Page 90 of Curse in the Quarter
This was Charlotte’s will manifested through carefully prepared magical frameworks, her desperate desire to be remembered and reclaimed given form and power by Delphine’s potential awakening. Every protective measure he took fed more energy into system designed to make separation impossible and reunion inevitable.
The reflected wardwork held, but barely. Each protective symbol he traced with the blade’s reflection pushed back against corruption, creating spiritual tug-of-war that left him exhausted and shaking as mystical forces contested for dominance over pack territory. His hands cramped from maintaining precise geometric patterns while opposing energies tried to disrupt barrier formation.
The Lacroix crests on sigil stones began fading as cleansing energy spread through network of carved stone,their parasitic grip on pack protections loosening under sustained pressure from purification ritual. The spiraling patterns that had wound around original protective symbols started unwinding, releasing territorial markers from contamination that had threatened to transform sanctuary into conduit for forces beyond pack control.
Gabriel Jr.’s howling stopped abruptly, replaced by human sobbing that was somehow more disturbing than feral sounds. The unnatural silence that had gripped bayou began lifting as spiritual pressure eased, insects and night birds gradually resuming chorus that marked return to normal ecological patterns.
“It’s working,” Roxy breathed, touching sigil stone with cautious fingers that no longer picked up corrupted patterns. “They’re cooling down. Additional marks are gone. The stones feel like themselves again.”
But Bastien knew victory was temporary at best, containment rather than cure. He could feel energy retreating rather than dissipating, pulling back to source like a tide that would inevitably return with greater force once it gathered strength from other nodes in Charlotte’s network. The blade in his hand had grown heavier, its properties strained by the effort of containing something that was fundamentally beyond permanent containment.
This wasn’t a problem that could be solved through ritual purification or protective barriers. Charlotte had been too thorough in her preparations, too clever in magical frameworks she’d established across multiple lifetimes. She’d created system designed to reunite them regardless of cost to anyone else, and now that system approached its intended culmination with mathematical inevitability.
Tib approached the cabin and called softly to Gabriel Jr., who responded with recognizable Englishfor first time in hours. The young wolf was himself again, confused and frightened by what had happened but no longer a conduit for ancient power seeking expression through werewolf consciousness. His voice shook as he asked what had happened to him, why he remembered speaking words in languages he’d never learned.
Immediate crisis had passed, but all three of them knew it was just beginning.
“If Delphine’s energy continues escalating like this,” Tib said quietly, looking at corrupted sigil stones that had returned to normal appearance but remained vulnerable to future contamination, “our entire territorial boundary may collapse. Pack bonds protecting us from hostile magic won’t resist this level of spiritual interference indefinitely.”
He looked at Bastien with mixture of respect and desperation that marked alpha recognizing threats beyond his ability to counter through traditional pack authority. “Whatever’s happening between you and this woman, it’s going to destroy everything we’ve built here. Every alliance, every treaty, every protection that’s kept peace between species for over century.”
Bastien wanted to offer reassurance, to promise he could keep Delphine from falling into full awakening before they were both ready for consequences that would reshape their existence. The words were there, familiar phrases he’d used before when making commitments to Maman Brigitte, to himself, to the memory of Charlotte’s trust in his ability to navigate complexities of their eternal connection after she was gone from her first human form.
But standing in the bayou with the Votum Blade heavy in his hand and taste of reflected wardwork sharp in his mouth, he found he no longer believed his own reassurances. Truth was becoming impossible to deny, tetherenergy was growing stronger each day, and Delphine’s unconscious resistance to it was weakening under sustained pressure from forces designed to overwhelm any individual will.
Dreams that had started as gentle echoes were becoming vivid recollections. Moments of recognition that should have remained buried were breaking through to conscious awareness with increasing frequency. Her questions about echoes and memories, her unconscious humming of melodies from past lives, her growing certainty that something important was missing from her current existence—all signs that awakening approached whether he was ready or not.
“I’ll find a way to control it,” he said finally, but the promise felt hollow even as he spoke it. Charlotte had understood him too well, planned too carefully for him to find simple solution to complexity she’d spent centuries crafting.
The pack would survive this particular crisis, their bonds cleansed and territory temporarily secured through ritual intervention. Gabriel Jr. would recover with nothing more than confused memories and healthy respect for forces beyond understanding. Sigil stones would hold protective power for a while longer, though Bastien suspected they’d need regular maintenance as tether energy continued building toward inevitable climax.
None of that changed the fundamental problem; it was almost a certainty Delphine was awakening, and he was running out of ways to delay what Charlotte had designed to be inevitable. Each time he used blade to contain or cleanse spreading influence, he drew her closer to full consciousness of their connection. Each protective measure he took made her soul more aware that something vital wasmissing from current life, something that could only be restored through recognition of eternal bond.
Walking back through the bayou toward his car, blade secured at his side, Bastien felt the weight of Charlotte’s final gift and curse with perfect clarity. She’d given him the tools to find her in every life, to recognize her soul regardless of what form it took. But she’d also made certain recognition would be mutual, that connection between them would grow stronger until neither could ignore or deny it.
The echo of Delia’s touch on piano keys, a memory of Charlotte’s braided moon-thread hair, even the warmth of Delphine’s unconscious smile—all part of same eternal moment, same love story playing out across decades and identities. Like the melody Delia had played that summer evening, some things became beautiful precisely because they couldn’t last, because their perfection existed in space between anticipation and memory.
As he drove back toward the city, Votum Aeternum hummed softly against his hip with rhythm that matched his heartbeat. In that sound he heard echo of ancient vows and eternal connections, promises made across lifetimes that bound souls together regardless of distance or time.
But he also heard something else—faint but unmistakable melody of song that had been played only once, on a summer evening when future still held infinite possibilities and love felt like most natural thing in world.
Some echoes, he was beginning to understand, were meant to bloom rather than fade. The question now was whether he had courage to let them grow into whatever they were destined to become, or whether fear of consequences would drive him to keep trying to contain forces that were always meant to be set free.
Twenty-Eight
The blood-orange ink crawled across the Archive's iron door, forming words in elegant script that pulsed in rhythm with Bastien's pulse. He recognized the fae magic immediately—pixie dust harvested under new moons, bound with stolen children's dreams and sealed with essence that had never drawn breath.
She is remembering.
Three words that carried prophecy's weight. Bastien's fingers burned as he peeled the parchment the words glowed from away, watching the message dissolve into empty paper the moment it left the door's iron surface. But the warning remained branded in his mind. Delphine's awakening was accelerating beyond all previous cycles.
The day's heat pressed against him as he unlocked the Archive, seeking refuge among familiar shelves and leatherbound certainties. Yet even here, surrounded by cataloged knowledge and ordered facts, the blood-orange words echoed with Maestro's musical voice and its promise of terrible choices ahead.
Bastien settled at a desk and tried to focus on research,but his hands trembled as he opened volumes on soul-tethering theory. Each page seemed to whisper Charlotte's name, each footnote a reminder of the woman who had engineered their eternal connection with love and determination that transcended death itself.
The scent of winter jasmine filled the Garden District mansion despite December cold seeping through window casements. Charlotte worked by candlelight in her private study, her dark hair loose around shoulders draped in burgundy silk. She hummed under her breath as delicate fingers wove silver thread through a thick braid of her own hair, each movement precise despite the tremor that had begun affecting her hands.
“Almost finished,” she murmured without looking up as Bastien entered. “The moon-thread holds memory across any distance, any time. Spanish moss for binding, silver for permanence, and . . .” She pricked her finger with a silver needle, letting three drops of blood fall onto the completed braid. “Life to seal the working.”
