Page 20 of Curse in the Quarter
“Wait.” Delphine’s voice carried new intensity, professional curiosity overriding social politeness. “That sound is definitely coming from you. Some kind of device? Medical monitoring equipment?”
She stepped closer, and the locket’s vibration became so violent that he could feel its vibration through his bloodstream. Metal humming with lifeline echo flare that seemed to synchronize with Delphine’s breathing, her heartbeat, the rhythm of her movements.
“I really should?—”
But she was already reaching toward his arm, an instinctive response to obvious distress. Her fingers brushed against his jacket directly over where the locket normally rested around his neck, and the artifact exploded into motion.
The metal disk shot from inside his pocket as if propelled by invisible force, sailing across the research room to land on the table with a sound like struck bronze. There it continued to vibrate so violently that papers scattered and pencils rolled toward the edges.
Delphine stared at the locket in shocked silence, watching silver light pulse from within its engraved surface. “What in God’s name . . .?”
The artifact rolled across the table’s surface, leaving trails of warm light on paper, moving with purpose rather than random momentum. Straight toward the Lacroix genealogical charts, across Marie’s family tree, stopping precisely on top of the entry for Charlotte Lacroix, born 1742, died 1763.
The moment metal touched paper, both documents and locket flared with brilliance that filled the research room with silver radiance. Light that revealed things hidden—symbols carved into the Archive’s wooden beams, protective wards worked into the building’s architecture, the faint aura of supernatural energy that surrounded Delphine like invisible fire.
“Static electricity,” she said weakly, blinking against the brightness. “Some kind of . . . electromagnetic phenomenon . . .”
But even as she spoke, her hand moved toward the locket. Fingers reaching for metal that continued to pulse with light and warmth, as if drawn by forces she couldn’t understand or resist.
The moment her skin made contact with Charlotte’s creation, the light intensified beyond endurance.
Bastien threw his arm across his eyes, overwhelmed by energies that spoke directly to the core of his fallen angel nature. Through the blazing radiance, he felt rather than saw the moment of complete recognition—artifact acknowledging its creator’s reincarnated essence, decades of dormancy ending in explosion of connection that threatened to tear holes in reality itself.
Then the light died, leaving them blinking in sudden darkness broken only by the Archive’s ordinary electrical illumination.
The locket lay silent and still on the genealogical chart, its silver surface warm but no longer blazing. Just an antique piece of jewelry that had somehow traveled across the room through mechanisms that couldn’t be explained by conventional physics.
Delphine stood frozen, one hand extended toward the artifact, her expression cycling through confusion, alarm,and recognition fighting to surface from depths of memory she couldn’t access.
“I need to leave,” Bastien said, moving toward the locket. “This was a mistake.”
“Don’t.” Her voice was sharp, commanding. “Don’t you dare leave before explaining what just happened.”
She was still touching the locket, her fingertips resting on metal that had been crafted to recognize her essence across lifetimes. And in her eyes, for just a moment, he saw awareness that reality contained layers she hadn’t previously acknowledged.
“Some objects hold energy from their creation,” he said. “Antiques can carry emotional imprints, respond to environmental factors . . .”
“That wasn’t environmental factors.” She lifted the locket, studying its engraved surface in the overhead light. “This responded to me specifically. It moved toward Charlotte Lacroix’s name on the genealogy chart.” Her gaze found his face. “And you knew it would.”
The accusation hung between them like smoke from a snuffed candle. She was too intelligent, too observant, too trained in research methodology to accept simple explanations for impossible phenomena.
“Delphine . . .”
“What is this thing?” She turned the locket over in her palm, examining engravings that seemed to shift in the electric light. “And why did it react to me like that? Some kind of electromagnetic sensitivity to certain bloodlines?”
“It’s complicated.” Her perception beyond normal human understanding impressed him, and her persistence was another indication of who she was, who she had always been.
“Then uncomplicate it.” Her tone brooked no evasion. “Because that thing responded to my touch like it was programmed to find me. And you weren’t surprised. Which means you expected this to happen.”
Bastien could feel impossible choices pressing down on him. Tell her the truth, and risk shattering a mind unprepared for revelations about reincarnation, soul-bonds, and love that transcended death. Maintain deception and watch her stumble blindly into dangers that required knowledge to survive.
Charlotte's private workshop in the estate's east wing, 1762, where she crafted artifacts by moonlight. Silver wire, precious stones, and tools whose purposes belonged to arts most practitioners feared to attempt. Her hands moved with surgeon's precision as she engraved symbols into metal that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.
“This must be perfect,” she murmured, not looking up as Bastien entered. “One flaw in the resonance pattern and it becomes merely decorative jewelry instead of . . .” She paused, testing the locket's weight. “Instead of hope made manifest.”
“What exactly are you creating?”
“Insurance. Against separation, against forgetting, against forces that would keep souls apart because their connection threatens established order.” She held up the finished locket, its surface gleaming with more than reflected candlelight. “If I forget, this won't. If I lose myself in death and rebirth, this will find me again.”
