Tales from NOLA

The morning was just as thick and suffocating as the night had been, the kind of heat that makes you feel like you’re drowning on dry land. Eddie and I stood outside the Shoemaker house, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. The house itself was modest—whitewashed with a sagging front porch and peeling shutters. It had a weary look about it, like it was tired of standing. Just like Harold. The whole place hummed with a subtle unease, something just beyond the edge of perception, like the smell of rain before it hits the pavement. Magic. Old, but not ancient. Not powerful enough to blow the doors off, but enough to make the air feel heavier.

Eddie sniffed the air, his expression unreadable. “You smell that?” he asked, his voice low.

I didn’t smell anything, but Eddie’s fey senses picked up on things mine didn’t. “Yeah, something’s off,” I replied, scanning the front yard. There were faint signs, small disturbances in the way the energy flowed through the place. No wards or protection spells that I could sense, but something had definitely been here. Recently.

Harold met us at the door, looking just as ragged as he had the night before. His eyes darted nervously, like he was expecting something to jump out of the shadows and swallow him whole. “Mr. Broussard. Mr. LeBlanc. I’m glad you came.”

“Let’s get inside,” I said, brushing past him. The sooner I could get a read on the place, the sooner we’d know what we were dealing with. Eddie followed, his gaze sweeping the room like he was cataloging every detail.

The interior of the house was just as unremarkable as the outside. Hardwood floors, faded wallpaper, family photos on the walls—normal. Comforting, even, if you weren’t paying attention to the cracks beneath the surface. But I was paying attention. And so was Eddie.

“Where did you last see Nancy?” I asked, cutting straight to the point.

Harold swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing like it was stuck in his throat. “It was about three nights ago. She was in the kitchen, making tea. I went to bed, thinking she’d join me in a few minutes. But when I woke up, she was gone. No note, no message, nothing. She’s never done anything like that before.”

“And she was acting strange before that?”

Harold nodded quickly, like a bobblehead on a dashboard. “Yes. She was distant, distracted. She’d go out at odd hours, sometimes in the middle of the night, and she wouldn’t tell me where she was going. I thought maybe... maybe she was seeing someone else, but that’s not Nancy. I know my wife. She wouldn’t do that.”

I glanced at Eddie, who was busy inspecting the knickknacks on the mantle. Something about this whole thing felt wrong, and I wasn’t just talking about Harold’s desperation. It was like the air itself was vibrating with tension, a string pulled too tight, ready to snap. I focused, letting my instincts take over, feeling for the threads of magic that might still linger in the space.

“She go anywhere specific on those late-night outings?” I asked, keeping my voice even. Sometimes, people don’t realise they know more than they’re telling.

Harold hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s... there’s a bar she used to go to. On Decatur. The Absinthe House. She’d go with friends from time to time, but the last few weeks... she started going alone. Said she liked the atmosphere, the history.”

“The Absinthe House, huh?” I exchanged a glance with Eddie. The place had a reputation, and not just for its overpriced drinks. It was a known haunt for certain... unsavoury types, especially after dark. “We’ll check it out. But first, I need to take a look around.”

Harold stepped back, wringing his hands nervously as Eddie and I made our way through the house. I moved into the kitchen, the place where Nancy was last seen. The energy there was sharper, more concentrated. I closed my eyes and focused, reaching out with that part of myself I usually kept tucked away—the part that came with being the seventh son of a seventh son. The part that could sense things most people never even knew were there.

There it was. Faint, but undeniable. The signature of something supernatural. It wasn’t a kidnapping. Nancy hadn’t been dragged out of the house against her will. She’d left willingly, but there was something behind it, something pulling her. Guiding her. A glamour, maybe, or something darker. My gut churned. This wasn’t just some affair gone sideways.

“Jake?” Eddie’s voice broke through my concentration. He was standing by the door, holding up a small, worn talisman. It was made of silver, shaped like a crescent moon, with intricate runes etched into the surface.

“That wasn’t in the photos on the wall, mate,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Found it wedged between the cushions.”

I took it from him, feeling the weight of it in my palm. It hummed with residual power, something old and seductive. Definitely vampire. Glamour magic. It had been used recently, too. Probably to control Nancy, subtly at first, until she couldn’t resist. Vampires were known for their mind tricks, but this wasn’t just some petty parlour trick. Whoever had done this was skilled. Dangerous.

“She didn’t leave on her own,” I said, holding the talisman up so Harold could see. “She was influenced. Drawn to something—or someone. And judging by this, I’d bet my last bottle of bourbon it was a vampire.”

Harold’s face went pale. “A... a vampire? But how? We don’t know anyone like that. We don’t... we’re not involved in any of that!”

I sighed, pocketing the talisman. “That’s the thing about vampires. They don’t ask permission. They just do what they want, and the rest of us are left to pick up the pieces. This thing was used on Nancy. Someone was pulling her strings, probably for weeks.”

Eddie crossed his arms, watching Harold carefully. “You said she was going out at night a lot, yeah? I’m guessing she met this vampire somewhere, probably at that bar you mentioned. The Absinthe House.”

Harold’s voice was barely a whisper. “What... what do we do now?”

I stood up, slipping my hands into my pockets. “We pay a visit to the Absinthe House, see what we can shake loose. But I’m going to be straight with you, Harold. If she’s mixed up with a vampire, she might not want to come back. Vampires have a way of... convincing people to leave their old lives behind.”

Harold shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. “No, you don’t understand. Nancy isn’t like that. She wouldn’t... she wouldn’t just leave me.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Nancy might not have had a choice. Vampires were seductive, manipulative bastards, and once they got their hooks in someone, it was hard to break free. But I also wasn’t in the business of sugarcoating the truth.

“We’ll find her,” I said, my voice firm. “But I need you to be prepared. This isn’t going to be simple. It’s not going to be easy. And if she’s been turned... well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Harold nodded, a hollow look in his eyes. He didn’t really understand, but he didn’t have to. Not yet, anyway.

Eddie and I left the house, stepping back into the oppressive heat of the morning. The street was quiet, too quiet. I could feel the city pulsing beneath my feet, that familiar rhythm of life and death, magic and mystery, all tangled up in the humid air.

“You think she’s already gone?” Eddie asked, lighting a cigarette and taking a slow drag.

I shrugged. “Hard to say. But if that talisman’s any indication, she’s been under someone’s influence for a while. Vampires don’t just let their toys walk away.”

Eddie nodded, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. “The Absinthe House, then?”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling the weight of the talisman in my pocket. “The Absinthe House.”

We climbed into the car, the engine rumbling to life as I pointed us toward Decatur Street. The investigation was just getting started, but I already knew this was going to get messy. New Orleans had a way of chewing you up and spitting you out, especially when vampires were involved.

But I wasn’t about to let that happen. Not this time.