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)
The samples began smoking the moment they were sealed in evidence bags. Not burning but releasing vapor that carried familiar scents: jasmine twisted through heated metal, the signature he’d been tracking for weeks across multiple crime scenes.
“Pattern bleed,” he said, recognizing the phenomenon from previous encounters with Charlotte’s experimental work. “Contamination that spreads through sympathetic resonance. When materials connected to the same working come into proximity, they strengthen each other exponentially.”
“The samples are reacting to something nearby?”
“Something that shares origin with the glyphs. An artifact or person whose essence is compatible with the magical network.” He studied her face carefully, noting no recognition of her role in the phenomenon. “The reaction suggests we’re very close to whatever focal point organizes these manifestations.”
The evidence bags blazed silver, then went dark. Their contents consumed entirely, leaving only scorch marks that formed symbols matching the deactivated glyphs. Even the plastic had been transformed, bearing patterns that seemed to have been burned from the inside out.
“Direct material connection,” Delphine said, documenting the scorched containers with her camera. “Whoever is orchestrating these manifestations has access to the same historical sources we’ve been researching. They’re not just copying Charlotte Lacroix’s work; they’re continuing it.”
“Or they’re the source,” Bastien said quietly.
She turned to face him, expression sharp with intellectual curiosity. “Meaning?”
“Some families involved in colonial-era experiments may have preserved more than just techniques and documentation. They may have preserved consciousness itself, passed through bloodline inheritance across generations.” He watched her carefully for any sign of recognition. “The person we’re looking for might not be using Charlotte Lacroix’s work. They might be Charlotte Lacroix.”
Delphine studied the deactivated glyphs surrounding them, pieces of a puzzle larger than either of them had initially realized. When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of someone processing implications that challenged everything she thought she knew about the nature of reality and identity.
“If consciousness can survive across lifetimes, if someone could retain detailed knowledge from previous incarnations . . .” She met his eyes directly. “Then this isn’t just historical research anymore. This is personal legacy work spanning centuries.”
“Someone who died before completing their most important project,” Bastien said, testing how far her intuition would carry her. “Someone who spent generations preparing for the opportunity to finish what they started.”
“The bloodline targeting, the genealogical connections, even the choice of location.” She gestured toward the patterns still visible despite their deactivation. “It’s all designed to recreate exact conditions that existed when the original work was interrupted. Like setting up a laboratory experiment with precise environmental controls.”
Around them, the cemetery continued its peaceful afternoon routine. Tour groups moved through established routes, visitors left offerings at famous tombs, groundskeepers tended areas they’d been avoiding all morning due to inexplicable unease. But Bastien could sense change building beneath the calm Delphine had imposed through her unconscious influence.
The midnight gathering would proceed regardless of any temporary stabilization. Whatever force had been orchestrating the network activation expected its focal point to appear willingly. The question was whether Delphine would recognize her role in time to make conscious choices about participation, or whether she would be swept up in currents she’d helped create but didn’t understand.
As they left the cemetery, walking back toward the Quarter through streets where deactivated glyphs marked their passage like a map of her unconscious influence, Bastien made his decision. Tonight, before midnight, before whatever gathering had been arranged could proceed according to the mysterious plan, he would tell her the truth about who she was and what she represented.
The stabilization she’d demonstrated proved she had power enough to control the energy around her. Now she needed understanding to wield that power wisely.
Time was running out. The network was calling.
And somewhere in the approaching darkness, entities that viewed consciousness as harvestable resource were preparing to collect what they believed belonged to them.
The battle for her soul was approaching fast, and he wouldn’t let her face it completely unaware of the weapon she carried within herself.
Fourteen
Bastien spread the parchment fragments across the mahogany table like puzzle pieces of his own damnation. Each yellowed edge held Charlotte’s careful script, her methodical documentation of their forbidden love. Three days he’d stared at these pages, unable to translate the coded passages that had once been intimate secrets between them. The irony cut deep—he who had lived every moment she’d described now found himself paralyzed by the prospect of hearing those memories spoken aloud.
The Archive room held its familiar quiet, broken only by the distant hum of the building’s old heating system and the occasional creak of settling wood. Afternoon light slanted through tall windows, illuminating the dust that danced perpetually in academic spaces where knowledge waited to be discovered. But today felt different. Today, the very air seemed charged with anticipation.
Delphine’s footsteps echoed in the corridor before she appeared in the doorway, two steaming cups balanced in her hands. She’d changed from her morning attire into a cream sweater and dark trousers, her hair pulled back in a practical bun with rebellious strands framing her face. Bastien noticed how much she resembled Charlotte in this light, this setting.