Page 21 of Curse in the Quarter
The promise in her voice, the fearless love that would craft weapons against cosmic law itself—moments when hope felt stronger than any authority that would separate them.
“The locket was made by Charlotte Lacroix,” he said finally. “Crafted to respond to her bloodlinedescendants. You’re related to her through your mother’s side—Moreau family connections that trace back to Marie Lacroix.”
“And you know this how?”
“Historical research. The same genealogical work you’ve been doing, just from a different angle.” The half-truth tasted like ash, but it was better than revelation that would destroy whatever trust existed between them.
Delphine continued to study the locket, her expression thoughtful. “The engravings are unusual. Not standard decorative patterns.” She traced symbols with one fingertip. “These look almost like . . .”
“Like the glyphs you’ve been researching. Yes.”
“Soul-binding symbols. Spiritual connection markings.” Her voice grew quieter as implications settled in her mind. “Charlotte Lacroix was experimenting with the same magical patterns that are appearing throughout the Quarter now.”
“Among other things.”
She stared at the locket in her palm, and when she looked up, her face had gone pale. “This belonged to her, didn’t it? To Charlotte Lacroix. My . . .” She swallowed hard. “My ancestor.”
“Yes.”
“And you just happened to have a family heirloom that I’ve never seen before? That my family somehow lost?” Her voice cracked slightly. “How is that possible?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” She stared at him with growing alarm. “You’re carrying around jewelry that belonged to my ancestor—jewelry that just performed some kind of supernatural light show when I touched it—and you think ‘complicated’ is an adequate explanation?”
The moment had arrived—the choice between protectivedeception and dangerous truth. Bastien looked at her face in the Archive’s quiet light, noting the intelligence in her dark eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw that suggested she wouldn’t be satisfied with evasion.
She deserved honesty. Charlotte had died without understanding what her experiments would cost. Delia had died confused and alone, unable to recognize the man who loved her. Delphine would face whatever was coming with knowledge, with choice, with the dignity of informed consent.
Even if the truth destroyed them both.
“Because you’re not just descended from Charlotte Lacroix,” Bastien said quietly. “YouareCharlotte Lacroix. Reincarnated. And the magical patterns appearing throughout the Quarter aren’t random supernatural incidents. They’re the completion of soul-binding work she began over two centuries ago.”
Silence filled the research room like flood water, deep and encompassing. Delphine stared at him without blinking, her expression cycling through disbelief, calculation, and relief at finally having explanation for feelings she couldn’t name.
“That’s impossible,” she said finally.
“Is it? You’ve been researching families with supernatural incidents. You’ve documented statistical correlations between bloodlines and mystical phenomena. You hum melodies you can’t remember learning.” He gestured toward the locket. “And antique jewelry responds to your touch as if it recognizes you.”
“Even if . . . even if reincarnation were real, how would you know? How could you possibly . . .”
She stopped, understanding hitting her like sunrise. “How long have you been watching me?”
“Your whole life.”
The confession hung between them, weighted with implications that extended far beyond simple observation. Twenty-five years of deliberate distance, of walking streets they both traveled without allowing their paths to cross, of loving someone who couldn’t love him back because she didn’t remember their connection.
“Why?”
“Because I failed to protect Charlotte. I failed to save Delia. I won’t fail again.”
“Failed to . . .” Her voice trailed off as she connected implications that led to conclusions too vast for easy acceptance. “You’re saying you knew them. Both of them. Across . . .” She calculated quickly. “Across centuries.”
“I'm saying I knew them. Recognized them. The same soul, the same essence, carrying forward through different lives but remaining fundamentally unchanged in ways that matter.”
Delphine sank into a research chair, revelation settling over her like gravity itself. Around them, the Archive’s accumulated knowledge seemed to lean closer, centuries of documented history bearing witness to truths that challenged every assumption about life, death, and the connections that bind souls across time.
“This is insane,” she whispered.
