Page 87 of Nanny and the Beast

I glance at the side mirror. I’m not sure why, but I have the strangest feeling that we’re being followed. The headlights of the car behind us are too bright, so I can’t see the make of the car, let alone the person inside.

“I think we’re being followed,” I say.

Alaric follows my gaze.

“By the car behind us?” he asks.

“I think so.”

My skin prickles with the acute awareness of having eyes on me.

In my years of experience, I learned to never ignore my intuition. And right now, my intuition is telling me that there’s an invisible threat.

“You know what they say about New Orleans,” Alaric says.

“Please don’t tell me it’s haunted,” I say.

“Itis,” he says. “Ask anyone.”

We stop at a red light.

The streetlights flicker, casting an eerie glow on the cobblestones and wrought-iron balconies. Alaric looks at me with ‘I told you’ written on his face.

Since this street is more illuminated, I can better make out the car behind us. It’s a red pickup truck, and I can see the license plate too.

“Look up the license plate in the app,” I say. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Don’t worry, what you’re experiencing is just supernatural activity,” Alaric says.

“Just do it. Please.”

“Fine.”

Alaric enters the numbers into an app on his phone. A few seconds later, we have a report.

“He’s a cop,” Alaric says.

“It doesn’t look like a cop’s car,” I say.

“He could be off duty,” he says.

He hands the phone over to me and resumes driving. I read through the report. It tells me that the owner of the car is a retired cop who’s most probably here on vacation.

“He’s not from here,” I say.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Alaric says.

I exhale. I don’t understand why my body is so on edge right now. All I know is that there’s some danger lurking in the corner.

I keep watching the suspicious car, relaxing only when it heads off in a different direction.

“Stop stressing out,” Alaric says, turning the radio on. “You’re making me nervous too.”

“He’s gone now,” I say.

“Told you it was just the ghosts,” he says.

I soak in the sights of New Orleans—the cafés decorated with string lights, jazz music pouring from the bars, the rich history that’s soaked into every crevice of this city.

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