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)
New Orleans’ supernatural elite, gathered in a space hidden from human awareness by layers of glamour and misdirection.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?”
The voice came from his left shoulder, though he’d heard no approach despite enhanced senses that should have detected footsteps on marble floors. Bastien turned to face a man of medium height with tawny hair that caught light like spun gold. His dinner jacket fit with impossible precision, every line and curve suggesting a tailor who understood his personal anatomy better than human designers ever could.
But it was his smile that commanded attention—warm and inviting and dangerous as honey-coated razor wire. The kind of expression that made mortals forget their own names and immortals remember why they’d learned to fear the fae courts.
“You must be Maestro.” Bastien had previously heard whispers of the Maestro in the darker corners of New Orleans' magical community—a fae so old and powerful that even vampires and werewolves spoke of him in hushed tones. But before, he'd always assumed the creature was more legend than reality, a boogeyman used to frighten lesser practitioners.
“Guilty as delightfully charged.” The fae’s bow was elaborate, theatrical, performed with fluid grace that suggested centuries of practice in courts where etiquette equaled the weight of law. “And you’re the fallen angel who’s been asking such fascinatingly specific questions about old bloodlines and recurring patterns.”
His voice carried accents that shifted like smoke—now refined British upper class, now cultured French aristocracy, now something older that predated human languages entirely. The effect was hypnotic, designed to lull listeners into the kind of trust that preceded spectacular betrayals.
“Word travels fast in your circles.”
“Oh, faster than you might imagine. Especially when someone begins investigating patterns that certain parties worked very hard to establish over considerable periods of time.” Maestro gestured toward the assembled guests with one elegant hand, drawing attention to the way conversations paused as supernatural senses focused on their exchange. “The genealogical research, the historical archives, that deliciously intense consultation with our brilliant young archivist. Such dedication to understanding forces that most prefer to leave undisturbed.”
The casual reference to Delphine sent alarm through Bastien’s chest, but he kept his expression neutral. Show interest too quickly, and Maestro would have confirmation that she mattered. Deny connection too strongly, and the fae would know he was lying.
“Scholarly curiosity,” Bastien said. “Some patterns repeat across generations. Understanding the causes can prevent unfortunate repetitions.”
“How wonderfully altruistic. Though I suspect your motivations run somewhat deeper than academic interest.” Maestro’s eyes shifted color in the chandelier light—now green as spring leaves, then gold as ancient coins, now silver as moonlight on water. “Shall we find somewhere more private for our conversation? I have such interesting thoughts about your recent discoveries.”
They moved through the crowd, past exchanges that would have fascinated anthropologists studying supernatural culture. A vampire couple negotiated hunting territory boundaries over champagne that sparkled with dissolved starlight, their voices carrying the careful courtesy of predators avoiding conflict through mutual respect. Two fae nobles played chess with pieces carved from crystallized emotions—joy and sorrow, love and hate, hope and despair captured in forms that screamed when captured or sang when promoted.
A witch demonstrated scrying techniques to an attentive audience, her crystal sphere opening windows into parallel dimensions where different choices had shaped reality. In one reflection, New Orleans had burned completely in 1906, leaving nothing but ash and memory. In another, the city had never existed at all, the Mississippi delta remaining untouched wilderness where nothing more complex than alligators disturbed the peace.
Maestro led him deeper into the mansion, through corridors lined with artwork that moved when observed directly. Portraits of historical figures who turned to follow their passage. Landscapes that shifted between seasons with each blink. Abstract compositions that rearranged themselves into new patterns of color and form, as if the very concept of static art offended whatever force animated the building.
They passed rooms dedicated to specific supernatural activities—a ballroom where couples danced to music that existed only in memory, their steps tracing patterns that had been ancient when Rome was young. A gaming parlor where fortunes were wagered on contests that determined the fate of mortal bloodlines. A conservatory where plants from dimensions humanity had never discovered grew in soil that might have been ground bone or crystallized time.
The library occupied the mansion’s east wing, its grandeur stopping conversation as they entered. Books lined floor-to-ceiling shelves that stretched farther than the building’s external dimensions should have allowed. Volumes bound in materials that violated natural law—dragon leather that still held traces of flame, pressed moonbeams that glowed with their own light, the cured skin of concepts that had died before achieving full existence.
Reading tables carved from single pieces of ancient wood held open books whose pages turned themselves, revealing text that rewrote itself based on the reader’s needs and fears. Comfortable chairs surrounded a fireplace where flames burned without fuel or heat, casting light that revealed truth rather than merely illuminating surfaces.