Page 4 of Langiappe & Lost Legends

Underneath it all, something felt wrong. The historic buildings loomed around us. Their facades hid more secrets than a teenager's diary. "Let's split up in pairs," Dani suggested. "We’ll cover more ground that way. Keep your senses sharp and report anything unusual."

"Splitting up always works out so well in horror movies," Kota muttered, but she paired off with Dre anyway.

Dea and Phi laughed as they walked down Royal Street. Dani and I headed for Jackson Square. We'd barely separated when things started getting weirder. A street performer's violin went suddenly silent mid-note. A panicked look crossed her face when the bow froze mid-air. Few noticed and she snatched her open case and took off.

We wandered for a half hour watching drunk tourists. There was nothing supernatural about it. I was about to suggest we hitanother section when the lamppost above us sputtered and died like someone had pulled its plug at the worst possible moment. Because clearly this day needed more creepy ambiance. Those same whispers from Hollie's shop started their ghostly little concert. When I saw mundies nervously checking their phones for the time—which was the universal signal for "time to get the hell out of here"—I knew we were in deep gumbo.

Sure, we weren't dealing with outright attacks yet, but that almost made it worse. Small magic meant subtle spells. The use of less power was about as easy to track as a crawfish in the bayou during mating season. "Let's try a reveal spell," I suggested to Dani. "But keep it paranormal eyes only. The last thing we need is the Quarter's tourist trade getting a real show for their money."

We clasped hands and silently cast the spell. Our efforts yielded jack squat. "Well, that was about as useful as a screen door on a submarine," Dani muttered, just as our phones lit up with Phi's group text. "That was fast. Do you think they found something?”

I shook my head. “Doubt it. These Lost Legends are sly bastards.”

We found our sisters huddled at the corner of Royal and St. Ann like they were planning a supernatural heist. Kota was stress-eating a praline. While Dre paced circles around Phi like a rabid border collie. Phi hadn't looked up from her phone. Dea's scrubs were dusted with what I desperately hoped was powdered sugar, though knowing our luck it was probably essence of zombie or ghost dandruff or whatever other fun surprises the Quarter had cooked up today. My stomach let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like ‘Café du Monde or death.’ I caught myself eyeing the few blocks between us and beignet heaven. Unfortunately, there was a world-ending supernatural crisis to deal with first. We could have fried dough later.

I was still contemplating the merits of a quick beignet run when Adèle's voice slid into our heads like silk-wrapped steel. "I might have found the source of the disturbances,” she told us.

Dre stopped pacing and focused like a bloodhound that found a scent. “Please tell me it’s close. So far, we’re seeing petty shit. I want to stop this before it gets violent.”

“Go down the street and turn right," she replied. We all jolted into action and shuffled down Royal Street like the world's most dysfunctional tour group. We passed the usual Quarter chaos. Drunk tourists testing gravity, jazz musicians having theoretical battles about chord progressions, and street performers doing their best to separate tourists from their money. It all faded away faster than my morning energy drink buzz.

We stopped in front of what had to be New Orleans' most enthusiastic participant in the ‘Most Haunted Building’ competition. It wasn’t one I was familiar with. The brick was so weathered it looked like it might crumble if you sneered at it wrong. The vines were probably old enough to vote. It also had enough shadowy corners to host a goth convention.

"The energy's strongest here," Adèle reported. Though she sounded about as confident as a vampire in a tanning salon. "But something's not right. It's here but not here at the same time."

When we tried to probe the building's energy, it was like trying to catch a greased pig at a county fair. The power there was as slippery as a politician's promise. And it was as ancient as dirt. It felt about as friendly as a gator with a toothache. It also shoved back against our magical prodding hard enough to make me stumble.

"Whatever is fighting us and causing this chaos is not inside," Dre announced a few seconds later. She had her hands planted on her hips like she was scolding the building personally. "Butyou're right about the residual energy. It feels like an echo of something that could kick our collective magical butts."

"We need more information," Dani sighed. "We need to know about this location. We should get historical records. Anything that details the legends tied to this building. As well as anything about the area around it. There have to be clues about what we're dealing with."

I looked up at those dark windows. "Well," I said, "I guess our quiet days of just planning parties are officially over. At least we don't have any events on the calendar right now. Small mercies."

"Now you’ve cursed us," Kota informed me as if she was delivering particularly bad news. "Stay by the phone, Dani. You’ll be getting a call soon.”

"We will deal with it if it happens," Dre said as we trudged back to where we'd parked. Parking in the Quarter was a special kind of hell, but thanks to my mate, we had a spot in a nearby pack lot. "Who's up for drowning our latest crisis at Lafitte's? I'm thinking we could use three Hurricanes. Maybe four."

"God, yes," I agreed, already tasting that first sip of alcohol-induced denial. "We should also have the council share something with their people. The last thing we need is for false stories about this mess to spread faster than gossip at a church social."

"And then we need to do some research," Phi added. "Lots and lots of research."

We all groaned like students being assigned summer reading. We’d already decided on that, but that didn’t mean we liked it. Whatever these Lost Legends were—or weren't—we needed answers faster than a cheetah chasing prey. If history told us anything, things would get worse. Because in New Orleans? Things could always get worse. That wasn't just the city motto, it was practically encoded in the DNA of every brick in the French Quarter.

At least it wasn't boring. I'd hoped for a peaceful afternoon with my book. Next time I'd be more specific about what kind of excitement I was looking for. Maybe something that didn't involve potentially deadly magical artifacts and centuries-old mysteries. Who was I kidding? In our family, that was about as likely as finding a parking spot during Mardi Gras.

CHAPTER 2

DANIELLE

My phone buzzed for the third time as Lia navigated her car through the Garden District's tree-lined streets. I admired the ancient oaks as they cast dappled shadows across the windshield for a second while ignoring the inevitable. I finally glanced at the screen, not recognizing the number. Unknown callers were rarely good news these days.

"If you don't answer, they're just going to keep calling," Dre pointed out from the backseat. She wasn’t even trying to hide her amusement. She had her notebook balanced on her knee. It was covered in her signature messy scrawl from our morning research session. We needed certain questions answered and didn’t want to forget.

With a sigh that carried the weight of a thousand frustrated party planners, I answered. "Hello?"

"Is this Danielle Smith?" The voice on the other end practically sparkled through the speaker. "This is Jasper Moore. I’m calling to talk to you about having a party at Willowberry Plantation."

"How did you get my number?" I asked warily.

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