A woman is haunted—both literally and figuratively—by ghosts of the past in this second novel of the Royal Street series by New York Times bestselling author Karen White. Nola Trenholm may not be psychic herself, but she’s spent enough time around people who are to know when ghosts are present, and there are definitely a few lingering spirits in her recently purchased Creole cottage in New Orleans. Something, or someone, is keeping them tethered to this world. And not all of them are benign.  But with the sudden return of Sunny Ryan, Beau Ryan’s long-lost sister, Nola has plenty to distract her from her ghostly housemates. Especially when the tempting—yet firmly unavailable—Beau, wanting to mete out justice to those he blames for Sunny’s kidnapping, asks Nola for a favor that threatens to derail her hard-won recovery and send her hurtling backward. He asks her to welcome Michael Hebert back into her life, even though Michael is the reason for Nola’s bruised heart. Beau is convinced that Michael’s powerful family was behind Sunny’s disappearance and that Michael is the key to getting information the police won’t be able to ignore—if Nola is willing to risk everything for which she’s worked so hard.  Torn between helping Beau and protecting herself, Nola doesn’t realize until it’s almost too late why the ghosts are haunting her house—a startling revelation that will throw her and Beau together to fight a common enemy. Assuming Nola can get Beau to listen to what the spirits are trying to tell him, because ignoring them could prove to be a fatal mistake... "Expertly packed with suspense and family secrets, and soaked in New Orleans atmosphere, The House on Prytania is Karen White at her best. This twisty, satisfying tale will keep readers up far too late."—Simone St. James, New York Times bestselling author of The Sun Down Motel "An exciting psychic mystery best enjoyed by veterans who’ve read all the previous entries in both series."— Kirkus Reviews Karen White is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than thirty-two novels, including the Tradd Street series, The Shop on Royal Street , The Last Night in London , Dreams of Falling , The Night the Lights Went Out , Flight Patterns , The Sound of Glass , A Long Time Gone , and The Time Between . She is the coauthor of The Lost Summers of Newport, All the Ways We Said Goodbye , The Glass Ocean , and The Forgotten Room with New York Times bestselling authors Beatriz Williams and Lauren Willig. She grew up in London but now lives with her husband and a spoiled Havanese dog, dividing her time between Atlanta, Georgia, and the northwest coast of Florida. When not writing, she spends her time reading, playing piano, and avoiding cooking. CHAPTER 1 The Crescent City, with its long and tangled history, its glorious architecture and subtropical allure, along with its inarguably dark past and requisite restless spirits, is a forgiving place. A city with accepting arms for society's lost and hungry souls, and a haven for people like me who'd stumbled and fallen yet managed to pull themselves back up. People who were brave enough to try again in a place known for its extremes, or simply too hardheaded to admit defeat. As the St. Charles streetcar I'd just exited waddled its way down the tracks toward the river bend, I listened to its clanging and jangling. It had become the soundtrack of my life in a new city, much as the church bells chiming their holy chorus in my hometown of Charleston once were. Slowly walking down Broadway, I enjoyed the afternoon air of an early-October Saturday. The oppressive humidity of summer had lifted, giving us a reprieve, and although the temperature was nowhere near what anybody up north would call cold, it was cool enough that I wore a sweater over my T-shirt. Even my fingers felt chilled as they gripped the straps of my backpack. I considered slipping on the gloves that my stepmother, Melanie, had sent me-along with typed instructions on how to care for them. I was due a visit from my family-my parents and my twelve-year-old half siblings, Sarah and JJ-the following week, and I didn't want to register Melanie's disappointment at seeing my dirty gloves. Exactly the reason why I wasn't wearing them. Because absolutely nobody in real life had the patience to clean their gloves to Melanie's specifications. Unless they were Melanie. I lived on Tulane University's so-called fraternity row, my upstairs town-house apartment sandwiched between two fraternity houses, so I was prepared to dodge the street football being played as I made my way down the sidewalk. The days were shorter now, the rose-tinted dusk sky hovering over me as I walked, the growing dimness darkening the shadows between houses and behind unlit windows. Not for the first time, I was grateful that I had only five senses and couldn't see anything within the shadows. But just because I couldn't see anything didn't mean that