Page 62 of Curse in the Quarter (Bourbon Street Shadows #1)
T he cypress accepted his blade for the final time, red sap weeping from fresh cuts that completed Charlotte's centuries-old design.
Bastien carved the last protective sigil with hands that remembered every line she had sketched in those hidden journals, each stroke connecting to its siblings through ley lines that pulsed beneath New Orleans soil.
The network hummed to life around him, ward by ward, creating barriers against forces that had circled the Quarter for decades.
This sigil farewell marked the end of his guardianship.
Charlotte's protective array now stood complete, ready to shield the city from entities that fed on spiritual energy.
He wiped red sap from the blade and returned it to its sheath, feeling the weight of centuries lifting from his shoulders.
The work was done. Her work, finally finished by his hands.
When the tree settled with a sound resembling satisfied breathing, magic flowed through wood and leaves to complete circuits that would outlast them all. Charlotte's final gift to the city—protection that required no Watcher, no guardian, no man carrying love across impossible years .
The ward network pulsed gently around him, a reminder that his magical obligations were complete. Charlotte's vision was reality. His duty was done.
Now came the part he'd been anticipating for twenty-five years: winning Delphine's heart.
The walk to Maman Brigitte's shop took him through neighborhoods where the ward network's activation was already having subtle effects.
Street lamps burned steadier, their light cleaner and more focused.
Stray cats moved with less nervousness, no longer constantly alert for threats that existed just beyond human perception.
Even the air felt different—clearer, somehow, as if a fine layer of spiritual pollution had been scrubbed away.
He found Maman on her gallery, rocking slowly in her cane chair while she watched the ward network's energy patterns settle into stable configurations. Her tea service was already set for two, as if she'd known he would need to talk.
"Sit," she said without preamble, pouring chicory coffee into delicate china cups. "You got that look of a man who just finished the biggest job of his life and don't know what to do with himself now."
Bastien settled into the chair beside her, accepting the coffee gratefully. "Charlotte's ward network is complete. Every sigil, every anchor point, every defensive layer she designed is now active and self-sustaining."
"I felt it click into place." Maman's eyes sparkled with satisfaction. "That woman's ghost can finally rest easy, knowing her city's protected proper. Question is, what you planning to do with all that free time now that you ain't got magical obligations eating up your attention?"
"I want to court Delphine properly this time."
The words came out more nervous than he'd intended, and Maman's knowing smile suggested she'd heard the uncertainty in his voice.
"About time," she said. "Boy, you been waiting twenty-five years since the moment you found out she was born for this exact opportunity.
Girl already knows you ain't human—she heard you called angel, fallen angel, all sorts of things in her research.
Now you get to show her what that means after your connection strengthens naturally. "
"I'm concerned about her safety," Bastien admitted. "My world is dangerous, Maman. There are entities that would target her just for being connected to me, supernatural politics she shouldn't have to navigate, magical threats she's not equipped to handle."
Maman set down her cup with a sharp clink. "This whole thing has been about giving Delphine choice, cher. Keeping her at a distance when your bond naturally wants to strengthen? That's just another kind of control. Charlotte trusted you to let her choose—honor that trust."
"But—"
"No buts. You think that girl don't know exactly what she's getting into? She been researching supernatural New Orleans for months now, learning about vampires and werewolves and all manner of dangerous things. She’s smart enough to make informed decisions about her own life."
Bastien stared into his coffee, seeing his own reflection wavering in the dark liquid. "What if I make mistakes? What if I approach this wrong and drive her away instead of drawing her closer?"
"Then you make mistakes and learn from them, same as any man courting any woman." Maman's voice gentled slightly. "You think regular human relationships don't involve risk? Don't involve the possibility of heartbreak and disappointment and all sorts of complications? "
"This is different."
"How?"
The question caught him off guard. How was it different, really? Because of their past lifetimes together? Because of the mystical tether connecting their souls? Because of the magical world she'd be entering by association with him?
"I've loved her across three lifetimes," he said finally. "The stakes feel higher when you've already lost someone twice."
"Higher stakes just mean the reward's worth more when you succeed.
" Maman leaned forward, her eyes serious.
"Charlotte designed this whole thing so her soul would have choice, so love would be freely given instead of magically compelled.
But choice means risk, cher. Can't have one without the other. "
His phone buzzed against his chest pocket, the vibration startling him out of his contemplation. He pulled it out to find a text from Delphine, sent just minutes ago.
Delphine:
Hey, there's this new exhibition at the Contemporary Arts Center about folklore and urban legends. Want to check it out this weekend? Figured you might find it interesting given your “extensive” knowledge of local supernatural traditions.
Bastien stared at the message, his chest tightening with something that felt like anticipation mixed with terror.
She was reaching out to him, actively seeking his company, suggesting an activity that played directly into their shared interests.
The patient approach was working—she was drawn to him naturally, without magical compulsion or soul memory forcing the connection .
"What's that smile for?" Maman asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.
"She wants to go to an exhibition together this weekend. Something about folklore and urban legends."
"Course she does. Girl's been circling around you for weeks now, looking for excuses to spend time with you.
You just been too nervous to notice." Maman reached over and patted his knee with maternal affection.
"This is good, cher. This is how it supposed to work—natural attraction, shared interests, genuine compatibility drawing you together without magical interference. "
Bastien typed back quickly: I'd enjoy that. Saturday afternoon?
Her response came within minutes: Perfect. Meet at 2? And maybe we could grab dinner after if the exhibition's interesting.
His heart did something complicated in his chest, a combination of elation and nervousness that reminded him of being sixteen and asking a girl to dance for the first time.
Except he wasn't sixteen, and this wasn't just any girl—this was Delphine, Charlotte's soul reborn, Delia's essence given new form, the woman he'd been waiting decades to court properly.
"She wants to have dinner too," he told Maman, unable to keep the satisfaction out of his voice.
"Of course she does. That girl's been half in love with you for weeks, just waiting for some sign that you might be interested in more than professional friendship.
" Maman finished her coffee and set the cup aside.
"Question is, you ready to be courted back?
Because she ain't gonna be passive in this relationship, not with that personality. Times have changed. Women have changed.” Maman gave him a knowing look.
“She gonna challenge you, push you, make you work for every bit of affection you earn.”
"Good," Bastien said, and meant it. "I want her to challenge me. I want her to push back when she disagrees with me, to call me out when I'm being overprotective or condescending, to bring her own strength and intelligence to whatever we build together."
"Then you better start figuring out how to balance those angel-born protective instincts with respecting human autonomy," Maman warned.
"That's gonna be your biggest challenge—letting her make her own choices about risk and safety instead of trying to shield her from everything that might possibly hurt her. "
Bastien nodded, understanding the wisdom in her words.
Charlotte had fallen for him partly because he'd respected her intelligence and independence.
Delia had been drawn to his authenticity rather than his mystery.
Delphine would respond to the same approach—honest courtship that acknowledged her strength rather than trying to protect her from her own decisions.
"I won't try to control her choices," he said. "But I will make sure she has accurate information to base those choices on."
"That's all any of us can do." Maman stood, beginning to clear the tea service. "Now get on home and figure out what you wearing to this art exhibition. First impressions matter, even when the girl already knows you."
As Bastien walked back through the Quarter toward his apartment, the ward network hummed softly around him, a constant reminder that Charlotte's work was complete and his own future was finally beginning.
The protective grid would keep New Orleans safe for generations to come, allowing him to focus entirely on the delicate, thrilling work of making Delphine fall in love with him all over again.
He thought about Saturday's exhibition, about the dinner they'd share afterward, about the gradual process of courtship that lay ahead.
No magical shortcuts, no soul bond compelling affection, no mystical recognition forcing intimacy.
Just two people getting to know each other, discovering compatibility, choosing each other freely.
It was exactly what Charlotte had wanted. Exactly what Delia had responded to most strongly. And exactly what he hoped would win Delphine's heart in the end.
Charlotte's completed legacy sang with protective power. His duty was done. His obligation fulfilled. His future stretched ahead like an unwritten story, waiting for him to take the first step toward the love he'd been preparing for across three centuries.
Saturday couldn't come soon enough.
In his apartment, he pulled out his phone and read Delphine's text messages again, noting the casual warmth in her tone, the way she'd phrased the invitation to suggest she genuinely wanted his company.
She was reaching out to him, actively seeking opportunities to spend time together, showing signs of the same natural attraction that had drawn Charlotte and Delia to him in previous lifetimes.
The difference was that this time, he was ready for it.
Ready to court her properly, without the burden of incomplete magical obligations or the fear that divided attention would sabotage their developing connection.
Ready to let her see exactly who he was—angel-born but choosing mortality, immortal but committed to human love, powerful but devoted to protecting rather than controlling.
Ready to fall in love all over again, naturally and honestly, the way Charlotte had always intended .
The ward network hummed its approval around him, three hundred years of preparation finally bearing fruit. His real work was just beginning.
Another memory of he and Charlotte took over his thoughts.
Charlotte stood by windows that overlooked gardens she would never see bloom again, back in 1762 when the ritual circle had been drawn in silver dust and candles arranged according to patterns that would either preserve her soul across death or destroy everything she had been in the attempt.
Rain drummed against glass with the rhythm of a funeral march.
“Promise me something,” she said without turning from the window. “If this works, if I manage to return in another form, don't follow me into the next life.”
Bastien looked up from the grimoire he had been studying, pages filled with warnings about consciousness preservation that made his blood run cold. “What do you mean?”
“I mean don't search for me. Don't wait. Don't try to make me remember what we were.” She finally turned to face him, and her eyes held depths of sadness that seemed older than her twenty-six years. “If I come back, let me live whatever life I find. Let me be whoever I become.”
“Charlotte—”
“Promise me.” She crossed the room to kneel beside his chair, taking his hands in hers with fingers that trembled despite her steady voice.
“Some love is too strong to survive. Some connections are too deep to allow for growth. If you try to wake me up, you might destroy whatever peace I find, and you deserve some peace as well.”
He wanted to argue, to explain that living without her would be torture designed by devils who understood the specific architecture of his heart.
But her eyes held something he had never seen before: fear.
Not of death, not of the ritual that might scatter her consciousness like leaves in wind, but of him.
Of the intensity of his love and what it might drive him to do in lifetimes where she couldn't remember choosing to be loved so completely.
“Promise me,” she whispered again.
“I promise,” he lied, already knowing he would break that vow before her body was cold.
She smiled then, relieved, and kissed him with lips that tasted like wine and goodbye. Twenty minutes later, she was gone. Not dead—the spell had worked exactly as intended—but translated into something else, somewhere else, somewhen else.
He had broken his promise within a week, beginning the search that would consume the next two and a half centuries.
He had found her twice, loved her completely, lost her tragically, and finally learned what she had been trying to tell him on that rain-soaked night when magic was young and his heart was still breakable.
Some promises were meant to be broken. Others were meant to be kept, even when keeping them felt like dying. This time, he chose to honor her wishes. This time, he loved her enough to let their love unfold in whatever way that meant for them.