“The wolves aren’t the only ones noticing,” Lark said. No preamble. Just facts. “Vampires in the Marigny are asking questions. Three different covens have contacted brokers about buying mirror wards. Fae markets in Mid-City have tripled their protective charm inventory since Sunday. Everyone’s spooked, but no one’s saying why exactly.”
Information spreading without coordination meant people were noticing independently. Which meant the contamination was visible enough to frighten anyone paying attention. “How long before it becomes public knowledge?”
“Days.” Lark pulled a phone from their pocket and showed him a screenshot—a local message board discussing “weird mirror glitches” in the Quarter. Thirty-seven replies. Posted four hours ago. “Maybe less. People are already comparing notes online.”
“Can you track who’s talking?”
“I can try. But suppressing this is going to be like suppressing sunrise.” Lark pocketed the phone. “Whatever you’re doing to fix it, you need to do it faster.”
“I’m aware.”
Roxy shifted her weight. “Other factions are talking, Bastien. The vampires in the Garden District say you’ve been asking questions about the auction. The witches on Rampart Street say you took something from the scene. People are starting to wonder if you summoned this thing instead of trying to stop it.”
“Let them wonder.”
“That’s not good enough.” Her voice dropped. “If the pack decides you’re a threat, they’ll handle you the way they handle all threats. I’m here because I don’t think you’re the enemy. But you need to give me something to take back to them.”
Bastien knew the threat was empty as much as Roxy did. The wolves—even all of them—couldn’t take on Bastien. His fall may have diminished some of his resonance, but his power wasvast and far reaching. The wolves were no strangers to Bastien’s nature. “Tell your Alpha to call if the symptoms get worse. I’ll come.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Seal the breach before the next full moon.”
“That’s four weeks.”
“I know.” He held her gaze. “I’ll handle it.”
Roxy studied him—weighing, measuring. Finally she nodded.
She turned back toward the road. Lark fell into step beside her, phone already out, scrolling through data. Their footsteps faded across the levee. Voices carried back—Roxy giving instructions, Lark responding with coordinates. Pack business. Efficient and contained.
Bastien waited until he couldn’t hear them anymore.
Then he pulled a glass vial from his other pocket and crouched at the water’s edge. The Mississippi moved past, brown and thick with sediment. He uncapped the vial and dipped it below the surface. Water flowed in, carrying river smell and something else underneath it. Something that tasted metallic when he breathed through his mouth.
He capped the vial and held it up to morning light. The water inside swirled with particles too small to identify. But when he focused, using his celestial sight—that secondary way of seeing that revealed resonance and power—the water glowed faint blue. Same color as the silver powder. Same signature.
The contamination had seeped into the river itself.
He pocketed the vial and walked south along the levee. Morning traffic picked up behind him on the bridge. The city was waking up. People heading to work, starting their days, living normal lives in a city whose mirrors were learning to lie.
He stopped every twenty paces to check his reflection in the water. Most times it matched him perfectly. But twice—justtwice—it lagged half a second behind his movements. And once, when he raised his hand to check his watch, his reflection raised the wrong hand.
Left instead of right. Mirror image becoming something other than reflection.
Bastien cataloged the locations in his mental map. Three points of severe contamination within a hundred yards of bank. The pattern suggested concentration—something below the surface anchoring the effect, drawing power and amplifying it through proximity to water.
He needed more information. The auction house shard. Gideon’s notes. Charlotte’s network diagrams. Everything connected, but he couldn’t see the shape yet. Couldn’t identify the mechanism that would let him sever the links before the next full moon rose and three werewolves tried to transform while their reflections lived independently.
His phone buzzed. Text message. He pulled it out.
Delphine:Found something in the Lacroix family inventory. Cross-referenced with city records. Can we talk?
He looked at the message for longer than necessary. She’d been digging into Charlotte’s family since he visited the Archive. Whatever she’d found was probably relevant. Possibly critical.
But bringing her deeper into this meant exposing her to more danger. The mirrors already knew her face. Letting them know she was actively investigating might draw attention he couldn’t deflect.
Bastien:Working a case. Can it wait until tonight?
