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)
Maman Brigitte stood beside the most famous tomb in New Orleans, her hands pressed flat against marble that had absorbed centuries of desperate prayers. She wore street clothes instead of her usual ritual garments—jeans and a Saints T-shirt that made her look like any other local paying respects to the dead.
“Bad news travels fast in our community,” she said without preamble. “Word is spreading about the hospital incident. People are scared.”
“They should be. The contamination is getting stronger, more aggressive.”
“Worse than that.” She turned to face him, her expression carrying weight he’d rarely seen. “This morning, I woke to find three different protection spells on my front door. Anonymous gifts from practitioners who are terrified enough to waste expensive magic on warnings.”
As the implications settled, his pulse stuttered, a beat too slow to be comfortable. If the local occult community was mobilizing protective measures, they’d recognized a threat that extended beyond individual victims.
“What kind of warnings?”
“Symbols that translate roughly to ‘the chains are spreading’ and ‘old hungers wake.’ Someone is using techniques that haven’t been seen since Prague.” She placed her hand on his arm, fingers surprisingly strong. “Bastien, there’s something else. Three other cities have reported similar incidents this week. Atlanta, Savannah, Charleston. All places with documented Lacroix bloodline connections.”
Whatever was spreading through New Orleans wasn’t contained to their city. It was activating simultaneously across the entire southeastern region, following bloodline patterns that stretched back centuries.
“The Archive connection?”
“Has to be. Genealogy research is a growth industry, and family history databases are more connected than ever. Someone researching Lacroix connections in Atlanta could access the same documents Delphine has been working with here.” Maman’s voice dropped to whisper. “The contamination isn’t just spreading through physical contact anymore. It’s propagating through shared information.”
“Digital transmission?”
“Spiritual resonance carried through electronic networks. Every time someone accesses Charlotte’s documented magical theories, every genealogical search that touches her bloodline, every family tree that includes Lacroix connections—it’s all creating pathways for the soul-binding magic to travel.”
The scope was staggering. Not just the forty people who visited the Archive daily, but potentially thousands of genealogy researchers across multiple states, all unknowingly accessing contaminated information that marked them for inclusion in cosmic transformation.
“What stopped it in Prague?”
“Fire. They burned everything—documents, bloodline records, family trees, even the buildings where contaminated research had taken place. Then they went after the anchor points.” Her expression grew grim. “All of them. No exceptions, no mercy, no chance for the chains to reestablish themselves.”
“How many people died?”
“Officially? Cholera outbreak that claimed three hundred lives in a single week. Unofficially? Every person who’d been touched by the soul-binding network, plus most of their immediate families.” She gestured toward the tomb beside them, where visitors had left flowers and coins and desperate prayers. “Prague’s solution was effective because it was absolute.”
They stood in silence, surrounded by centuries of New Orleans’ dead and the weight of choices that could define the living. Marie Laveau’s tomb seemed to lean closer, as if the most famous practitioner in the city’s history was listening to their conversation and preparing to render judgment.
“There has to be another way,” Bastien said finally.
“There is. But it requires the anchor point to understand what she is and make conscious decisions about transformation instead of letting it happen by accident.” Maman reached into her jeans pocket, withdrawing a small mason jar filled with what looked like ordinary dirt. “Graveyard soil from seven different cemeteries, mixed with salt that’s been blessed by priests from five different faiths. It won’t stop the soul-binding, but it will create interference in the spiritual networks. Enough to give you time.”
“Time for what?”
“For her to choose. Between completing Charlotte’s work with full knowledge of the consequences or severing the bloodline connection permanently.” She pressed the jar into his hands, her fingers warm against his skin. “But understand, Bastien—if she chooses severance, it’s not just her connection to Charlotte that gets cut. It’s her connection to you, too. Soul-binding works both ways.”
The warning coiled tension in his gut. He’d been so focused on protecting Delphine from cosmic forces that he hadn’t considered the personal cost of salvation. If she chose to sever her bloodline connection to Charlotte’s magic, she would also sever the spiritual bonds that had connected them across lifetimes.
They would become strangers. Truly, completely, finally strangers.
“How long do we have?”
“The network is accelerating beyond what any of us anticipated. It is impossible for me to tell you exactly.” She began walking toward the cemetery entrance, her sneakers silent on the gravel path. “And there’s something else you need to know. The entities behind this—they’re not just trying to complete Charlotte’s transformation. They’re trying to preserve it. If the spiritual networks collapse, they lose everything they’ve invested across multiple lifetimes.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they’ll fight back. Hard. Against anyone who threatens their cosmic experiment.” She paused at the cemetery gate, her hand resting on wrought iron that had witnessed more desperate farewells than any structure should. “Be careful, Bastien. The love that’s sustained you across centuries might be the weapon they use to destroy you both.”