Page 95 of Curse in the Quarter
She brought his hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "The magic will guide us back together, but the love? That has to be earned fresh each time. Promise me you'll remember that."
"I promise," he said, and meant it with every fiber of his being.
The memory faded, leaving him with renewed understanding of Charlotte's wisdom. She'd known he would be tempted to rely on mystical connection instead of genuine courtship, tempted to use their tether as a shortcut to intimacy. But love that was truly chosen, freely given without supernatural compulsion, was worth any amount of patient work.
Another memory surfaced, this one from 1906.
Delia laughing as she led him through the French Market, her arm linked through his as she pointed out vegetables she'd never seen before. He'd been trying so hard to be mysterious, to maintain the careful distance he thought was necessary for an angel courting a mortal, but she'd simply ignored his attempts at aloofness.
"You know," she said, stopping beside a vendor selling pralines, "you're much more charming when you're not trying so hard to be mysterious."
"I'm not?—"
"Oh, please. All that brooding and meaningful stares and careful word choices? It's exhausting to watch." She bought two pralines and handed him one. "I like you better when you're just talking to me like I'm a person instead of some delicate flower who might wilt if exposed to too much reality."
He bit into the praline, surprised by its sweetness. "You want me to be less careful with you?"
"I want you to be yourself with me. Whatever that means." She bumped his shoulder with hers, a gesture so naturally affectionate it made his chest tight with unexpected emotion. "I already know you're not entirely human, Bastien. The way you move, the way you know things you shouldn't know, the way street lamps flicker when you're upset? I'm not stupid."
"That doesn't concern you?"
"Should it?" She licked praline from her fingers, completely unconscious of how the gesture affected him. "You've never hurt anyone in my presence, you're unfailingly polite to shopkeepers and street vendors, and you tip well at restaurants. Those seem like decent character indicators regardless of what species you might be."
Her matter-of-fact acceptance of his nature had been more effective at winning his heart than any amount of mystical recognition could have been. She'd chosen him—chosen to trust him, to enjoy his company, to gradually fall in love with him—without needing soul memories or magical compulsion to guide her decision.
Standing beside the cypress tree with Charlotte'scompleted ward network humming around him, Bastien felt his motivation crystallize with perfect clarity. If Delphine's soul didn't remember him fully—and Charlotte's careful design suggested it wouldn't until she was ready—then he was committed to making her fall in love with him all over again. Honestly, naturally, as the man he was now rather than the angel he'd been in previous lifetimes.
He had advantages this time that he'd lacked in 1906. Twenty-five years of observing her from a distance had taught him her preferences, her personality, her values. He knew she was brilliant and independent, valued honesty over flattery, preferred substantive conversation to empty charm. She was drawn to authenticity, repelled by artifice, attracted to competence and quiet confidence.
Most importantly, she already knew he wasn't entirely human.
Behind them, the last traces of temporal distortion faded from the air above the Mississippi, leaving only moonlight reflecting off the water's surface and the gentle sound of current moving steadily toward the sea. The breach was sealed, the amateur practitioner would recover with nothing worse than confusion and a healthy respect for forces beyond their understanding, and the Veil itself had proven once again that it could withstand considerable strain when supported by those who truly understood its nature.
Emergency vehicles were beginning to arrive at the scene—ambulances for the unconscious tourist, fire trucks responding to reports of explosions, police officers trying to make sense of witness accounts that described everything from gas line ruptures to terrorist attacks. None of them would find evidence of what had actually happened here tonight. The magical community was skilled at cleaning up after incidents like this, leaving onlymundane explanations for mundane authorities to discover.
Hidden well under his coat, the Votum Aeternum continued to pulse with warm recognition, its ancient metal retaining traces of the soul magic it had channeled during the stabilization ritual. The weapon knew, as he did, that tonight's events had been only the beginning of something far larger and more significant than simple crisis resolution.
The tethered flame was burning brighter now, strengthened by their shared experience of the recognition bleed but not yet ready to illuminate everything it touched. Delphine would remember fragments—glimpses and half-formed impressions that would surface in dreams and quiet moments. But the full awakening Charlotte had designed would still take time to unfold naturally.
Thirty
The cypress accepted his blade for the final time, red sap weeping from fresh cuts that completed Charlotte's centuries-old design. Bastien carved the last protective sigil with hands that remembered every line she had sketched in those hidden journals, each stroke connecting to its siblings through ley lines that pulsed beneath New Orleans soil. The network hummed to life around him, ward by ward, creating barriers against forces that had circled the Quarter for decades.
This sigil farewell marked the end of his guardianship. Charlotte's protective array now stood complete, ready to shield the city from entities that fed on spiritual energy. He wiped red sap from the blade and returned it to its sheath, feeling the weight of centuries lifting from his shoulders. The work was done. Her work, finally finished by his hands.
When the tree settled with a sound resembling satisfied breathing, magic flowed through wood and leaves to complete circuits that would outlast them all. Charlotte's final gift to the city—protection that required no Watcher, no guardian, no man carrying love across impossible years.
The ward network pulsed gently around him, a reminder that his magical obligations were complete. Charlotte's vision was reality. His duty was done.
Now came the part he'd been anticipating for twenty-five years: winning Delphine's heart.
The walk to Maman Brigitte's shop took him through neighborhoods where the ward network's activation was already having subtle effects. Street lamps burned steadier, their light cleaner and more focused. Stray cats moved with less nervousness, no longer constantly alert for threats that existed just beyond human perception. Even the air felt different—clearer, somehow, as if a fine layer of spiritual pollution had been scrubbed away.
He found Maman on her gallery, rocking slowly in her cane chair while she watched the ward network's energy patterns settle into stable configurations. Her tea service was already set for two, as if she'd known he would need to talk.
"Sit," she said without preamble, pouring chicory coffee into delicate china cups. "You got that look of a man who just finished the biggest job of his life and don't know what to do with himself now."
Bastien settled into the chair beside her, accepting the coffee gratefully. "Charlotte's ward network is complete. Every sigil, every anchor point, every defensive layer she designed is now active and self-sustaining."
