent Blackhawk, a paranormal investigator desperately trying to forget his tragic past. Half Irish, half Lakotaand able to communicate with the deadBrent is used to living in two worlds. But when he realizes the ghost of a slain government agent is also trying to reach out to Nikki, he knows that she, too, must listen to the deadif she wants to keep living.

For Molly Bolden, with all the love in the world. Also, for Bent Pages, and the girls,
Kay Levine, Michelle Bergeron, Bonnie Moore, Jolene Leonard and Betti Basile.

And for Connie Perry, Al, Scott, Stacy, Josh
and Me Maw, and the Ladies of Louisiana,
Brenda Barrett, Lorna Broussard,
Karin David Debby Quebedeaux and Mary Lomack.

Theres nowhere like New Orleans, but people always create the heart in the why we love a place!

Contents

Prologue

T he child awoke, not sure why. He could hear voices from the living room, but they were hushed, and though he immediately sensed a strangeness in their tone, he knew they hadnt been loud enough to wake him.

He lay there, wondering.

Then he felt it.

Exactly what it was, he didnt know. But it wasnt frightening. It was just a sense of being comforted, like a blanket, like the soft brush of a feather, entirely pleasant. He felt enveloped by gentleness, care and concern. Even strength.

All the different tales that had been told to him seemed to blend together. There was a mist in the room that echoed the stories of the Great Spirit. He thought he heard a cry on the air, barely discernible, a soft keening. Perhaps it was only in his mind, but it might have been the distant cry of the banshee.

He wasnt frightened.

Whatever it wasa mist, a shape, nothing concrete, but yetit was there and it touched him, reassured him. The bathroom light was on; the little night-light was always kept on for him, even though he was five and already quite grown up.

But he knew that the mist or whatever it was had nothing to do with light or dark. It was simply there. It was a kiss on the forehead, a promise that everything was all right. It wasnt a something but a some one , he thought. Someone who loved him and needed him to know that he was loved in return. Someone who had entered

The kiss again, and the feeling of love, somehow deeper than anything real. And there were words, but not words that could be heard. They were words he simply felt.

Another world

When the door opened quietly, he lay still. He could hear the tears in his grandfathers voice as he whispered to his uncle, Hes sleeping. Theres no need to wake him.

He wanted to rise, to wrap his arms around his grandfather, to tell him that itwhatever it waswas going to be okay. But something held him silent, eyes closed, pretending he was sleeping. They were whispering again.

He was a strong child. He would be fine.

But he was an only child. He would be so alone.

No. It would be all right. He would have the rest of his family. And he was one of a great Brotherhood. He would be all right.

He definitely didnt want anyone to know that he was awake, listening, and that in their words he had already grasped the sense of tragedy that was tearing them apart.

He was afraid that if he made the slightest sound, he might lose the precious sense of the light, the touch the love that surrounded him.

Finally they left, the door closed.

It was in the morning that his grandfather spoke with him, stoic as always, firm in his belief in the Great Spirit, God, the Creator. There would always be an end to life here on earth, his grandfather told him, and it was how each man lived it that mattered, not the length of his lifespan. There was a world beyond, and it did not matter what a man called that world; it was simply there. His parents were gone from this place, and they could not be with him, not in the now. Nothing could hurt them anymore, ever. All they would know in the future would be the tender grace of their Maker. Heno matter what one chose to call himwould watch out for them.

His grandfather was wise, and yet the boy couldnt help but wonder if he himself wasnt more at peace than the man who would now raise him. His grandfathers eyes were filled with pain. He didnt fully feel the truth of his own words; he hadnt felt the gentle touch.

The boy slipped his hand into his grandfathers, then touched his face. His grandfather offered him the wisdom of the native peoples; his mother had brought him the fanciful mystery of a faraway country and the beliefs of the Old South. It will be all right, he said simply, knowing his parents were still alive in his heart and would always watch over him from above.