Page 33 of Curse in the Quarter (Bourbon Street Shadows #1)
The locket seared against Bastien’s skin.
She was so close to understanding, so close to remembering.
Every instinct screamed at him to tell her the truth, to end this charade and help her reclaim what had been taken from them.
But he’d tried that approach with Delia, and it had destroyed her.
The shock of remembering multiple lifetimes, the weight of loving someone for over a century—it had been too much for her human mind to process.
“Perhaps we’re all searching for that kind of connection,” he managed. “The writing resonates because it describes what everyone hopes to find.”
Delphine nodded, but he could see doubt in her eyes. Some part of her knew this was more than universal longing, more than academic interest in historical romance.
She lifted the final major fragment, and Bastien braced himself for what he knew was coming.
“This appears to be one of the last entries,” she said, squinting at the faded ink.
“'Day seventy-three. I have made a decision that may damn us both, but I can no longer bear the uncertainty. Tonight I will attempt the binding ritual I discovered in Mother’s hidden books.
If it succeeds, our connection will become permanent—proof against death, against time, against any force that would separate us.
If it fails . . .' The entry breaks off there.”
“The binding ritual,” Bastien repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You’ve heard of such things?”
“In theoretical contexts.” The lie tasted like ash.
He’d lived the reality of Charlotte’s attempt; had felt the moment their souls became permanently intertwined.
It was that ritual which ensured her reincarnation, which bound them across lifetimes in an endless cycle of love and loss.
“The concept appears in various occult traditions. The idea that certain ceremonies can create permanent spiritual connections.”
“And you think she attempted it?”
“The evidence suggests she tried something. Whether it succeeded . . .” He gestured vaguely, as though the question were purely academic.
But Delphine was studying his face with uncomfortable intensity. “You seem to know a great deal about these specific practices. More than most historians would.”
The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken questions.
Bastien could feel himself balanced on the edge of a precipice, one word away from confessing everything.
The weight of decades of silence, of watching her live life after life without knowing who she truly was, had become unbearable.
“Delphine,” he began, his voice carefully controlled. “There’s something I need to tell you about these documents. About why I really brought them to you.”
She leaned forward, her eyes widening slightly. For a heartbeat he saw something flicker in their depths—not recognition exactly, but a kind of anticipatory understanding, as though part of her had been waiting for this conversation her entire life.
“What is it?”
“These fragments—they’re not random acquisitions. I didn’t find them at an estate sale.” He took a breath, preparing to bridge the impossible gap between truth and credibility. “They belonged to someone I once knew. Someone important to me.”
“A relative?”
“No. Someone . . .” He searched for words that wouldn’t sound completely insane. “Someone I loved very much. A long time ago.”
Delphine’s expression shifted, becoming more cautious. “How long ago?”
Before he could answer, before he could find a way to explain that he’d loved the woman who’d written these pages and that she was that woman, brilliant light erupted outside the Archive windows.
The magical flare was so intense it cast stark shadows through the room, turning the afternoon into a stark tableau of black and white.
Bastien felt the familiar pull immediately—power loose in the Quarter, something ancient and hungry stirring in response to the growing connection between him and Delphine. The disturbance pulsed with malevolent energy, and he could sense innocent people already caught in its wake.
“What was that?” Delphine stood abruptly, her sudden movement scattering Charlotte’s careful documentation across the floor like fallen leaves.
Bastien closed his eyes, extending his awareness beyond the Archive walls.
The magical signature was familiar but stronger than before, as though whatever force had been stalking them was growing bolder.
Another manifestation of the pattern that had begun with the first glyph activation, the chain of events that would ultimately force Delphine to remember everything or destroy them both in the attempt.
“I have to go.” He was already moving toward the door, hating the necessity of leaving her with questions half-answered, truths half-spoken. “There’s somewhere I need to be.”
“But the fragments—what were you trying to tell me?”
“Keep them.” He paused at the threshold, drinking in the sight of her standing among the scattered evidence of their love.
Her hair had come partially loose from its bun, and her cheeks were flushed with emotion and confusion.
She looked so much like Charlotte in that moment that his chest ached with the force of memory.
“Study them. When I return, we’ll finish this conversation. And Delphine?—”
“Yes?”
“When you dream tonight, pay attention to what you see. Sometimes our souls remember what our minds have forgotten.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone with the binding ledger and Charlotte's documented proof that love could indeed transcend death—if one was brave enough to pay the price such permanence demanded.
Behind him, scattered across the Archive floor, Charlotte’s words waited to reveal the rest of their story—if Delphine was brave enough to keep reading, and strong enough to handle what she might learn about herself.