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)
Unknown:
A Marie Laveau grimoire surfaced at Rousseau Auction House. Bidding tomorrow night. Cannot fall into civilian hands. Meet me tonight to discuss terms. - A Concerned Collector
The timing was irritating. He had been looking forward to spending the evening planning tomorrow's date, to savoring the satisfaction of finally moving forward instead of perpetually looking backward. Marie Laveau artifacts appeared on the supernatural black market with depressing regularity, most of them fakes designed to separate wealthy collectors from their money. But occasionally something genuine surfaced, and when it did, the consequences could be catastrophic if it fell into the wrong hands.
Bastien typed back:
Details? Authentication?
The response came immediately:
Provenance confirmed. Death magic still active. Auction house doesn't know what they're selling. Meet me at Café du Monde at 10PM. Come alone.
Standard supernatural crisis protocol. Anonymous tip from someone who preferred to remain in the shadows, probably a lower-level dealer who had gotten in over their head and needed help from someone with the resources to handle dangerous artifacts properly. Bastien had fielded dozens of similar calls over the years. Tedious but necessary, part of maintaining the delicate balance that kept New Orleans' hidden world hidden.
He glanced at his watch. Nine-fifteen, which gave him just enough time to drive to the French Market and find parking. With any luck, it would be resolved quickly—pay off whoever needed paying, secure the grimoire before some amateur got themselves killed trying to use it, and be home by midnight with tomorrow's dinner date still the most important thing on his schedule.
The drive to Café du Monde passed in a pleasant blur of anticipation and mild professional annoyance. Even the prospect of supernatural bureaucracy couldn't diminish the satisfaction of knowing that tomorrow night, he would sit across a dinner table from Delphine and continue building something real with her.
At Café du Monde, Bastien found a table with a view of the approaches and ordered coffee he didn't want while waiting for his mysterious contact to appear. The tourist crowd was thin for a weeknight, mostly couples sharing beignets and locals grabbing late caffeine fixes. Nothing that screamed "supernatural emergency" or "dangerous magical artifact."
A woman approached his table at exactly ten o'clock, sliding into the chair across from him with the fluid grace of someone accustomed to moving unnoticed through crowds. She was perhaps forty, with prematurely silver hair and eyes the color of winter storms. Everything about her suggested competence and careful planning.
"Mr. Durand," she said without preamble. "Thank you for coming."
"You have me at a disadvantage," Bastien replied, studying her face for clues about her identity or affiliations. "You know who I am, but I don't know who you are."
"Someone who knows your reputation for discretion and effectiveness. Someone who understands that certain objects require certain kinds of handling." She placed a manila envelope on the table between them. "The grimoire is authentic thirteenth-century Laveau family lineage. Active death magic, designed for soul manipulation and forced spiritual binding."
Bastien's blood went cold. Soul manipulation was exactly the kind of magic that had created the crisis they'd just resolved. "How do you know it's authentic?"
"Because I'm the one who sold it to the auction house." The woman's smile held no warmth. "Under a false identity, of course. I needed it to surface in a way that would draw the right kind of attention."
"What kind of attention?"
"Yours, specifically." She leaned forward, her winter-storm eyes never leaving his face. "I have a proposition for you, Mr. Durand. One that concerns someone you care about very much."
Something in her tone made Bastien's protective instincts flare to full alert. "If you're threatening—"
"I'm not threatening anyone. Yet." The woman stood, leaving the envelope on the table. "But Delphine Leclair's soul carries marks that certain parties find very interesting. The grimoire is just the beginning. Read the file, Mr. Durand. Then decide whether you're willing to discuss terms that might keep her safe."
She melted back into the crowd before Bastien could respond, leaving him alone with coffee he couldn't taste and an envelope that felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
Inside were photographs of the grimoire—ancient leather binding inscribed with symbols that made his skin crawl—and a single sheet of paper covered in elegant handwriting. The message was brief but devastating:
The Lacroix bloodline carries more than just genetic memory. Some inheritances run deeper than death. Some debts transcend individual lifetimes. We know what she is, even if she doesn't . . . Yet.
Bastien stared at the paper until the words blurred, his mind racing through implications that threatened to destroy everything he'd just saved with Delphine. Professional obligation had just become intensely personal, and he had the sick feeling that accepting this case had put the woman he loved directly in the crosshairs of forces that wouldn't hesitate to use her as leverage.
He had no idea that accepting this case would threaten everything he'd started building with Delphine.