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)
Emmett Carrow answered the door like a man expecting executioners. Midthirties with the lean build of someone who spent nights on his feet, he’d been attractive once. Now he looked hollow-eyed and gaunt, as if some essential part had been carved away.
“You’re the investigator,” he said. “Detective said you might come by. You here to tell me I’m crazy?”
“I’m here to help you understand what happened.”
Emmett stepped back into a living room that spoke of someone barely maintaining normal life. Furniture that had seen better decades, walls decorated with jazz posters and photographs of musicians whose careers had peaked before he was born. The smell hit again—burned roses and copper, the same mystical residue from the Preservation Hall.
“Started three days ago,” Emmett said, settling into a chair positioned to face away from mirrors. “Woke up with this itch under my skin. Like something crawling around inside me, trying to get out. Thought it was stress, maybe too much caffeine. Then the dreams started.”
“What kind of dreams?”
“Woman I’ve never met, standing in fire that doesn’t burn her. She calls my name, but not the name I use now. Some other name, like she knows me from somewhere else.” His hands trembled as he lit a cigarette. “She tells me I’m supposed to remember something important, but when I try to focus on what she’s saying, everything dissolves into smoke.”
Bastien studied the man’s exposed arms. Intricate patterns moved beneath the skin—not tattoos or scars, but something that pulsed with his heartbeat. Vascular networks creating designs that shifted and flowed like living artwork.
“May I see the markings?”
Emmett nodded, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the full extent. The patterns covered his torso in sweeping curves and geometric angles, following his circulatory system but creating shapes that had nothing to do with human anatomy. They pulsed with each heartbeat, illuminating symbols Bastien recognized from Charlotte’s research.
Lacroix soul-binding sigils, but corrupted. Changed from their original form into something more aggressive, more invasive. Where Charlotte’s work had sought to preserve connections across lifetimes, these markings were forcing new bonds onto unwilling subjects.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not exactly. More like pressure. Like something’s pushing against the inside of my skin, trying to reshape me into something else.” Emmett took a deep drag, his hands steadying with the familiar ritual. “Doctor at the hospital said there was nothing wrong with me. Blood work normal, heart rate steady, no signs of infection or disease. But I can feel it changing me.”
“The woman in your dreams—describe her.”
“Early twenties, maybe. Dark hair, pale skin. Dressed in old-fashioned clothes, like something from a historical movie. But it’s her eyes that stick with me. So sad, like she’s lost something precious and doesn’t know how to get it back.” Emmett’s expression darkened. “Sometimes I dream that I’m the thing she lost, that we knew each other in some other life. But that’s impossible, right?”
The question hung between them. Emmett was experiencing contact with Charlotte—not the living woman, but spiritual residue embedded in her family’s soul-tethering magic. The markings were trying to forge a connection between his soul and hers, to bind him into the mystical network building around Delphine’s existence.
“Has anyone else mentioned similar experiences?”
“Actually, yeah. Two guys I work with started having weird dreams this week. Nothing as intense as mine, but similar themes. Women they don’t recognize, calling to them from places made of fire and smoke.” Emmett stubbed out his cigarette with unnecessary force. “What the hell is happening to us?”
Bastien considered how much truth he could share. The reality—that ancient magic was conscripting random people into a cosmic transformation that could reshape the fundamental laws governing life and death—wouldn’t provide comfort.
“Someone is using magic to create connections between living people and spiritual forces that should remain separate,” he said. “The markings are symptoms of that process. Understanding what’s causing it is the first step toward stopping it.”
“Magic.” Emmett laughed without humor. “Three days ago I would have said you were insane. Now I’m sitting here covered in glowing tattoos that move on their own, dreaming about dead women who know my name. Magic’s starting to sound reasonable.”
Bastien rose, pulling out a business card. “If the symptoms worsen, or if you experience anything new, call me immediately. Don’t try to handle this alone.”
As he left, the weight of impossible responsibilities settled across his shoulders. Emmett was just the first victim he’d met directly, but Detective Novak’s reports suggested at least seven others were experiencing similar phenomena. The soul-binding magic was spreading through the community like a virus, marking people for inclusion in whatever cosmic working was building around Delphine’s existence.
And she had no idea her presence was drawing innocent people into supernatural forces that could destroy their essential humanity.
By the time he reached the Obscura Archive, Bastien had made his decision. Delphine needed to understand what was happening, even if the truth forced her to confront aspects of her nature she wasn’t prepared to accept.