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)
The lie flowed smoothly, practiced across centuries of necessary deception. The woman studied him for a moment, then shrugged and turned back toward the auctioneer. The staff member made a note on his tablet and moved to assist with other departing collectors.
Bastien stepped away from the platform, the shard’s weight solid in his pocket. The artifact pulsed against his ribs in rhythm with his heartbeat, or perhaps it was creating that rhythm, imposing its frequency onto his physical form. He’d need to examine it properly, run diagnostic sigils to determine its exact purpose and how it connected to the mirror-forged envelope that had brought him here.
“Academic integrity would suggest declaring one’s true interest before acquisition.”
The voice came from his left. Gideon Virelli had materialized beside him with such quiet approach it suggested either he had supernatural awareness—which Bastien did not detect—or simple skill at moving through crowds. He stood at conversational distance, close enough to speak without being overheard but far enough to maintain social propriety.
“I declared my interest,” Bastien said. “Sentimental value. Quite true—I’m very sentimental about preventing dangerous artifacts from falling into uninformed hands.”
Gideon smiled, his expression stopping just short of amusement. “Is that what you are? A guardian of occult safety? How noble. Though I had the impression you were more interested in the Lacroix family’s particular contributions to mirror theory.”
The casual mention of Charlotte’s surname required a moment before he responded. He kept his voice level. “You seem remarkably well-informed for someone I’ve never met.”
“Research is part of any academic discipline. When one encounters work as sophisticated as the Lacroix corpus, one naturally seeks to understand the context of its creation.” Gideon withdrew a card from his jacket pocket, the motion fluid enough to suggest practice. “If you’d like to discuss Charlotte Lacroix’s mirror work, I’m always available for academic exchange. I suspect we have overlapping interests. In fact, I’m quite sure of it.” His dark gaze landed on Bastien and a smirk barely formed on his pale, thin lips.
Bastien took the card, noting its warmth against his fingertips. The weight was wrong for ordinary paper—density that he recognized as more than purely physical. The cream-colored cardstock bore a name and phone number in elegant script. Gideon Virelli, followed by the designation “Independent Scholar.”
But it was the symbol pressed into the cardstock that stopped him. A sigil in silver ink, its pattern matching techniques he’d seen in exactly one place before. Charlotte’s most advanced theoretical work—designs she’d drafted but never implemented because she understood the danger they represented.
Mirror manipulation. Not simple reflection magic, but something that operated at the level where perception met reality, where the boundary between observed and observer could be deliberately confused.
“That’s quite a business card,” Bastien said.
“I believe in accurate advertising.” Gideon’s steel-blue eyes held his without challenge or threat, just steady attention. “The sigil is functional, incidentally. If you activate it, we can have a conversation regardless of physical distance. Quite useful for coordinating research across time zones.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Please do.” Gideon inclined his head slightly. “I look forward to our next meeting, Mr. Duvall. Or should I say Mr. Durand? The alias was competent, but I make it my business to know who’s interested in the same artifacts I am.”
He turned and moved back into the dispersing crowd before Bastien could formulate a response that wouldn’t reveal more than he intended. Within moments, Gideon had vanished through a side door marked for staff access only, leaving Bastien standing with a card that radiated power against his palm and a shard that pulsed against his ribs.
The auction continued for another thirty minutes. Bastien remained through the final sale, maintaining the appearance of legitimate collector rather than someone who’d come for a single artifact. When the last item sold and the auctioneer thanked everyone for attending, he joined the general flow toward the exit.
The foyer stretched before him, amber light washing across marble floors whose polished surface reflected overhead fixtures with clarity that ordinary mirrors aspired to but rarely achieved. His phone buzzed again as he approached the door. Delphine, probably, wondering if he was going to reschedule their dinner plans as they had each already done in the past week.
He paused at the door, hand resting on brass handles worn smooth by decades of use. The street beyond showed through glass panels—Chartres Street illuminated by sodium vapor lamps that cast everything in shades of orange and shadow.
His reflection appeared in the glass as he prepared to push through, image superimposed over the view of the sidewalk beyond.
The reflection moved.
Not with him. Not in the synchronized rhythm mirrors maintain. His reflection remained frozen in the glass for a full second after Bastien had already begun walking forward, creating a moment where he existed in space while his image lagged behind.
Then it caught up, merging with his actual position, the delay so brief most people would attribute it to tired eyes or atmospheric distortion.