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)
She didn't press further, but Bastien could see the questions forming, the analytical mind that had made her such a formidable researcher now turning inward to examine her own experiences. The dreams would intensify, become more specific, more undeniably real. Soon, she'd begin to remember not just fragments but complete scenes, conversations, emotions that belonged to lifetimes she'd lived before.
And when that happened, he'd have to decide whether to continue protecting her from the truth or trust her with a revelation that could destroy them both.
For now, they had Royal Street to navigate, whatever trap or revelation waited there in the pre-dawn darkness. Whatever was coming next in the escalating conflict that had already claimed too much and demanded more with each passing hour.
But as they prepared to leave the safe house, as Delphine checked her phone for additional messages, and Maman gathered protective talismans that might keep them alive through whatever came next, Bastien felt the weight of centuries pressing down on him. The same pattern, the same impossible choice between love and safety, protection and partnership.
The only difference was that this time, he was running out of lifetimes to get it right.
Dawn was still hours away, but already the Quarter stirred with tensions that had nothing to do with ordinary human concerns. In the distance, church bells chimed the hour with tones that seemed to echo from multiple realities at once.
Time, as always, was running short. And the choices made in the next few hours would determine whether love could finally triumph over the forces that sought to tear it apart, or whether this would be the lifetime where even the strongest connections finally broke under pressure they were never meant to bear.
Twenty-Two
The conference room in the catacombs below Le Petit Théâtre du Vieux Carré in Jackson Square carried the scent of chicory coffee and tension thick enough to cut. Bastien watched from the doorway as representatives from every major faction in New Orleans took their positions around the circular table he had commissioned specifically for meetings like this. No head seat, no hierarchy—just equals preparing for war.
Maman Brigitte sat with her back to the open door in a trancelike state. The overhead light catching the silver threads in her dark hair. To her left, Marcus Thibodaux represented the vampire court, his pale hands folded over a leather portfolio thick with intelligence reports. The fae contingent had sent Evangeline Dubois, whose glamour flickered between her human appearance and something with too many angles and teeth. Father Miguel occupied the chair nearest the door, his blessed silver cross catching light each time he shifted.
And beside him, looking both out of place and perfectly natural, sat Delphine.
She had insisted on attending after her breakthrough with the binding ledger fragments. Her laptop was open, surrounded by printouts and photographs of glyphs that would have driven most humans to madness just from looking at them. She wore a simple black sweater and jeans, but something about her posture suggested confidence that had been growing stronger each day.
“The Maestro's compound follows classical fortification principles,” she was saying, tracing patterns on an aerial photograph with her finger. “But these shadow configurations overlay the architecture in ways that create supernatural weak points. See how the buildings form a pentagram when viewed from above? That's not accidental.”
Marcus leaned forward, his predatory interest focused entirely on her analysis. “You can read the defensive arrays from satellite imagery?”
“The symbols repeat across multiple historical sites I've researched. Same binding principles, same vulnerabilities.” Delphine pulled up a comparison chart on her laptop screen. “The Maestro is using modified versions of protection spells that were old when New Orleans was founded. But age makes them predictable.”
Evangeline's laugh carried crystalline notes that made the coffee cups ring. “The mortal sees what we cannot. How deliciously ironic.”
“I'm not mortal in the way you mean,” Delphine said quietly, and Bastien's chest tightened at the certainty in her voice. She was remembering more than she admitted, even to herself.
Maman Brigitte's knowing gaze flicked to Bastien before returning to Delphine. “Show us these weak points, child. Where do we strike?”
Delphine's fingers moved across the photograph with surgical precision, marking locations where shadow and stone intersected in ways that created magical vulnerabilities. Her analysis was flawless—better than flawless. It was intuitive in ways that spoke to knowledge deeper than academic research.
“Here, here, and here,” she said, marking three points that formed a triangle around the compound's center. “Hit these simultaneously and the protective matrix collapses like a house of cards.”
Father Miguel studied the marked locations through wire-rimmed glasses. “These positions require different types of assault. Holy fire here, direct physical force there, and this one . . .” He paused, consulting notes written in Latin. “This requires someone who can work with shadow magic.”
“That would be me,” Marcus said, though his tone suggested the task was beneath his dignity. “Vampire abilities include shadow manipulation when properly applied.”