Page 45 of Curse in the Quarter (Bourbon Street Shadows #1)

“I'm not human,” he said simply. “Haven't been for a very long time.”

She absorbed this with the calm of someone who'd just watched impossible things happen. Quiet for a long moment, she studied his profile in the square's lamplight. “The fire tonight. It wasn't an accident.”

“No. Someone sent it specifically for you. Someone who wants to hurt me by hurting the people I care about.”

“And you care about me.” It wasn't a question.

“Yes.”

“Why?” She turned to face him directly, her dark eyes searching his face for answers. “We barely know each other. I mean, I thought we barely knew each other. But the way you looked at me in the Archive that first day . . . like you'd seen a ghost.”

The opening was there, perfect for telling her everything.

About Charlotte, about Delia, about love that had survived death and reincarnation and over a century of careful waiting.

But looking at her face in the lamplight—alive, unhurt, trusting him with questions that proved her courage—he couldn't bring himself to burden her with the weight of lives she couldn't remember.

“It's complicated,” he said instead. “Your family has connections to things that go back generations. People I knew a long time ago. And those connections put you in danger from forces that most people never have to worry about.”

“What kind of forces?”

“The kind that summon fire keyed to specific bloodlines. The kind that see human lives as tools to be used in games that span lifetimes.” He met her gaze steadily. “The kind that won't stop until they get what they want.”

Delphine absorbed this with the same calm she'd shown throughout the conversation. “And what do they want?”

“You. Specifically you, for reasons that go back to your family's history with magic that should have stayed buried.” He reached into his jacket and withdrew the locket, its silver surface catching streetlight.

“This belonged to your ancestor. Charlotte Lacroix.

She created it as part of experiments that have consequences we're still dealing with today.”

She took the locket, her fingers closing around metal that had been crafted to recognize her touch across lifetimes. “I felt something when I touched this before. Like it was . . . alive.”

“In a sense, it is. Charlotte embedded part of herself into its creation. And that part has been waiting for someone like you to complete what she started.”

“Someone like me, or me specifically?”

The question hit closer to truth than he was prepared to address. “I'm not sure there's a difference.”

She opened the locket, studying the miniature portrait inside with growing recognition. “This woman . . . she looks like me.”

“Family resemblance.”

“More than that.” Delphine's voice carried new intensity. “ She looks exactly like me. Same eyes, same bone structure, same everything. That's not normal family resemblance, Bastien. That's . . . something else.”

She was too intelligent, too observant, too trained in recognizing patterns that others missed. The partial truth he'd offered wasn't going to satisfy her for long.

“What aren't you telling me?” she asked, and her tone suggested she already suspected the answer would change everything.

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

Unknown:

The Archive was just the beginning. Keep refusing my offers, and I'll target everything she values. Starting with her memories. - M

Dread shot through Bastien's chest. Maestro wasn't finished. The fire had been a demonstration, not an end goal. And now he was threatening to steal Delphine's memories of discovering Bastien's nature, to reset her awareness and force them back to square one of deception and distance.

“We need to get you somewhere safe,” Bastien said, standing from the bench. “Tonight was just the opening move. Whoever's behind this will try again.”

“Wait.” Delphine caught his hand, her fingers warm against his skin. “You saved my life tonight. Walked through fire that should have killed you to carry me to safety. I think that earns me more than partial explanations and protective evasion.”

Her touch sent electricity up his arm, the same recognition that had sparked between them across lifetimes.

For a moment, looking into her eyes in the lamplight, he could see echoes of every woman she'd been—Charlotte's determination, Delia's fierce curiosity, and something entirely new that belonged only to Delphine.

“Some truths are dangerous,” he said quietly. “Knowledge that puts you at greater risk, not less.” Bastien wasn’t entirely sure her mind could survive swallowing the whole truth at once—and he wasn’t willing to gamble her sanity on it.

“And some ignorance is deadly.” She stood, still holding his hand. “Someone just tried to kill me with fire, Bastien. I’m pretty sure everything we’ve been working on went up in flames tonight. I think I've earned the right to understand why.”

The phone buzzed again.

Unknown:

Sixty seconds to decide. Her memories or her life. Choose quickly.

"Delphine." He pulled her closer, urgency overriding caution. "I need you to trust me. We need to get you somewhere safe right now. Both of us are in immediate danger."

She studied his face, reading desperation he couldn't hide. "This isn't over."

"No. It's just beginning."

"And you'll tell me everything?"

"Everything I can that won't get you killed." He squeezed her hand once before releasing it. "But not at your apartment. Somewhere they can't reach you."

She nodded, though her expression suggested she wasn't satisfied with partial answers. "My car's in the Archive parking lot. Probably blocked by fire trucks."

"I'll drive you." He guided her toward his car parked down the block, hyperaware of shadows that might hide watchers, of sounds that didn't belong to ordinary Quarter nightlife. "And Delphine? What you saw tonight, what I told you about not being human?—"

"Our secret." She met his gaze with understanding that cut straight through him. "For now."

They drove through empty streets, Bastien taking a circuitous route toward the Tremé district.

He could feel Delphine studying him, her researcher's mind cataloging details that hadn't registered during the crisis.

The way he'd moved through the fire without protective gear.

The strange light that had surrounded him in the flames.

The impossible fact that he'd emerged without so much as singed clothing.

"Where are we going?" she asked as they turned onto a narrow residential street lined with Creole cottages.

"To someone I trust. Someone who can protect you in ways I can't."

Maman Brigitte's house sat behind a garden that bloomed impossibly lush even in the winter months. The front porch light came on before Bastien had even parked, and the door opened to reveal the woman herself, dressed in a purple robe and looking unsurprised by their arrival.

"Bring her in, cher," Maman called softly. "Been expecting you both."

Delphine hesitated on the porch steps. "How did she know we were coming?"

"Maman knows things," Bastien said simply. "It's what she does."

Inside, the house smelled of sage and protection spells worked into the very foundation. Maman settled them in her front parlor, where candles cast warm light over walls lined with books and artifacts that hummed with quiet power .

"Tea?" Maman asked, though she was already moving toward the kitchen. "Child looks like she could use something to settle her nerves."

"I'm fine," Delphine said, though she accepted the cup Maman pressed into her hands moments later. "This night has been . . . educational."

"Learning who your guardian angel really is tends to have that effect," Maman observed, settling into her favorite armchair. Her dark eyes fixed on Bastien with knowing intensity. "About time you stopped hiding things."

Delphine's head snapped up. "Guardian angel?"

Bastien shot Maman a warning look with a slight shake of his head, but she just smiled serenely.

"Figure of speech, child. Though not entirely inaccurate." Maman's voice carried the kind of authority that made questions feel unnecessary. "You'll stay here tonight. Protected ground, warded six ways from Sunday. Nothing can reach you here that I don't allow."

"I appreciate the offer, but?—"

"It's not an offer." Maman's tone brooked no argument. "That fire tonight was just the beginning. You’ll stay where it's safe until we can figure out our next move."

Bastien caught movement in his peripheral vision—a figure watching from the street beyond Maman's garden fence, tall and elegant and utterly motionless in ways that suggested inhuman patience.

Making sure his message had been received.

"Go," Maman said quietly, following his gaze. "I'll watch over her. You do what needs to be done."

Delphine looked between them, clearly frustrated by conversations happening around her rather than with her. "What aren't you telling me? "

"Tomorrow," Bastien promised, moving toward the door. "I'll explain everything tomorrow."

She caught his hand as he passed her chair, her fingers warm against his skin. "Be careful."

"Always am," he said, though they both knew it was a lie.

He left them there in Maman's protected parlor, Delphine safe behind wards that had held for decades and Maman prepared to guard what mattered most. When he looked back from the street, the figure in the alley was gone, but the scent lingered—ozone and winter starlight and promises that twisted like knives in the dark.

Tomorrow, he would have to tell her everything—almost everything. The reincarnation, the soul-bond, the love that had survived death and time and careful distance. Tomorrow, the game would move into its final phase. He only hoped that learning these truths wouldn’t destroy her, or what they had.

But tonight, she was safe. And for the first time since she was Charlotte, she knew he wasn't human.

It was a beginning.