I turned to look at the mansion, relieved that I was all alone again. It was a beautiful place, in an eclectic, other-worldly way, although I would have gone without the cheesy decorations strewn out front if it were up to me instead of domineering Mara.

I approached slowly, bag swinging beside me, taking in the massive trees, most of which were between 600 and 900 years old. I’d done my research on this place online. While Mara was busy worrying about the linens, culinary delicacies, and amenities, I was reading everything I could on the Leblanc-Landry estate.

There were stories and rumors about this place… voodoo and murder. But there were many places like that in New Orleans. The difference with this one was that it was supposedly haunted. A couple of amateur ghost-hunting crews from YouTube had turned out years ago, catching some interesting footage for their channel.

Most normal people would shy away from this place, I knew Mara certainly would if she knew. But I wasn’t normal. I wasn’t most people. The dark and macabre attracted me… and this place had been speaking to me ever since I first laid eyes on the grainy photos online.

Some of the ghost hunters called this place ‘evil’. But when you grow up in the buckle of the Bible Belt, you’re taught to fear fire and brimstone before you’re even out of diapers, nothing scares you anymore.

This house felt like the perfect place to reconnect with Rosalee and make sure she wants to marry this man. And while I was here, why not enjoy the creepy location, too? Perhaps I could catch a ghost sighting or two of my own and submit it to my favorite YouTubers…

The pearls and beads strewn over the awning were pretty and tasteful, but I scowled at the overgrown bride and groom. Facing each other on either side of the entranceway steps, their faces were puckered, not as though they were preparing to kiss, but rather, they looked to be holding their breath, as though caught in the middle of a tense argument…

I knocked on the heavy French doors, wondering if I was too early. The caterers and support staff were scheduled to arrive before the bride-to-be and her group’s arrival, but they probably hadn’t expected me to turn up three hours early.

I knocked again, then placed my hand on the brass doorknob. The door creaked open, startling me.

“Hello?” I popped my head around the door but saw no one on the other side of it. Stepping inside, I closed the door behind me and set my suitcase on the floor against the foyer wall.

The foyer was dark. No natural light seeped in, the windows high and foggy, despite the late afternoon hour. Candles burned on either side of the entry, casting wavy glows from their sconces, making the eccentric oil paintings and designs on the aging wallpaper look strange and menacing.