Page 53 of Curse in the Quarter
“This appears to be one of the last entries,” she said, squinting at the faded ink. “'Day seventy-three. I have made a decision that may damn us both, but I can no longer bear the uncertainty. Tonight I will attempt the binding ritual I discovered in Mother’s hidden books. If it succeeds, our connection will become permanent—proof against death, against time, against any force that would separate us. If it fails . . .' The entry breaks off there.”
“The binding ritual,” Bastien repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You’ve heard of such things?”
“In theoretical contexts.” The lie tasted like ash. He’d lived the reality of Charlotte’s attempt; had felt the moment their souls became permanently intertwined. It was that ritual which ensured her reincarnation, which bound them across lifetimes in an endless cycle of love and loss. “The concept appears in various occult traditions. The idea that certain ceremonies can create permanent spiritual connections.”
“And you think she attempted it?”
“The evidence suggests she tried something. Whether it succeeded . . .” He gestured vaguely, as though the question were purely academic.
But Delphine was studying his face with uncomfortable intensity. “You seem to know a great deal about these specific practices. More thanmost historians would.”
The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken questions. Bastien could feel himself balanced on the edge of a precipice, one word away from confessing everything. The weight of decades of silence, of watching her live life after life without knowing who she truly was, had become unbearable.
“Delphine,” he began, his voice carefully controlled. “There’s something I need to tell you about these documents. About why I really brought them to you.”
She leaned forward, her eyes widening slightly. For a heartbeat he saw something flicker in their depths—not recognition exactly, but a kind of anticipatory understanding, as though part of her had been waiting for this conversation her entire life.
“What is it?”
“These fragments—they’re not random acquisitions. I didn’t find them at an estate sale.” He took a breath, preparing to bridge the impossible gap between truth and credibility. “They belonged to someone I once knew. Someone important to me.”
“A relative?”
“No. Someone . . .” He searched for words that wouldn’t sound completely insane. “Someone I loved very much. A long time ago.”
Delphine’s expression shifted, becoming more cautious. “How long ago?”
Before he could answer, before he could find a way to explain that he’d loved the woman who’d written these pages and that she was that woman, brilliant light erupted outside the Archive windows. The magical flare was so intense it cast stark shadows through the room, turning the afternoon into a stark tableau of black and white.
Bastien felt the familiar pull immediately—power loosein the Quarter, something ancient and hungry stirring in response to the growing connection between him and Delphine. The disturbance pulsed with malevolent energy, and he could sense innocent people already caught in its wake.
“What was that?” Delphine stood abruptly, her sudden movement scattering Charlotte’s careful documentation across the floor like fallen leaves.
Bastien closed his eyes, extending his awareness beyond the Archive walls. The magical signature was familiar but stronger than before, as though whatever force had been stalking them was growing bolder. Another manifestation of the pattern that had begun with the first glyph activation, the chain of events that would ultimately force Delphine to remember everything or destroy them both in the attempt.
“I have to go.” He was already moving toward the door, hating the necessity of leaving her with questions half-answered, truths half-spoken. “There’s somewhere I need to be.”
“But the fragments—what were you trying to tell me?”
“Keep them.” He paused at the threshold, drinking in the sight of her standing among the scattered evidence of their love. Her hair had come partially loose from its bun, and her cheeks were flushed with emotion and confusion. She looked so much like Charlotte in that moment that his chest ached with the force of memory. “Study them. When I return, we’ll finish this conversation. And Delphine?—”
“Yes?”
“When you dream tonight, pay attention to what you see. Sometimes our souls remember what our minds have forgotten.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone with the binding ledger and Charlotte's documented proof that love couldindeed transcend death—if one was brave enough to pay the price such permanence demanded.
Behind him, scattered across the Archive floor, Charlotte’s words waited to reveal the rest of their story—if Delphine was brave enough to keep reading, and strong enough to handle what she might learn about herself.
Fifteen
The stench of burned sage and copper pennies led Bastien through the labyrinthine back alleys of the Meridian District, past shuttered storefronts and graffitied brick walls that leaned inward like conspirators sharing secrets. Voss’s scent trail wound through narrow passages where light barely penetrated, creating pockets of shadow dense enough to hide a dozen sins.
He found her three blocks from the ash-marked building, crouched beside a makeshift stall constructed from salvaged metal sheeting and threadbare tarps. Her pale hair caught what light existed like spun glass. She arranged small vials filled with luminescent liquids on a rickety wooden table, each one pulsing with its own internal rhythm.
“Bastien Durand,” she said without looking up, her voice carrying that same musical quality that made his teeth ache. “I wondered when you’d find me.”
