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)
“I know these arrangements,” Delphine said, voice tight with confusion that bordered on recognition. “The mathematical relationships between symbols, the geometric progression of the overall design. I’ve dreamed them since childhood.”
“Dreams of what?”
“Geometric patterns that felt important but never made sense when I woke up. Designs that seemed to carry emotional weight, as if they were connected to something I’d lost but couldn’t remember.” She moved closer to the fence, studying details that resonated with knowledge she couldn’t consciously access. “It’s like seeing my own artwork that I don’t remember creating.”
Every symbol went dark as she approached, the entire fence system shutting down in a cascade failure that left only ash stains and metal residue behind. But she was too focused on pattern analysis to notice the dramatic change her proximity had caused.
“The complexity suggests this isn’t just one person’s work,” she said, photographing the dormant markings. “This requires the kind of coordinated effort that spans generations. Multiple practitioners working toward a common goal, building on each other’s research across decades or centuries.”
They walked to the cemetery through streets where the glyph sprawl had grown eerily quiet. The oppressive weight that had settled over the Quarter all morning lifted wherever Delphine passed. Tourists moved normally again. Street performers resumed their acts. Even the usual Quarter chaos of vendors and musicians returned to its familiar rhythm.
“It’s remarkable how much calmer the area feels now,” she observed, apparently attributing the change to natural factors rather than her own influence. “Perhaps the energy required to maintain these markings was creating some kind of atmospheric disturbance.”
The Lacroix estate's private library, 1762. Rain drummed against windows while Charlotte dipped their joined fingers in red wine, using the liquid to trace symbols across parchment.
“Don't think so much,” she laughed, her hand guiding his through complex geometries. “Let your heart direct the patterns.”
“My heart knows nothing about ritual construction.”
“Your heart knows everything about love, which is the foundation of all true magic.” She completed a particularly intricate intersection, wine gleaming against paper. “When we draw these symbols, we're declaring intention. We're stating that some connections are worth preserving regardless of what forces might try to sever them.”
Her laugh was bright as bells when he struggled with a difficult transition. “You're too careful, mon ange. Magic requires commitment, not perfection.”
They worked until dawn, creating patterns that pulsed with their own inner light. By morning the wine had faded, but the memory remained burned into his consciousness—love as rebellion against cosmic law.
St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 rose before them in its familiar layout of above-ground tombs and moss-draped oaks. Spanish moss filtered afternoon sunlight into patterns that danced across marble and weathered brick. Tour groups moved through the pathways in their usual clusters, but today their guides spoke in hushed tones, as if the weight of whatever had been building here demanded respect.
At Marie Laveau’s tomb, ash and copper symbols covered every surface in patterns so dense they created a three-dimensional mandala of interconnected meanings. Instructions for consciousness transfer, preservation of identity across death, ritual binding of souls to vessels. Advanced theoretical work that required centuries of accumulated knowledge to even attempt.
“These are consciousness transfer instructions,” Delphine said, approaching the tomb with academic fascination. “Quite sophisticated theoretical work. The kind of research Charlotte Lacroix was conducting in the 1760s, but with modern applications and understanding.”
Delphine stepped into the area. Every glyph went dark simultaneously.
Not gradual fading. Instant termination, as if she’d thrown a switch that controlled all magical energy in the cemetery. The sudden absence of pressure made nearby tourists straighten unconsciously, their bodies responding to relief from force they couldn’t identify.
“Transfer to what?” Bastien asked, documenting the deactivation while she continued her examination.
“Alternative forms of existence, I think. Ways to survive physical death while maintaining individual awareness and memory.” She paused, studying symbol combinations that would have been blazing with silver fire moments before. “The patterns suggest a gathering tonight. Midnight, specifically. When barriers between different states of existence become thinnest.”
“For what purpose?”
“Integration. Individuals with appropriate bloodline characteristics are called to participate in consciousness expansion that will complete ancestral work through voluntary participation.” She traced symbols that had gone completely inert at her touch. “It’s like a family reunion, but across multiple lifetimes.”
The stabilization effect was absolute. Children who had been crying throughout the morning stopped their tears. Adults who had felt inexplicably anxious began to relax. Even the cemetery’s cats emerged from hiding to sun themselves on tomb surfaces that had been too charged with chaotic energy to approach safely.
“We should collect samples,” Bastien said, producing evidence bags from his jacket.
He scraped ash and copper residue from several locations while she continued documentation. The materials felt wrong under his fingers, neither solid nor liquid, existing in some intermediate state that violated basic physics. They seemed to shift between textures depending on how he touched them, sometimes granular like sand, sometimes viscous like partially dried paint.