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)
“And now?”
“Now we believe direct intervention is required before this contamination destabilizes every otherworldly community in Louisiana.” Valentin stepped forward, his authority making the safe house’s wooden walls creak under pressure that physical force had no part in. “The markings are responding to genealogical patterns spanning multiple species. Whatever entity is orchestrating this expansion understands bloodline politics better than most of us do.”
Gabriel Jr. convulsed as their conversation continued, enhanced metabolism struggling to process contamination designed for human physiology but adapted for beings whose nature operated according to different rules. The glyphs spreading across his torso pulsed with increasing violence, creating networks that seemed to reach beyond individual consciousness toward something vast and alien.
“They’re not just marking individuals,” Celeste said, pack instincts recognizing patterns invisible to others. “They’re connecting marked souls into larger structures. Like nervous systems made of stolen consciousness, all feeding information back to some central authority.”
“For what purpose?” Tib demanded, alpha instincts requiring answers that would help him protect his people.
Before anyone could speculate, Bastien’s phone buzzed again with insistence that suggested urgency. This time he checked the message:
The journal calls to those who remember its creation. When midnight comes, the cypress remembers what was buried beneath its roots. The anchor awakens to complete what love began. - C
Ice shot through his veins as he read text written in formal language Charlotte had favored during correspondence with other practitioners. But the message came from Delphine’s phone number—either she was accessing more of Charlotte’s memories than anyone had anticipated, or something else entirely was using her as a conduit for communication across centuries.
“I have to go,” Bastien said, pocketing the phone despite curious stares from the assembled werewolves and vampires.
“Go where?” Marcelline asked, her senses detecting urgency in his emotional signature that
“To prevent a situation that makes tonight's faction tensions look manageable.” He moved toward the door, but Tib's voice stopped him.
“What about Gabriel? What about the others who are suffering?”
Bastien looked back at the young werewolf convulsing against leather restraints, at Roxy, Celeste, and other pack members clustered around his bedside with expressions of helpless concern. Gabriel Jr.’s fever was spiking beyond what werewolf constitution could endure, the glyphs spreading faster as whatever controlling force sensed proximity to understanding.
Before he could answer, the young man’s scream pierced the safe house atmosphere with sound that belonged to no human throat. His fever had reached critical levels where enhanced physiology began breaking down under pressure it wasn’t designed to withstand.
And from his lips came words spoken in Charlotte’s voice: “The hidden knowledge calls to its inheritor. When she finds what was buried beneath cypress roots, the network completes itself through bloodline resonance spanning centuries of careful preparation.”
Every being in the room went motionless. Vampires, werewolves, even Bastien’s fallen nature—all recognizing violation of fundamental order that threatened reality itself. Ancient consciousness shouldn’t be able to inhabit living bodies, shouldn’t be able to speak through stolen voices about plans that extended across lifetimes.
“That’s not the boy talking,” Marcelline said quietly, her centuries of existence providing context for impossible phenomena.
“No,” Bastien replied, feeling the locket burn like a brand against his chest. “That’s Charlotte Lacroix. And she’s telling us that Delphine is about to find the journal she buried over two centuries ago.”
Outside the safe house, changes began manifesting that had nothing to do with natural weather patterns. Cypress trees swayed without wind, their Spanish moss moving in directions that didn’t make any sense nor have anything to do with weather. Even the swamp water reflected moonlight differently, as if reality itself was shifting to accommodate forces that had been dormant since before the American Revolution.
The Lacroix estate gardens in 1762, where Charlotte led him through morning mist that carried scents of jasmine and earth turned by recent rain. She wore simple gray wool, practical clothing for someone who planned to spend hours working in soil rather than entertaining visitors at her family’s main house. But her eyes blazed with excitement as she showed him the hiding place she’d spent weeks preparing.
“If something happens to me,” she said, pressing a leather-wrapped bundle into his hands with ceremony that marked the moment as significant beyond casual preparation, “if the authorities discover what I’ve been researching, this needs to remain hidden until circumstances allow its recovery.”
“What is it?”
“Complete documentation of consciousness preservation techniques. Every experiment, every failure, every breakthrough that brought me closer to understanding how souls connect across lifetimes.” Her fingers traced symbols she’d carved into the cypress bark with tools designed for working magic rather than wood. “Buried here, protected by wards that will preserve it longer than stone monuments.”
The cypress towered above them, ancient presence that had witnessed centuries of human history and otherworldly practice. As she pressed the journal into a hollow she’d carved among its massive roots, Bastien understood she was preparing for contingencies that extended far beyond her individual lifetime.