Page 3 of Langiappe & Lost Legends

Dea was sprawled dramatically in my abandoned armchair. She was still wearing her scrubs. They were wrinkled from her half-shift at the hospital. "Not a chance. My specter sensitivity isn't picking up anything close to spirit energy. Trust me, when there's a ghost involved—poltergeist or otherwise—it hits different. This is something else entirely." She pulled a bookfrom the stack Cami had gathered after Dre called her to give her a heads-up. "Have we had any reports of similar activity recently? This feels familiar somehow."

"Nope, no other reports," I said, dropping onto the couch. When we'd started this whole supernatural investigation gig, Dani and I had agreed to be the point of contact for calls. And we would handle the simpler ones with Dre and Kota. It made sense with Dre living on the property and Kota being there most days anyway.

"Hold on." Dani lifted a finger and pulled up her notes app. "There have been a few isolated incidents. One of Cyran’s men reported someone called police about a haunted mirror in a mundie store near Jackson Square. The owner swears she saw something moving in it after hours. Then there was a street performer whose guitar started playing by itself. But it's been mostly tourist trap stuff. Things you hear after people take those ghost tours. Nothing close to this intensity."

"We need to consider all possibilities," Kota said, hugging a throw pillow to her chest like a shield. "What about historical events tied to the shop or the area? The Quarter's basically one giant supernatural pressure cooker."

"Good point," I replied, reaching for my energy drink. "The French Quarter is packed with history and magic. And Hollie's shop is no exception. We know the magical storm woke up more than just Delphine LaLaurie." I shuddered at the memory. That ghost had been pure evil incarnate.

Dea's eyes lit up like she'd just found a two-for-one sale on grimoires. "What about the Lost Legends? I was reading about those bad boys when we were dealing with that post-storm mess. Their M.O. matches what's happening now. Apparently, they used to treat the French Quarter like their personal playground."

"The what now?" Dani asked, her face scrunching up like she'd tasted week-old gumbo.

At the same time, our familiar, Adèle, said, “That doesn’t sound good. And this group doesn’t ring any bells.”

Cami, who'd been perched in her wingback chair by the fireplace, straightened up so fast I thought she might levitate. "The Lost Legends?" Her voice carried that peculiar mix of antebellum propriety and seen-it-all wisdom that came from watching New Orleans history unfold from both sides of the veil. "Lord have mercy, I remember those devils. Back then, we would whisper about them in the kitchen after the master and missus went to bed. They were like the supernatural mafia but worse. They made the mob look like Sunday school teachers."

“That’s not surprising to hear.” Dea was already nose-deep in another dusty tome. "According to this, they started small. Like what's happening at Hollie's. But then things went sideways. Fast."

"Started small?" Cami snorted as her fingers drummed a rhythm on her chair. "They were like cats playing with mice. They made people see things in mirrors. They forced shadows to dance just out of sight. My mama used to say they enjoyed watching folks question their sanity before they really got started."

"Well, isn't that just fantastic," Dani muttered. "Because our lives weren't already enough like a supernatural soap opera."

"It gets better, sestra," Dea chirped with the enthusiasm of someone about to drop a metaphysical bomb. "They graduated to full-on poltergeist shenanigans. They performed furniture gymnastics and door-slamming championships. Except it wasn't ghosts. They were pulling the strings like some twisted puppet masters."

"And then?" Kota prompted, strangling her throw pillow like it had personally offended her.

Cami leaned forward. It was one of the rare occasions I could see the centuries of seen-some-shit wisdom in her eyes. "Thenthey got creative. Rooms would stretch like salt water taffy. I remember a friend talk about how they made the walls in her mistress’s bedroom breathe like they were alive. It frightened her so much she forced her husband to move away. There were also reports of floors playing now-you-see-me-now-you-don't. They'd plant visions in your head that'd make visiting the Underworld seem boring. They started getting handsy, too. There were countless attacks by unseen assailants, resulting in mysterious injuries. They had themselves a grand old time playing the invisible man with their victims."

"Please tell me we've hit rock bottom on the crazy train," Phi groaned, finally emerging from her laptop.

"In New Orleans, there ain't no such thing as rock bottom," Cami said, with the air of someone who'd watched enough supernatural drama to fill several history books. "They tried possession too. Though they were about as good at it as a drunk trying to line dance. But those traps they set?" She shuddered. "Now, those were effective. These evil inventions involved sharp things where they shouldn't be, gas leaks, and convenient 'accidents’. All of this reinforced the image that the city was one large supernatural hotspot. Few folks were willing to look too deeply at things. And no one argued when ghosts, vampires, and the like were blamed."

Welcome to our lives. 'It gets worse’, is practically our family motto. We spent the next few hours buried in research. I lost myself in online databases and historical records while the others did their own digging. The house grew quiet except for the soft murmur of voices and the rustle of pages. When we finally took a break, the table was covered in books, notebooks, and printouts.

"Anyone find anything useful?" I asked, gesturing to our research pile. Everything I'd found focused on mundie historywith countless stories about strange incidents. None of it had any real information about the magical world.

"I found articles and books from some local historians and elders," Dani reported. "They mentioned similar disturbances in the past but didn't give much detail. One book postulated that some powerful families wanted to keep the stories flowing. It was after they realized the draw it became for their city. Tourism became the lifeblood here early on."

"I found more about the Lost Legends in old journals," Dea added. "They were supposedly behind most of the paranormal activity here. Information suggests they used dark magic and rituals to manipulate energy. Then they just vanished. No one knows where they went or what happened to them."

"There might be a pattern," Dre said, flipping through her notes. "If you consider less precise incidents, there have been paranormal disturbances happening every decade. Maybe something's been reawakening the energy for a while."

I laughed. "You can't establish a pattern with imprecise data. And I'm not talking about regular hauntings like LaLaurie's house. Like Cami said, New Orleans is a supernatural hotspot. We need exact matches to make a connection to the Lost Legends."

"If it is the Lost Legends," Phi said, leaning forward, "we need to be careful. Their magic was seriously bad news. But there might be a way to stop them if we can figure out how they were dealt with before."

Kota pointed to her tablet. "There's a mention of a powerful Voodoo practitioner. I’d bet money it was probably Marie Laveau. Her ancestors set themselves up as the top dog a long time ago. Maybe our Marie found new minions and brought the legends back? She might not have changed after all."

"Let's not jump to conclusions," I cautioned. "Marie seemed genuine at the reunion. I don't think she's behind this."

Before we could debate that theory further, Dani's phone chimed. She checked the screen and her expression tightened. "There are multiple reports of disturbances in the Quarter coming into the hotline. In one a street performer's instruments went haywire. Three shops reported moving objects. And get this—someone saw a figure in a mirror at Madam Louise's, but when they looked again, it was gone."

"I'll search for magical signatures while you investigate," Adèle, our familiar added mentally. She'd been unusually quiet, which meant she was searching whatever magical archives familiars were born with for information. "I might be able to sense what's behind this. If I can, I will let you guys know."

"Thanks, Adèle," Dre replied. "We're going to need all the help we can get."

We piled back into my car and headed downtown. The French Quarter was alive with its usual nighttime energy. Tourists stumbled between bars. Music spilled from doorways. And supernaturals were there to soak it all in.

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