Page 44 of Curse in the Quarter
They moved deeper into the cemetery's northern section, where older tombs crowded together in arrangements that seemed random but revealed themselves as deliberate positioning. Each monument anchored protective barriers, creating overlapping fields of resistance against entities that operated through soul-binding manipulation.
But the defenses were weakening. Symbols that should have blazed with protective energy flickered weakly, their power diminished by systematic corruption that left no obvious source.
Movement between distant tombs caught his attention. Shadows gathering with substance that suggested intelligence rather than mere absence of light. They moved like smoke given form, coalescing into shapes that hurt to perceive directly.
The air around them grew thick and heavy, pressing against their skin like winter fog. Breath misted in sudden cold that wasn’t weather related.
“We have visitors,” Bastien said, hand moving to weapons he knew would prove useless.
The shadows took human form—tall, elegant, wearing expensive clothes from no particular era. Features remained impossible to focus on, as if the entity existed slightly outside normal reality. When it spoke, words came from all directions simultaneously.
“How touching. The guardian angel and his witch, picking through graves like children hunting treasure.”
The same type of entity that had spoken through Camille Landry’s voice at the hospital, using her voice to deliver threats about harvesting marked souls. But this one stood before them in its own form, no borrowed flesh required. It radiated authority that made Bastien’s fallen nature recoil with recognition of something that had existed since creation’s first laws were written.
“Though ultimately irrelevant to predetermined outcomes,” it continued, form shifting like smoke approximating humanity.
“Charlotte’s protections held for over two centuries,” Maman said, moving between the entity and the famous tomb. “Your harvesting failed then. It’s failing now.”
“Temporary inconvenience. The Lacroix bloodline fed power to these pathetic scratches on stone through each reincarnation—fresh meat connecting to prepared anchors, bleeding essence into barriers they thought would save them.” Its attention turned on Bastien like the weight of a collapsing star. “But without trained practitioners to guide the feeding, the defenses starved. Knowledge rotted with the creator’s corpse.”
Charlotte’s protective arrays weren’t self-sustaining—they needed active maintenance from descendants who understood their purpose. Knowledge that died with her, leaving the defenses to weaken across centuries of neglect.
“Delphine doesn’t know what she’s inherited.”
“Precisely. The modern incarnation possesses power but lacks understanding. Every attempt to access abilities strengthens our networks instead of maintaining ancestral defenses.” Satisfaction radiated from the entity like heatfrom a furnace. “She serves our purposes while believing she serves her own.”
St. Louis Cemetery at twilight in 1905, where Delia had convinced him to visit for what she called “atmospheric research” for her theater work. She moved between marble tombs with the curiosity of someone who found beauty in unexpected places, her simple white dress catching the last golden light.
“It’s peaceful here,” she said, settling on a stone bench worn smooth by decades of mourners. “Not frightening like people expect. More like . . . like the city’s memory made visible.”
“An interesting way to describe it.”
“I suppose that’s the theater in me. Always looking for stories in stone and shadow.” She smiled, patting the bench beside her. “Sit with me. We so rarely have quiet moments together.”
The warmth of her shoulder against his, the unconscious melody she hummed while watching evening settle over the tombs—simple contentment that made even a cemetery feel like sanctuary. When she turned to face him, her eyes held nothing but trust and growing affection.
“Sometimes I think you carry too much worry,” she said, fingers brushing the line between his brows. “As if you’re protecting everyone from sorrows they don’t even know exist.”
“Perhaps I just care deeply about keeping beautiful things safe.”
Her laughter was soft as evening air. “Then you must be very tired, carrying such responsibility.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to whisper. “But you don’t have to protect me from everything, you know. Some burdens are easier when shared.”
The kiss that followed tasted like jasmine perfume and trust freely given, like love that asked no questions because it needed no explanations.
“The modern incarnation shows signs of awakening,” the Collector observed, its attention following his thoughts with disturbing precision. “But awakening without guidance channels power through corrupted infrastructure.”
“What would proper guidance accomplish?”
“Restoration of defensive arrays to full effectiveness. Conscious choice to sacrifice individual evolution for collective protection.” The entity’s form became more substantial as it focused on specific outcomes. “She could save thousands from harvesting. Or pursue transcendence that places her beyond our authority entirely.”
The choice was elegant in its cruelty. Delphine could learn to maintain protections that would defend New Orleans—but only by accepting limitations that prevented her own transformation beyond human existence. Or she could seek the evolution Charlotte had originally pursued, gaining power to challenge these entities but leaving the city defenseless.
“No middle path?”
“Evolution or protection. Never both simultaneously.” The Collector began withdrawing, form dissolving like smoke in wind. “Dawn approaches. Choose wisely—some decisions echo across eternity.”
The cemetery fell silent except for distant Quarter nightlife and Spanish moss rustling with voices that spoke in languages older than French. But the oppressive weight remained, invisible pressure that made breathing difficult.
