Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Gideon Virelli. Had to be. The photograph in the archived university records had been twenty years old, but the bone structure matched. Scholar of comparative mysticism, published extensively on mirror symbolism in medieval spiritualism, known to have connections with private collectors throughout Europe and the Americas. The kind of academic who understood theory well enough to recognize when practice diverged from documented technique.
Bastien turned his attention back to the displayed grimoire, refusing to acknowledge the recognition that passed between them. The glass bell jar distorted the book’s proportions slightly—function of the curve—but he could see enough detail to confirm what his celestial senses had already reported. The leather binding bore no maker’s mark, but the sigil work pointed to New Orleans origins, probably eighteenth century, created by someone with access to both Creole spiritual traditions and European ceremonial frameworks.
A placard beside the pedestal identified the artifact as the “Marie Laveau Grimoire, circa 1850,” had never worked with mirror magic. Someone had either mislabeled the piece deliberately or whoever compiled the catalog knew less about New Orleans occult history than they pretended.
The crowd shifted as an auctioneer appeared on the platform—a woman in her sixties whose cultured voice carried the kind of authority that came from decades spent facilitating transactions between people who measured wealth in assets rather than currency. Immediately the room quieted with her presence and authority. She welcomed the assembled collectors, outlined bidding procedures, and began with lesser items whose value served mainly to establish the room’s spending capacity and to move the antiquities quickly.
Bastien held onto his paddle at his side and settled in to wait. The auction progressed through occult manuscripts whose provenance was questionable, ritual implements whose supposed history outweighed their actual power, and artifacts that represented curiosity rather than danger. Bidders competed with polite restraint, raising paddles in increments that revealed how much they valued appearance over passion.
The man believed to be Gideon Virelli bid occasionally, always by the minimum increment, never pursuing any item past the first counter-bid. His attention remained on Bastien more than the platform, studying reactions the way researchers observed specimens in controlled environments. Testing. Measuring. Confirming whatever theory had prompted him to orchestrate this entire event.
The auctioneer’s voice took on additional gravitas as she introduced the featured item. The supposed Marie Laveau Grimoire, she explained, had been acquired from a private estate in Faubourg Marigny, discovered in a hidden compartment behind a false wall during renovation work. Analysis by unnamed experts had confirmed its age and authenticity, though she was careful to note that the auction house made no claims regarding the artifact’s efficacy.
Bidding opened at five thousand dollars. Hands rose in staccato rhythm, paddles lifting as collectors competed for ownership of something they couldn’t possibly understand. The price climbed through ten thousand, fifteen, twenty. Gideon raised his paddle once at twenty-two thousand, then lowered it immediately when someone countered. His attention never shifted from Bastien’s position against the back wall.
At thirty-five thousand dollars, the bidding pool narrowed to three serious competitors. An elderly woman whose jewelry marked her as old money. A younger man whose tailored suit bore no label but whose posture spoke of military training. Last, a dealer Bastien recognized from previous occult transactions, someone who acquired artifacts for private collections that existed beyond legal oversight.
The mirrors around the room began to hum. No audible sound, exactly, but a vibration that registered in the bones of those sensitive enough to detect it. A resonance that generally preceded significant disruption, the way animals sensed earthquakes before the first tremor reached human awareness.
Bastien’s hand moved to his sleeve, fingers finding the sigil he’d drawn on his forearm that morning with ink infused with celestial resonance he’d created. The pattern rested against his skin, invisible beneath fabric but ready to be activated through intention alone. Mirror Bleed at this level meant the displayed artifact was still generating active interference, which meant proximity might trigger cascade effects that would alarm everyone present who lacked reflection-sensitive awareness.
The winning bid reached forty-two thousand dollars. The elderly woman’s paddle rose for the final time, lifted by a hand that trembled slightly with age or maybe anticipation. The auctioneer’s gavel prepared to fall.
The mirrors rippled.
Not literally—the glass remained intact, surfaces undamaged by any physical force. But the reflections themselves shifted, each showing a version of the viewing room displaced by a full second from reality. People moved through gestures they’d completed moments earlier. The crowd appeared frozen while their physical forms continued in motion. One mirror showed the room empty save for the displayed artifacts, as though rewinding through the evening’s preparation.
Gasps scattered through the assembled collectors. Several rose, their instincts recognizing danger even if understanding remained beyond their grasp. The auctioneer stumbled over her words, glancing toward where security personnel waited in alcoves designed to remain unobtrusive during normal operations.