Page 72 of Curse in the Quarter
Bastien shot Maman a warning look with a slight shake of his head, but she just smiled serenely.
"Figure of speech, child. Though not entirely inaccurate." Maman's voice carried the kind of authority that made questions feel unnecessary. "You'll stay here tonight. Protected ground, warded six ways from Sunday. Nothing can reach you here that I don't allow."
"I appreciate the offer, but?—"
"It's not an offer." Maman's tone brooked no argument. "That fire tonight was just the beginning. You’ll stay where it's safe until we can figure out our next move."
Bastien caught movement in his peripheral vision—a figure watching from the street beyond Maman's garden fence, tall and elegant and utterly motionless in ways that suggested inhuman patience.
Making sure his message had been received.
"Go," Maman said quietly, following his gaze. "I'll watch over her. You do what needs to be done."
Delphine looked between them, clearly frustrated by conversations happening around her rather than with her. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Tomorrow," Bastien promised, moving toward the door. "I'll explain everything tomorrow."
She caught his hand as he passed her chair, her fingers warm against his skin. "Be careful."
"Always am," he said, though they both knew it was a lie.
He left them there in Maman's protected parlor, Delphine safe behind wards that had held for decades and Maman prepared to guard what mattered most. When he looked back from the street, the figure in the alley was gone, but the scent lingered—ozone and winter starlight and promises that twisted like knives in the dark.
Tomorrow, he would have to tell her everything—almost everything. The reincarnation, the soul-bond, the love that had survived death and time and careful distance. Tomorrow, the game would move into its final phase. He only hoped that learning these truths wouldn’t destroy her, or what they had.
But tonight, she was safe. And for the first time since she was Charlotte, she knew he wasn't human.
It was a beginning.
Twenty-One
Maman Brigitte’s house sat in the shadow of St. Louis Cathedral, its narrow façade indistinguishable from a dozen other Creole cottages crowding the Quarter's back streets. Bastien led Delphine through the courtyard gate, past herbs that glowed faintly in the darkness and wind chimes that sang without breeze. The scent of protective wards hung heavy in the air—sage and iron, salt and something sharper that bent light around the edges of his vision.
“Your grandmother lives here?” Delphine asked, her voice hoarse from smoke inhalation. The Archive fire had left them both marked with ash and exhaustion, but her eyes remained sharp, cataloging every detail of their surroundings.
“Maman has lived in New Orleans longer than most people remember,” Bastien said, sidestepping the question of actual family connections. “She's one of the few who knows how to ward against what we're dealing with.”
The cottage's interior defied its modest exterior. Rooms flowed into each other with dreamlogic, hallways that should have led to dead ends opening onto spaces that couldn't possibly fit within the building's footprint. Candles floated without holders, casting shadows that moved independently of their flames. Books arranged themselves on shelves according to principles covered between the pages, not alphabetical order.
Delphine stopped in the main parlor, turning slowly to take in the impossible architecture. “This isn't normal.”
“No,” Bastien agreed. “It isn't.”
Maman emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of tea that steamed with more than heat. Her silver hair was bound in intricate braids threaded with small bones and feathers, and her dark eyes held depths that spoke of centuries rather than decades.
“So,” she said, setting the tray on a table that adjusted its height to accommodate the cups, “you finally brought her home.”
Delphine's gaze snapped between them. “Brought me home? I've never been here before in my life.”
“Haven't you?” Maman's smile was knowing. “Memory can be a stubborn thing, child. Sometimes it takes time to remember what the soul never forgot.”
Bastien shot Maman a warning look. They'd agreed to reveal the existence of the otherworldly, not the personal connections that bound them across lifetimes. Delphine wasn't ready for the full truth, might never be ready for it.
“Sit,” Maman said, gesturing toward a chair that moved to meet Delphine halfway. “You've had a difficult evening.”
Delphine perched on the edge of the seat, every line of her body radiating tension. “The fire at the Archive. Those symbols that burned without destroying anything. The way you—” She turned to Bastien, accusation sharp in her voice. “The way you made them stop. That wasn't normal either.”
Bastien poured himself tea, buying time to choose his words carefully. “There are things in this world that exist outside what most people consider possible. Forces that shape reality in ways science hasn't yet learned to measure.”
