Page 14 of Langiappe & Lost Legends

“No one has forgotten,” Lia promised as she met my gaze. “But we have to take a leap of faith.”

Nodding, we gathered around the phone as Lia hit dial. The tension in the room was higher than in a high school classroom.After everything that had happened with Marie before and during the magical storm, our trust in her was as stable as a drunk trying to walk a straight line.

"Lia," Marie's voice purred through the speaker. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We need information about the Lost Legends," Lia said, cutting straight to the chase. "Specifically, about how your ancestors stopped them the first time."

The silence that followed was longer than a Catholic mass during Lent. "That information," Marie said carefully, "is not something I share lightly. My family's secrets have kept this city safe for generations."

"Safe?" I couldn't help but interrupt. "You ruled it with an iron thumb and took away everyone’s autonomy. They were punished for not following your guidelines. And now, the French Quarter is having a temporal meltdown. We've got Revolutionary War soldiers challenging parking meters to duels and rats organizing union strikes."

"The rats are unionizing?" Marie asked with a hint of genuine surprise in her voice.

"The Victorian ones are demanding better working conditions and tiny top hats," Kota confirmed. "But that's not the point. The Lost Legends have the Larmes du Bayou."

Another long pause. "Impossible. That artifact is secure."

"Tell that to the Lost Legend we just met," Dre shot back. "She seemed pretty cozy with it right before she vanished, taking it with her. The backlash nearly took our heads off in the process."

"The Larmes du Bayou," Marie said slowly, "in the hands of the Lost Legends... this changes things."

"You think?" Lia's patience was wearing thin. "Reality is unraveling faster than a cheap sweater, and you're worried about family secrets?"

"My secrets have kept worse things than temporal disturbances at bay," Marie snapped. She was more controlled when she continued. "Meet me at fourteen-fifty-two Chartres Street in an hour. And sisters? Do try to be discrete. Some knowledge is better left buried."

The line went dead. "She has another house?" Phi asked as she looked at the GPS on her screen.

"Apparently, she's got more properties than a Monopoly board," I said, grabbing my bag. "And more secrets than all of them combined."

My phone buzzed with updates from our network of magical contacts. The temporal disturbances were spreading like kudzu in summer. A Civil War regiment had materialized in City Park. They were convinced they were still fighting the Battle of New Orleans. The streetcars on St. Charles were randomly jumping decades and leaving confused passengers in various historical periods. In Metairie, a subdivision had temporarily reverted to its nineteen-fifties version. The change came complete with the original residents who were understandably confused by their modern neighbors' smart homes and electric cars.

"It's getting worse," I reported, scrolling through the messages. "The Gentilly Walmart just got replaced by its nineteen-eighties version. The prices are amazing, but all the cashiers now have big hair and neon accessories."

"That's probably an improvement," Kota muttered.

Marie's latest sanctuary was a classic Creole cottage that practically vibrated with old magic. The door opened before we could knock. Marie stood there in all her eternal glory. She was dressed in an outfit that somehow managed to span three centuries of fashion while still looking modern and effortlessly elegant.

The interior was a maze of history and magic. Artifacts lined every surface. Each one hummed with a particular frequency ofpower. A grandfather clock in the corner showed three different times simultaneously. And I swore I saw a mirror reflecting events that hadn't happened yet.

Marie led us to a study that looked like a magical library had exploded and then been meticulously reorganized by someone with obsessive-compulsive tendencies. A map of New Orleans was on one wall. It shifted between different areas. Its streets rearranged themselves like a living puzzle.

"My ancestors' journals," she said as she gestured to a collection of leather-bound books that settled onto a massive oak table with a thump. "The information you seek should be in there. Somewhere." Her tone suggested finding it would be about as pleasant as swimming in gator-infested waters.

Dre dipped her chin. “Thank you, Marie. Your help is deeply appreciated.” She looked at our oldest sister for a second before turning and walking out the door.

The six of us divided up the journals and started searching. Hours passed in frustrated silence broken only by occasional cursing when we hit particularly difficult passages. The books seemed to actively resist being read. The text shifted and blurred unless we concentrated completely. More than once, I caught glimpses of words in languages that shouldn't exist anymore.

"This is useless," Kota finally exploded after her third journal. "Whenever I think I'm getting somewhere, the words rearrange themselves. I swear this one just called me an amateur in Ancient Greek."

"The journals are protected," Marie said from the doorway, making us all jump. I hadn't heard her return. "They only reveal their secrets to those who are permitted."

"Permitted?" Dre's eyes narrowed. "You gave us these books knowing we couldn't read them?"

"I gave you access," Marie corrected. "What the books choose to show you is another matter entirely. The knowledge they contain isn't meant for casual browsing."

"Listen here," I stood up as my patience finally snapped. "While we're playing magical library card catalog, the city is falling apart. The temporal disturbances are spreading. My contacts report similar events as far as Metairie. The Garden District is experiencing random architectural shifts. A house on St. Charles just cycled through every style from Antebellum to Art Deco in under an hour. We don't have time for your games."

"Games?" Marie's eyes flashed. The temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. "You think this is a game? These journals contain secrets that could tear this city apart. The knowledge that would make the current chaos look like a Sunday picnic. The Lost Legends were sealed away for a reason. They were warded centuries ago to avoid information from falling into the wrong hands."

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