Page 26 of Curse in the Quarter
The jar of graveyard soil in his pocket felt warm against his leg, but he knew interference would only buy them time. The real choice—transformation or severance—was approaching faster than either of them was prepared to handle.
The Saenger Theatre's empty stage at midnight in 1906, where Delia danced alone to music only she could hear. Bastien watched from the wings as she moved through choreography that belonged to no earthly performance—steps that spoke of celebration, of joy too large for ordinary expression.
She spun in wide circles, arms extended toward the fly gallery, white dress flowing like liquid moonlight. Her laughter echoed through the empty theater, pure and bright as cathedral bells.
“Dance with me,” she called, sensing his presence without looking. “The stage is ours until dawn.”
“Someone might see?—”
“Let them see. Let the whole world witness that some happiness is too perfect to hide.” She reached for his hands, pulling him into the light. “Besides, who's going to believe that the mysterious Mr. Durand was caught dancing with a theater girl?”
Her joy infectious, her confidence that their love could survive any scrutiny—moments when the future felt bright enough to illuminate whatever darkness might come.
“Mr. Durand?” Delphine’s voice pulled him back to the present. “You look pallid.”
Around them, other researchers had begun gravitating toward her expanded workspace, drawn by forces they couldn’t identify. Papers rustled without breeze. Documents glowed with faint luminescence where she’d touched them. The whiteboard’s family connections seemed to writhe when viewed peripherally.
Her presence was activating dormant patterns throughout the building, and the activation was accelerating.
Bastien glanced around at the other researchers, noting how they’d begun unconsciously gravitating toward Delphine’s workspace. “There’s something urgent we need to discuss. About your research and the role you’re playing in these incidents.” He lowered his voice. “Is there somewhere more private we could talk?”
She followed his gaze, seeming to notice for the first time how many people had drifted closer to her area. “The back conference room should be empty. We can speak freely there.”
They gathered her most important materials and moved to a small room lined with filing cabinets and dominated by a scarred wooden table. Delphine closed the door behind them, the click of the latch somehow final.
She spread her research across the table’s surface, then looked up at him expectantly. “You said this was urgent. What did you need to discuss?”
“You’ve been documenting connections between affected families and historical bloodlines. But the act of documentation itself is part of the phenomenon. Every family tree you trace, every connection you establish, strengthens the network that’s spreading the contamination.”
Her expression shifted from professional interest topersonal alarm. “You’re saying my research is making it worse?”
“I’m saying your research is the focal point around which everything else is organizing. The bloodline connection you carry, combined with your documentation of family patterns, has created a resonance effect that’s spreading across multiple cities.”
She stood abruptly, moving to the window overlooking Ursulines Street. Below, ordinary life continued, but even the mundane activity looked strained, as if everyone was unconsciously bracing for impact.
“Everyone who uses the genealogical databases I’ve been updating is at risk.”
“More than that. Everyone who accesses information you’ve touched becomes a potential transmission vector. The contamination isn’t just spreading through physical contact anymore—it’s propagating through shared data.”
“How many people?”
“Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands.” He rose, moving to stand beside her. “The soul-binding magic Charlotte documented has found a way to travel through electronic networks. Every genealogical search that touches Lacroix connections, every family tree that includes her bloodline, creates new pathways for expansion.”
The weight of impossible responsibility settled around her like chains. “I’m supposed to stop all of this? A person with no magical training, no understanding of forces beyond normal human experience?”
“You’re supposed to choose what you want to become. Whether to complete the transformation that’s already begun or sever the connections that makes it possible.” He withdrew the jar of graveyard soil. “This will createinterference in the spiritual networks, buy us time to understand the full scope of what we’re facing.”
She accepted the jar with hands that had begun to tremble. “And if I choose wrong?”
“Then either you become something that transcends human limitations but might not remember human love, or you become someone who can never again access the connections that have defined your existence across multiple lifetimes.”
Outside, shadows stretched longer than morning sun should have allowed. The Quarter seemed to hold its breath, waiting for decisions that would reshape not just individual lives but the fundamental nature of reality itself.
“How long do I have?”
“Tonight, maybe tomorrow morning at the latest. The contamination is spreading faster than we can track it.” He met her eyes directly. “And there are entities involved who will fight to preserve what they’ve invested across centuries. They won’t let you choose freely if they can prevent it.”
“Then we’d better understand exactly what Charlotte was trying to accomplish, and what completing her work would require.” She moved back to her research station, but her movements carried new authority, new purpose. “Because if I’m going to make a choice that affects thousands of people, I want to make it with full knowledge of the consequences.”
