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)
“Like the glyphs you’ve been researching. Yes.”
“Soul-binding symbols. Spiritual connection markings.” Her voice grew quieter as implications settled in her mind. “Charlotte Lacroix was experimenting with the same magical patterns that are appearing throughout the Quarter now.”
“Among other things.”
She stared at the locket in her palm, and when she looked up, her face had gone pale. “This belonged to her, didn’t it? To Charlotte Lacroix. My . . .” She swallowed hard. “My ancestor.”
“Yes.”
“And you just happened to have a family heirloom that I’ve never seen before? That my family somehow lost?” Her voice cracked slightly. “How is that possible?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” She stared at him with growing alarm. “You’re carrying around jewelry that belonged to my ancestor—jewelry that just performed some kind of supernatural light show when I touched it—and you think ‘complicated’ is an adequate explanation?”
The moment had arrived—the choice between protective deception and dangerous truth. Bastien looked at her face in the Archive’s quiet light, noting the intelligence in her dark eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw that suggested she wouldn’t be satisfied with evasion.
She deserved honesty. Charlotte had died without understanding what her experiments would cost. Delia had died confused and alone, unable to recognize the man who loved her. Delphine would face whatever was coming with knowledge, with choice, with the dignity of informed consent.
Even if the truth destroyed them both.
“Because you’re not just descended from Charlotte Lacroix,” Bastien said quietly. “You are Charlotte Lacroix. Reincarnated. And the magical patterns appearing throughout the Quarter aren’t random supernatural incidents. They’re the completion of soul-binding work she began over two centuries ago.”
Silence filled the research room like flood water, deep and encompassing. Delphine stared at him without blinking, her expression cycling through disbelief, calculation, and relief at finally having explanation for feelings she couldn’t name.
“That’s impossible,” she said finally.
“Is it? You’ve been researching families with supernatural incidents. You’ve documented statistical correlations between bloodlines and mystical phenomena. You hum melodies you can’t remember learning.” He gestured toward the locket. “And antique jewelry responds to your touch as if it recognizes you.”
“Even if . . . even if reincarnation were real, how would you know? How could you possibly . . .”
She stopped, understanding hitting her like sunrise. “How long have you been watching me?”
“Your whole life.”
The confession hung between them, weighted with implications that extended far beyond simple observation. Twenty-five years of deliberate distance, of walking streets they both traveled without allowing their paths to cross, of loving someone who couldn’t love him back because she didn’t remember their connection.
“Why?”
“Because I failed to protect Charlotte. I failed to save Delia. I won’t fail again.”
“Failed to . . .” Her voice trailed off as she connected implications that led to conclusions too vast for easy acceptance. “You’re saying you knew them. Both of them. Across . . .” She calculated quickly. “Across centuries.”
“I'm saying I knew them. Recognized them. The same soul, the same essence, carrying forward through different lives but remaining fundamentally unchanged in ways that matter.”
Delphine sank into a research chair, revelation settling over her like gravity itself. Around them, the Archive’s accumulated knowledge seemed to lean closer, centuries of documented history bearing witness to truths that challenged every assumption about life, death, and the connections that bind souls across time.
“This is insane,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“You’re telling me I’ve lived before. Multiple times. And you . . .” She looked up at him, searching his face for signs of deception or madness. “What are you? If you’ve been alive for centuries, if you remember lifetimes that others forget . . .”
“Fallen angel,” Bastien said simply. “Cast out of heaven for . . .” He trailed off, not wanting to get into the long story of his fall from grace. Doomed to exist between worlds, belonging fully to neither.
“And my . . . Charlotte’s . . . experiments with soul-binding magic . . .”
“Were attempts to preserve our connection beyond death. To ensure that love strong enough could survive any separation.” He moved closer to the table, close enough to see how her hands trembled as she processed impossibilities. “She succeeded. The locket proves that. But success came with costs neither of us anticipated.”
“What kind of costs?”
“The magical patterns appearing throughout the Quarter. The supernatural incidents affecting Lacroix descendant families. The growing instability in mystical barriers that keep this city’s otherworldly residents hidden from human awareness.” Bastien’s voice grew quieter as he delivered the crucial warning. “Charlotte’s work is approaching completion, and completion will require choices that will determine not just your fate, but the fate of cosmic order itself.”
Outside the Archive windows, darkness had settled over the Quarter completely. Street lamps cast pools of amber light that seemed smaller than usual, as if shadows drew closer with each revelation spoken aloud. In the distance, church bells began to toll the hour—ten o’clock, late enough that most rational people were settling into evening routines, early enough that most supernatural beings were beginning their nightly activities.