Page 22 of Curse in the Quarter
“Yes.”
“You’re telling me I’ve lived before. Multiple times. And you . . .” She looked up at him, searching his face for signs of deception or madness. “What are you? If you’ve been alive for centuries, if you remember lifetimes that others forget . . .”
“Fallen angel,” Bastien said simply. “Cast out of heaven for . . .” He trailed off, not wantingto get into the long story of his fall from grace. Doomed to exist between worlds, belonging fully to neither.
“And my . . . Charlotte’s . . . experiments with soul-binding magic . . .”
“Were attempts to preserve our connection beyond death. To ensure that love strong enough could survive any separation.” He moved closer to the table, close enough to see how her hands trembled as she processed impossibilities. “She succeeded. The locket proves that. But success came with costs neither of us anticipated.”
“What kind of costs?”
“The magical patterns appearing throughout the Quarter. The supernatural incidents affecting Lacroix descendant families. The growing instability in mystical barriers that keep this city’s otherworldly residents hidden from human awareness.” Bastien’s voice grew quieter as he delivered the crucial warning. “Charlotte’s work is approaching completion, and completion will require choices that will determine not just your fate, but the fate of cosmic order itself.”
Outside the Archive windows, darkness had settled over the Quarter completely. Street lamps cast pools of amber light that seemed smaller than usual, as if shadows drew closer with each revelation spoken aloud. In the distance, church bells began to toll the hour—ten o’clock, late enough that most rational people were settling into evening routines, early enough that most supernatural beings were beginning their nightly activities.
The locket continued to rest on Charlotte’s genealogical chart, silent now but retaining warmth that suggested dormancy rather than deactivation. Whatever recognition had passed between artifact and bearer, whatever circuithad been completed by Delphine’s touch, the connection remained intact.
“I can’t . . . I need time to process this,” Delphine said finally. “This morning I was researching historical curiosities. Tonight you’re telling me I’m the reincarnation of an eighteenth-century witch whose magical experiments are destabilizing reality because she wanted to stay connected to an angel she loved?”
“Fallen angel. And I know it’s a lot.”
“A lot?” She laughed, the sound carrying notes of hysteria. “A lot doesn’t begin to cover what this is.” She gestured toward the locket. “That thing moved across the room to find me. It lit up like a beacon when I touched it. Are you going to tell me that was coincidence?”
“No. That was recognition.”
“Recognition of what?”
“Of who you are. Of who you’ve always been, beneath whatever circumstances shaped each individual life.” Bastien reached for the locket, noting how its metal was still warm despite having been silent for several minutes. “Charlotte crafted this to find her across lifetimes. Tonight, it finally completed the search.”
Delphine watched him pocket the artifact, her expression unreadable. “And now?”
“Now you have choices to make. About whether you want to understand what Charlotte began. About whether you’re willing to risk completing work that could transform you into something beyond human limitations.” He met her eyes directly. “About whether you trust me enough to let me help you navigate what’s coming.”
“What happens if I say no? If I decide I don’t want anything to do with cosmic transformation or soul-binding magic?”
“Then forces beyond either of our control will ensure this becomes your final incarnation. No more rebirths, no more opportunities for love or growth or any of the experiences that make existence worthwhile.”
“And if I say yes?”
“Then we face whatever’s coming together. And maybe this time, the story has a different ending.”
Delphine stood slowly, moving to the research room window that looked out over the Quarter’s narrow streets. Below, late evening life continued its eternal rhythm—tourists seeking entertainment, locals avoiding areas where glamour had grown thin, supernatural beings conducting business in shadows that concealed more than darkness alone.
“I need time,” she said without turning around. “Time to think, to research, to . . . I don’t know. To figure out whether I’m losing my mind or discovering truths that change everything I thought I knew about reality.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know. However long it takes to decide whether I believe any of this is real.”
Bastien nodded, though she couldn’t see the gesture. Time was exactly what they didn’t have—Maestro’s warning about cosmic authorities drawing attention, the growing instability in supernatural boundaries, the way the locket had responded to her touch with violence that suggested forces building toward culmination.
But she deserved the illusion of choice, even if circumstances would eventually remove that luxury.
“I’ll be waiting,” he said simply.
“Where?”
“Where I’ve always been. Close enough to help if you need protection, far enough away that you can makedecisions without pressure.” He moved toward the research room door. “But Delphine? Be careful who you trust with what you’ve learned tonight. There are others who have been waiting for Charlotte’s work to approach completion, and not all of them have your best interests at heart.”
