Page 25 of Curse in the Quarter
“There has to be another way,” Bastien said finally.
“There is. But it requires the anchor point to understand what she is and make conscious decisions about transformation instead of letting it happen by accident.” Maman reached into her jeans pocket, withdrawing a small mason jar filled with what looked like ordinary dirt. “Graveyard soil from seven different cemeteries, mixed with salt that’s been blessed by priests from five different faiths. It won’t stop the soul-binding, but it will create interference in the spiritual networks. Enough to give you time.”
“Time for what?”
“For her to choose. Between completing Charlotte’s work with full knowledge of the consequences or severing the bloodline connection permanently.” She pressed the jar into his hands, her fingers warm against his skin. “But understand, Bastien—if she chooses severance, it’s not just her connection to Charlotte that gets cut. It’s her connection to you, too. Soul-binding works both ways.”
The warning coiled tension in his gut. He’d been so focused on protecting Delphine from cosmic forces that he hadn’t considered the personal cost of salvation. If she chose to sever her bloodline connection to Charlotte’s magic, she would also sever the spiritual bonds that had connected them across lifetimes.
They would become strangers. Truly, completely, finally strangers.
“How long do we have?”
“The network is accelerating beyond what any of us anticipated. It is impossible for me to tell you exactly.” She began walking toward the cemetery entrance, her sneakers silent on the gravel path. “And there’s something else youneed to know. The entities behind this—they’re not just trying to complete Charlotte’s transformation. They’re trying to preserve it. If the spiritual networks collapse, they lose everything they’ve invested across multiple lifetimes.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they’ll fight back. Hard. Against anyone who threatens their cosmic experiment.” She paused at the cemetery gate, her hand resting on wrought iron that had witnessed more desperate farewells than any structure should. “Be careful, Bastien. The love that’s sustained you across centuries might be the weapon they use to destroy you both.”
Her warning followed him as he left the cemetery and drove back into the heart of the Quarter. The graveyard soil jar sat heavy in his pocket, but heavier still was the knowledge that saving Delphine might mean losing her forever. Choice between transformation and severance—either way, the woman he’d loved across lifetimes would become someone else entirely.
The walk to Ursulines Street took him through a Quarter that felt fundamentally altered. Street musicians played melodies that sounded wrong, their usual crowds dispersing after only a few notes. Shop owners stood in their doorways with expressions of vague unease, as if sensing danger they couldn’t identify. Even the morning light seemed filtered through something that changed its essential nature.
His phone buzzed with a text from Delphine, asking if he’d found additional information about the spreading incidents. Professional courtesy wrapped around genuine concern for victims she’d unknowingly helped create.
Perfect irony. She was researching the phenomenon she was causing.
But she acted with understanding that phenomenon was exactly what they needed now. Despite the risks, despite knowing proximity to her would strengthen the contamination network, he had to warn her. Had to give her the chance to choose with full knowledge of what was at stake.
The decision made, Bastien turned toward the Archive.
The Obscura Archive bustled with morning activity, but the energy felt different now. Graduate students bent over genealogical charts with unusual intensity. Local historians pursued family mysteries with the dedication of people seeking answers to questions they couldn’t articulate. Tourists researched their heritage with the urgency of people running out of time.
The very air hummed with accumulated tension, as if the building itself was straining under forces it wasn’t designed to contain.
Delphine worked at her usual desk, but today she’d spread her materials across two tables, creating a research station that looked more like a command center. Computer screens displayed family trees that branched across centuries, photocopied documents formed careful stacks arranged by date and region, and handwritten notes covered a whiteboard with connections that seemed to pulse in the morning light.
She looked up as he approached, her smile carrying exhaustion that hadn’t been there days ago.
“Mr. Durand. I was hoping you’d come in today.” She gestured toward the expanded workspace. “I’ve been doing additional research since our last conversation. What I’ve found is . . . disturbing.”
“Disturbing how?”
“I’ve been tracking the family histories of peopleaffected by the supernatural incidents. Not just here in New Orleans but reports from other cities that match the same patterns.” She turned one of her computer screens toward him, displaying a map studded with red pins. “Atlanta, Savannah, Charleston, Mobile. All reporting similar cases within the past week.”
The scope she’d identified matched what Maman had described, but seeing it visualized made the threat feel more immediate. Red pins clustered around major genealogical research centers, following patterns that suggested coordination rather than coincidence.
“And they’re all connected to the same bloodlines?”
“That’s what’s so strange. Every affected individual can trace their ancestry back to families that had contact with the Lacroix line between 1760 and 1900. Marriage connections, business partnerships, even just living in the same parishes.” Her voice carried the excitement of a researcher who’d uncovered a significant pattern. “It’s like someone created a network that’s been dormant for over a century, and now it’s all activating simultaneously.”
As she spoke, Bastien noticed details that settled low in his ribs with alarm. Her usual neat handwriting had become more elaborate, incorporating flourishes that matched Charlotte’s distinctive script. The family trees she’d drawn included symbols in the margins—simple geometric shapes that hurt to look at directly. Even her posture had changed, becoming more formal, more aristocratic.
She was changing. Not just intellectually, but fundamentally, as exposure to Charlotte’s documented magic influenced her essential nature.
“Delphine,” he said carefully, “have you been experiencing any unusual symptoms? Dreams, physical sensations, changes in your normal routines?”
“Actually, yes. Strange dreams about places I’ve never been, people I’ve never met. And I’ve been finding myself using words I don’t remember learning—French phrases that feel familiar but I never studied the language.” She looked puzzled. “Why? Do you think the research itself is changing me somehow?”
