Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 105939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Bastien closed the journal and handed it back to her with hands that weren’t quite steady. “Thank you for sharing this. It provides context that the official records lack.”
“I hope it helps with your investigation.” She filed the journal away, then began gathering the archival materials they’d been studying. “Though I have to ask—what exactly are you investigating? You mentioned current incidents that might connect to historical patterns, but you’ve been rather vague about specifics.”
The question was reasonable, professional. But something in her tone suggested deeper curiosity—not just about his case, but about him personally.
“Unexplained phenomena in the Quarter,” he said. “Events that don’t fit normal parameters but seem to follow historical patterns. My clients prefer discretion.”
“I see.” She finished stacking the files, but her gaze remained fixed on his face. “And does your investigation involve any personal interest in these particular historical events?”
The question was perceptive enough to send alarm through his chest. She was intelligent, observant, and she’d had an hour to study his reactions to the archival materials.
“Professional interest only,” he said, standing to indicate the meeting was over.
“Of course.” But her smile suggested she didn’t entirely believe him. “Well, if you need any additional research assistance, please don’t hesitate to call. The Obscura Archive specializes in these kinds of unusual historical inquiries.”
She handed him a business card—simple white cardstock with her name and the Archive’s contact information. As their fingers brushed during the exchange, the locket pulsed so violently he nearly dropped the card.
If Delphine noticed his reaction, she gave no sign. But as he turned to leave, she spoke again.
“Mr. Durand? That melody I was humming—if you ever remember where you’ve heard it before, I’d be curious to know. It’s been bothering me for years, feeling like I should remember something about it but never quite managing to place what.”
He paused at the Archive door, his hand on the handle. The honest thing would be to tell her she’d hummed that melody in 1906, that it had been the soundtrack to the happiest moments of his existence and the most devastating night of his life. That he’d carried it with him for 119 years like a wound that never healed.
Instead, he said, “If I remember, I’ll let you know.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
The afternoon sun was blinding after the Archive’s dim interior. Bastien stood on the sidewalk, his vision adjusting while his mind—and his heart—reeled from the encounter.
She was everything he’d expected and nothing like he’d prepared for. The soul was the same—he’d felt that connection the moment she’d looked up from her research desk. But the woman who carried that soul was someone new, someone who’d grown up in a different world with opportunities Charlotte and Delia could never have imagined.
Strong. Independent. Intellectually formidable.
And she had no memory of him whatsoever.
The locket had gone silent against his chest, but it retained heat like a coal. Whatever had awakened it was growing stronger, responding not just to Delphine’s presence but to her proximity to the archival materials about her own bloodline.
She was the key. The focal point around which the arcane recursion was building. Charlotte’s descendant, Delia’s reincarnation, the living embodiment of connections that had been severed but never truly broken.
And she was in terrible danger.
Bastien pulled out his phone and dialed Maman Brigitte’s number as he walked away from the Archive. The conversation was brief, coded in language that would mean nothing to casual listeners.
“The pattern is accelerating,” he said when she answered.
“Made contact?”
“Just did.”
“And?”
He glanced back at the Archive’s second-floor windows, where he could see Delphine’s silhouette moving between the shelves. She had returned to her work as if their meeting had been routine, professional, forgettable. She had no idea that their encounter had just shifted the trajectory of forces that had been building for over a century.
“She doesn’t remember,” he said quietly. “But the magic does.”
“Then you know what you have to do.”
“I have to protect her.”
“You have to let her choose,” Maman corrected. “Some stories don’t end just because people die. But some people get to decide how their stories continue.”
The line went dead, leaving Bastien alone on Ursulines Street with the weight of impossible decisions. He could try to shield Delphine from what was coming, could attempt to solve the crisis without involving her directly. But the locket’s response to her presence, the way the archival materials had resonated with mystical energy when she touched them, suggested that she was already involved whether she knew it or not.
The arcane recursion was building toward something that required her participation. The question was whether that participation would be knowing and willing, or whether she would be swept up in forces beyond her understanding just as Delia had been in 1906.
As he walked back toward the Quarter, Bastien made a decision that would haunt him regardless of its consequences. He would tell her the truth. Not all of it, not yet, but enough that she could make informed choices about her own fate.