Page 31 of Curse in the Quarter
He would not lose her again.
Not to death.
Not to transformation.
Not to any authority seeking to harvest love for purposes it could never comprehend.
He would not fail.
Eight
Delphine moved through the Obscura Archive with new purpose, pulling boxes from storage areas that hadn’t been disturbed in decades. Her hair was twisted into a practical knot, sleeves rolled up for serious work.
“I want to understand Delia Moreau,” she said without preamble as Bastien entered. “Not genealogical connections—her personal writings. What she thought, if anything, about spiritual bonds.”
His throat constricted. Delia’s papers would contain references to their relationship, feelings harbored for a man Delphine knew nothing about.
Her fingers sorted through documents—letters in copperplate script, faded photographs, theater programs from performances long forgotten. Then she stopped, holding up an envelope that made his heart cease beating.
“Found this tucked inside a 1905 theater program. Never mailed, addressed only with ‘My Guardian Angel.’”
He recognized that handwriting instantly. Delia’s distinctive script, the same graceful penmanship that hadsigned birthday cards and left messages on his pillow during their brief, perfect months together.
“Expensive paper,” Delphine continued, examining the watermark. “Ivory stock with deckled edges. Whatever she wanted to say felt sacred to her.”
She waited for professional consultation, but Bastien could only stare at the envelope containing words written in Delia’s hand, addressed to the very being who sat beside her now.
“Do you mind if I read this?”
She was asking him to read Delia’s words aloud, to voice thoughts meant for his ears alone through lips that belonged to her reincarnated soul.
“Not at all,” he somehow managed to say without sounding strangled.
Delphine opened the envelope with archival care. Three pages in Delia’s familiar script. As she unfolded them, lavender scent rose from paper kept close to her person for over a century—the same perfume that had clung to her hair during quiet evenings in her parlor.
“Dated October 15th, 1906. Three weeks before the fire.” She studied the salutation. “‘My dearest guardian angel.’”
Soul fracture memory exploded through him. She’d been writing to him without knowing it, addressing letters to the very being who walked beside her in human form.
“She begins,” Delphine continued, “‘I find myself compelled to write to you, though I know not if such correspondence can reach the divine realm. Since childhood, I have felt your presence—a warmth when darkness fell, guidance when I stumbled, the certainty that I am never truly alone.’”
The words struck him like physical blows. Delia hadsensed his protection without understanding its source, felt his love as divine blessing rather than earthly devotion.
“She continues, ‘Others tell me I possess an overactive imagination, that my sense of being watched over springs from wishful thinking rather than reality. But I know what I feel. When danger approached, something always intervened. When sorrow threatened to overwhelm, comfort arrived from unknown sources.’”
Professional distance transformed Delia’s spiritual confession into historical curiosity for Delphine. For Bastien, every word carried the weight of recognition—she’d known, on some level deeper than consciousness, exactly what he was.
“The middle section grows more personal,” Delphine said, turning to the second page. “‘I have been blessed with love that feels too perfect for this imperfect world. A man has entered my life who treats me as if I were precious beyond measure, who sees beauty in thoughts others would call foolish, who makes me believe the future holds wonders I’ve only dared imagine.’”
His chest tightened until breathing became struggle. She was describing their relationship through the lens of divine blessing, attributing their happiness to celestial intervention.
“Then she writes, ‘Sometimes I wonder if earthly love and heavenly protection spring from the same source. When he looks at me, I see depths that speak of experiences beyond ordinary mortal existence. Yet he guards these depths so carefully, as if revealing them would somehow diminish the gift we share.’”
Delphine paused in her reading. “She’s connecting romantic love with spiritual experience. Quite sophisticatedfor someone without formal theological training, and also completely beautiful in its sentiment.”
“What else does she say?” Bastian cleared his throat a bit.
“The most touching section is this one. ‘There is a melody that comes to me in quiet moments, a tune I have never learned but sing as naturally as breathing. When I hum it, I feel closest to you, as if the music itself carries prayers between earthly and divine realms.’”
