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)
“That’s going to require going back to the vault,” Bastien said. “To the convergence point where the altar is. That’s where Charlotte would have hidden anything she wanted only me to find.”
“When?”
“Tonight. After dark, when the network’s naturally quieter.” He stood, collecting the photographs. “We’ll need to prepare. Gather supplies. Make sure we understand exactly what we’re looking for.”
“And Thursday night?” Delphine asked. “When Gideon activates his sermon?”
“Thursday night, we make sure the city hears Charlotte’s actual voice. Not the distorted version Gideon’s been broadcasting.” Bastien held her gaze. “But I need you to understand—if this fails, if we can’t interrupt his working, you’ll be forced to watch a version of our partnership that makes every protective instinct I have look like control. Every moment of trust look like manipulation.”
“And you’ll be forced to watch me choose,” Delphine said steadily. “Either way. With full awareness of what the choice means.” She picked up Charlotte’s note, the one warning about corruption. “That’s what terrifies Gideon—not that I’ll reject you, but that I might choose to honor a bond I finally understand. Because that would prove his entire philosophy is wrong.”
Bastien felt the weight of two centuries shift slightly. Not disappearing—never disappearing. But distributed differently. Shared, for the first time in longer than he could remember.
“Then we’d better make sure you have accurate information to base that choice on,” he said.
“We’d better,” Delphine agreed.
They worked until the Archive’s closing time, compiling everything Charlotte had left behind. By the time they locked the reading room door, they’d assembled a complete picture of what she’d actually built—and what Gideon had twisted it into.
Thirty-six hours until the sermon.
Thirty-six hours to find Charlotte’s hidden documentation and prepare a counter-broadcast.
Thirty-six hours until Delphine would choose—with clarity, with honesty, with full understanding of what the choice meant.
And whatever she decided, Bastien would honor it.
Because that’s what love without coercion looked like.
That’s what Charlotte had been trying to prove all along.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Nine o’clock found Bastien in his apartment, surrounded by the careful geometry of preparation. Flashlights lined up on the kitchen counter, their batteries tested twice. Chalk sticks arranged by color—white for protection, red for sealing, black for truth. The wards he’d drawn on parchment the night before lay flat under a stack of books, their ink still settling into the paper’s grain. Charlotte’s schematic spread across the dining table, its careful annotations catching the lamplight.
He checked each item methodically, the way he’d learned to prepare for ritual work two centuries ago. Nothing rushed. Nothing assumed. The kind of caution that had kept him alive through decades of increasingly dangerous practice.
Delphine arrived exactly on time, carrying a messenger bag that clinked with the sound of water bottles. She’d dressed practically—jeans, boots with good tread, a jacket with deep pockets. Her hair pulled back in a braid that wouldn’t catch on anything in the tight passages below.
“You’re being very careful,” she observed, watching him fold the schematic for the third time, making sure the creases aligned perfectly.
“Yes.”
“Are you scared?”
He stopped mid-fold and looked at her directly. “Yes.”
The honesty seemed to surprise her. She set her bag down on the counter next to his supplies. “Of Gideon?”
“Of failing Charlotte’s trust.” He finished the fold and slipped the schematic into a waterproof sleeve. “She built something extraordinary. Something that could preserve connection across lifetimes without forcing it. And someone corrupted it. Used it for exactly the kind of compulsion she was trying to prevent.”
“So you’re afraid of making it worse.”
“I’m afraid of breaking what she built while trying to fix it.” He met her eyes. “That’s a reasonable fear.”
Delphine nodded slowly. She seemed to understand the weight of his concerns. The difference between fear that paralyzed and fear that made you careful. “Then let’s make sure we do this right.”
They left together as the Quarter settled into its late-night rhythm. Jazz filtering from the bars on Frenchmen Street, tourists still thick enough on Bourbon that they had to navigate around clusters of people with oversized drinks. But the Warehouse District stayed quiet, industrial and abandoned in the way that made the Quarter’s party atmosphere feel like a different world entirely.
The iron panel waited in the same courtyard where he’d first shown Delphine the entrance. Rust streaked its surface, but the hinges moved smoothly when Bastien pulled it open. Easier than before. The network recognized them now. Recognized their frequencies, their intentions, the fact that they’d stood at the altar and survived Gideon’s doppelgänger attack the previous night.
“After you,” Delphine said, gesturing to the ladder.
Bastien descended first, testing each rung before putting his full weight on it. The shaft smelled of wet stone and old metal, the particular scent of underground New Orleans—perpetually damp, never quite dry no matter the season. His boots hit water at the bottom. Ankle-deep, but calmer than during the storm. The network had stabilized somewhat since he’d integrated the shard.