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)
"Pack, with me," Roxy commanded. "We approach from the south entrance. Low profile, maximum stealth. These things process reality through alien logic—maybe wolf senses will read as background noise."
Her pack moved like liquid shadow across terrain that kept changing its fundamental properties. They navigated by scent and sound when visual landmarks proved unreliable, their supernatural instincts adapting to dimensional instability better than human perception could manage.
Bastien and Maman took the main entrance, the Votum Aeternum blade carving through spatial distortions that tried to redirect their path. The ceremonial weapon recognized forces it was designed to counter, its edge glowing with purpose as they approached the void.
"One thing," Maman said quietly as they reached the Archive's outer boundary. "If we enter that building and the Collectors realize what we're doing; they won't just study anymore. They'll act."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning they'll reshape local reality to prevent our interference. We could find ourselves existing in a version of New Orleans where the Archive never existed, where Delphine was never born, where this entire crisis was resolved through methods that don't include our survival."
The implications were staggering. Entities that could edit reality at will wouldn't need conventional weapons or strategies. They could simply rewrite causality to eliminate opposition.
"Then we move fast," Bastien decided.
They stepped through the void's boundary and immediately understood why the Collectors had created it. Inside the pocket of absent space, normal physics applied with aggressive determination. Gravity pulled consistently downward. Time flowed in proper sequence. Light behaved according to established wavelengths. It was like stepping from chaos into a museum exhibit labeled "How Reality Used to Work."
The Archive building rose before them, its Victorian architecture unchanged despite the cosmic forces surrounding it. Through tall windows, Bastien could see lights on the third floor—the research section where Delphine spent her days cataloging history that was becoming increasingly unstable.
"Radio check," he called softly.
Static answered from all channels. Inside the Collectors' analytical field, electromagnetic signals couldn't penetrate the boundary between dimensions.
They were on their own.
Vincent's vampires continued their distraction dance at the void's perimeter, their movements creating patterns that demanded the entities' attention. The Collectors responded with increasing focus, their analytical protocols engaged by phenomena that challenged their understanding of local reality.
Roxy's pack had reached the building's service entrance, their enhanced senses confirming human presence on the upper floors. Through hand signals, she indicated multiple civilians inside—archive staff, researchers, possibly security personnel.
Bastien approached the main entrance with the Votum Aeternum in hand. The veins of silver light within it pulsed in rhythm with the space itself, sensing the strained bonds that kept the realms apart. The blade’s purpose was not to cut, but to weave—drawing hidden threads together until a path between dimensions revealed itself.
The lock turned under his touch, not through any supernatural ability but because the building itself recognized his purpose. The Archive had been built on ley lines that predated European settlement, its foundation stones placed according to principles that Charlotte Lacroix had understood instinctively. It wanted to protect what it contained.
Inside, fluorescent lights hummed with mundane reliability. Computer terminals displayed normal screensavers. The elevator played generic music that belonged to a universe where cosmic forces weren't rewriting local physics. Everything aggressively, deliberately ordinary.
Except for the footsteps above.
Two sets—one human, moving with familiar rhythm. The other something else entirely, its gait following patterns that suggested a different relationship with gravity and momentum.
Bastien's radio crackled to life as he entered the building's electromagnetic field. "Boss," Vincent's voice carried new urgency. "The Collectors are adapting faster than expected. They're starting to ignore our distraction."
Through the Archive's windows, Bastien could see the entities turning their attention back toward the building. Their analytical dance was complete. They'd learned what they needed to know.
Now they were ready to collect what they'd come for.
"All units converge," Bastien commanded, taking the stairs three at a time. "Emergency extraction. We're out of time."
Above him, the footsteps quickened—one set moving toward what sounded like a defensive position, the other pursuing with inexorable patience. The human voice, muffled by distance and architecture, carried notes of confusion and growing fear.
Delphine's voice.
The real battle was beginning on the third floor of a building that existed in a pocket of enforced normalcy, surrounded by forces that could rewrite the fundamental rules of existence. And somewhere in that impossible space, the woman whose consciousness held the key to dimensional stability was about to discover that her quiet research job had placed her at the center of a cosmic war.
Bastien reached the third floor landing as reality began to shift around them. The Collectors had completed their analysis.
Now came the harvest.
Twenty-Five
The Archive had held—barely. By the time the Collectors withdrew into whatever rift had birthed them, the wards shimmered with exhaustion, the air still charged with the taste of ozone and ancient malice. Delphine had been shaken but unhurt, her questions barely contained beneath the weight of everything she’d just seen. Bastien had walked her out through streets that were slowly righting themselves, the city’s bruised reality knitting back together in uneven stitches. He’d told her they’d talk later, once the Quarter felt less like a wound, and while she was displeased with his putting her off, they were both exhausted.