Page 56 of Curse in the Quarter
He pushed away from the wall and started walkingtoward his car, his footsteps echoing in the empty alley. The conservatory was on the other side of the city, a grand old building that had been abandoned for decades after a fire gutted most of its interior. If the Maestro wanted a dramatic setting for whatever confrontation he had planned, he couldn’t have chosen better.
As he drove through the nearly empty streets, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d made this journey before. The conservatory loomed ahead of him like a Gothic nightmare, its broken windows and fire-blackened walls stark against the night sky. He parked across the street and sat for a moment, gathering what courage he could find in the face of an enemy who had been planning this moment for longer than he’d been living this life . . .after the fall.
Somewhere in that ruined building waited answers to questions he was only beginning to understand. Somewhere in those shadows lurked a creature who viewed his entire existence as nothing more than an instrument in some grand composition.
There was time before he’d need to meet the Maestro and Bastien needed to do some research. A way to stop the ritual had to be there.
This time, he would find a way to break the cycle.
This time, he wouldn’t lose her again.
The lie tasted bitter in his mouth, but he held onto it anyway. Sometimes, hope was all the weapon a tether widow had.
Sixteen
Ink residue from the graffiti nearby led Bastien through the Quarter’s twisted veins to an abandoned apothecary on Dauphine Street. Behind weathered plywood and the human graffiti tags, the building sagged between its neighbors like a drunk propped up by friends. Something had drawn magical energy here.
Behind the building, a service entrance hid beneath jasmine vines that had grown wild and thick. The brass lock showed green patina but turned smoothly under his magic, as if someone had maintained the mechanism despite the building's apparent abandonment. The door opened into musty air, thick with dust and the lingering scent of herbs that had been packaged here decades ago.
Bastien moved through the empty shop, his flashlight beam revealing shelves stripped bare and display cases coated with grime. The residue trail pulled him deeper, toward a narrow staircase at the building's rear. Each wooden step groaned under his weight, releasing the accumulated scents of old wood and something else—something metallic that made his skin prickle. In the crampedstorage room below, a section of brick wall gave way to pressure, revealing a hidden chamber carved from earth and lined with fitted stones. At its center, etched into black granite, a sigil spread its silver-filled grooves like frozen lightning.
Bastien knelt beside the symbol, recognition hitting him like cold water. A mirror rune—but more complex than any he’d encountered. This wasn’t designed for simple reflection. This was meant to bridge impossible gaps, to call across boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed.
The chamber held another presence, faint but unmistakable. Delphine’s aura lingered, established and familiar, as if she’d visited this place multiple times without conscious memory. The silver inlay responded to her residual energy, creating patterns of luminescence dancing in his flashlight beam.
She’d been drawn here. Guided.
Bastien photographed the sigil from multiple angles, then carefully traced its outline onto parchment. Whatever Charlotte had created here was still active, still drawing Delphine to places she shouldn't know existed. He gathered ink samples from the chamber's corners, where traces of the same substance from the graffiti had pooled in stone crevices. The magical signature was consistent—someone was using Charlotte's original formulation to activate anchor points throughout the Quarter.
The pieces clicked together with terrible clarity and Bastien left.
Later, Maman Brigitte studied his sketch of the sigil with the intensity of a scholar reading forbidden texts. Her weathered fingers traced the symbol’s curves without touching paper.
“Mon dieu,” she whispered. “Where you find this?”
“Hidden chamber beneath the old Tremé apothecary. Delphine’s been there—her presence is all over that place.”
Maman’s dark eyes flicked up. “She tell you about it?”
“She doesn’t know she’s been there.”
The older woman reached beneath her counter, and withdrew Charlotte’s journal, which had some loose papers falling out. Pages crackled as she opened it, revealing hand-drawn symbols and notes in multiple languages.
“Same design,” she said, pointing to an entry. “Charlotte drew this for me twenty years after she started her experiments.”
Bastien examined the journal page. The symbol matched his discovery, though smaller and less elaborate. Beneath it, Charlotte’s distinctive handwriting filled the margins.
“What did she call it?”
“Soul imprint beacon. Designed to call a soul back to familiar ground, help navigation when the spirit gets confused about where it belongs.” Maman closed the journal. “Reincarnation magic.”
“The complexity of what I found suggests more than guidance. This is active calling.”
“That’s not Charlotte’s original work. That’s her design evolved, made stronger.” Maman’s stare carried weight. “Someone took her theoretical framework and turned it into something that could function across lifetimes.”
The words sent ice through his veins. “You’re saying that sigil actively draws a reincarnated soul to specific locations.”
“If Delphine’s been visiting it unconsciously, it’s working as intended.” Maman tapped his sketch. “Question you need to be asking is what other locations that girl’s beendrawn to without understanding why or maybe even not knowing at all.”
