Page 49 of Curse in the Quarter (Bourbon Street Shadows #1)

By seven a.m., they'd established a command post in an abandoned warehouse near the French Quarter.

Maman's practitioners worked frantically to establish protective wards while Vincent's coven secured the perimeter. Roxy’s pack maintained patrol routes that would give early warning if the Collectors expanded their area of influence.

Bastien stood before a tactical map of New Orleans, marking locations where reality had become unstable. The breach point at the opera house was the largest, but smaller rifts were appearing throughout the city—hairline cracks in the Veil that allowed entities to observe without fully manifesting.

“Status report,” he called.

Vincent materialized beside the map with inhuman speed. “Eight confirmed sightings of shadow figures near the breach zone. They're not attacking civilians, just . . . watching. Searching for something.”

“Pack reports similar activity in the Garden District and uptown,” Roxy added. “Whatever they're looking for, they haven't found it yet.”

Maman approached with a crystal pendulum that swung in patterns defying gravity. “The breach is stabilizing but not closing. Maestro's ritual created a permanent doorway. As long as it remains open, more entities can cross over.”

Bastien processed the intelligence with growing dread. A permanent breach meant the Collectors had unlimited access to their reality. They could search methodically, systematically, until they located their target.

“How long before they find Delphine?”

“Unknown,” Maman replied. “But they're entities from outside our understanding of time. They don't experience minutes and hours the way we do. They can afford to be patient.”

“We can't.” Bastien turned to address the alliance. “New plan. We're not trying to close the breach—we're going to evacuate the target.”

“Evacuate where?” Roxy asked. “If these things exist between realities, hiding in another city won't help.”

“Not another city. Another plane of existence.” Bastien met their shocked stares with grim determination. “The fae courts have dimensional sovereignty. If we can get Delphine to the Winter Court, even these entities will have trouble reaching her.”

Vincent shook his head. “The courts don't grant asylum without significant payment. What could we possibly offer that would interest them?”

Bastien considered their options. The fae operated on bargains and exchanges, but their currency wasn't gold or territory. They valued stories, emotions, and possibilities—things that couldn't be easily quantified.

“Information,” he said finally. “About why entities from outside reality want Delphine badly enough to breach dimensional barriers. The courts have survived since before human civilization by staying informed about threats from beyond. ”

“And if they refuse?” Roxy pressed.

“Then we make a stand here. But first, I need to explain to Delphine why entities from outside space and time are hunting her without sending her into psychological collapse.”

The alliance absorbed this with varying degrees of skepticism. They'd gone from planning a surgical strike to contemplating interdimensional asylum in the space of an hour.

“There's another problem,” Maman said quietly. “The longer the breach remains open, the more it affects local reality. Gravity fluctuations, temporal distortions, causal paradoxes. New Orleans is becoming unstable.”

Bastien understood the implications. Even if they saved Delphine, the city itself might not survive prolonged exposure to forces from outside normal space and time.

“One crisis at a time,” he said. “Vincent, maintain surveillance on the breach. Roxy, coordinate patrol routes to track Collector movement. Maman, research options for closing dimensional rifts permanently.”

As the alliance dispersed to their tasks, Bastien stared at the tactical map.

Red circles marked confirmed Collector sightings, expanding outward from the breach point like ripples from a thrown stone.

At the center of the map, a blue pin marked the Archive where Delphine worked, unaware that entities from beyond reality were systematically searching for her.

The radio crackled. “Boss,” Vincent's voice carried new urgency. “We've got movement at the breach. Something big is coming through.”

Bastien grabbed his binoculars and rushed to the warehouse's upper windows.

In the distance, the swirling vortex above the Garden District pulsed with malevolent energy.

Through its center, a shape was emerging—larger than the individual Collectors, more substantial, carrying authority that made reality itself recoil.

“What am I looking at?” he whispered.

Maman joined him at the window, her face pale with recognition. “A Harvester. They're what Collectors report to. If one is manifesting directly . . .”

She didn't need to finish. A Harvester's presence meant the entities weren't just searching anymore.

They'd found something worth manifesting their command structure.

Bastien's radio erupted with panicked voices from across the city. Reality storms were erupting at multiple locations. Gravity was failing in three-block radius around the breach. Time itself was becoming unstable.

And somewhere in the chaos, forces from outside reality were closing in on the woman who held the key to dimensional stability—or catastrophic collapse.

The alliance had minutes, maybe less, before New Orleans became the epicenter of dimensional disaster.

“All units,” Bastien commanded. “Emergency protocols. We're out of time.”

The true battle for reality was beginning.