Page 26 of Mardi Gras Murders & Midnight Masquerades
Shaking my head, I said, “No. They’re not identical. It's like they share a creator, or at least a common magical tradition."
"Clearly, the Society collects these, but they're not the ones making them," Noah concluded.
"I don't think they even understand what they have here," I replied, studying the intricate patterns. "These designs are channeling sigils. They're designed to create a one-way flow of energy."
A soft click from behind us indicated the door closing. We turned to find a tall, elegantly dressed man regarding uswith cool interest. "Most visitors don't find their way to our private collection," he observed. "I don't believe we've been introduced. Maurice Devereaux, proprietor of Galerie d'Obscurité."
"Danielle Smith," I replied. "This is my mate, Noah."
Recognition flickered in Maurice's eyes. "Ah, one of the famous—or perhaps infamous—Six Twisted Sisters. Your reputation precedes you." His gaze shifted to the display cases. "I see you've taken an interest in our historical pieces."
"They're remarkable," I acknowledged. "Their age and craftsmanship are extraordinary."
"Indeed," Maurice agreed. "They represent traditions dating back centuries. The Society has been collecting them for generations and preserving history that might otherwise be lost. I am honored to be tasked with keeping them safe."
"And what does the Society do with them?" Noah asked. "Beyond preservation?"
Maurice's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Study. Appreciation. The usual pursuits of collectors." He gestured toward the door. "But I'm afraid this collection isn't open to the general public."
"Before we go," I said, "I'd like to ask about the masks' origins. They share certain... characteristics with artifacts connected to recent events in the city."
Maurice's expression hardened. "I'm not sure what you're implying, Ms. Smith, but the Society has nothing to do with those unfortunate incidents. We are scholars and preservationists, not murderers."
"I believe you," I said. Surprisingly, I did. His indignation felt genuine, which only confirmed my growing suspicion that the Society was being used by someone else. "But these masks were created for a specific purpose beyond ceremonial use. I wonder if the Society fully understandsthat purpose."
Uncertainty flickered briefly in Maurice's eyes before his composure returned. "I think it's time for you to leave."
"Of course," I nodded, taking Noah's arm.
As we moved toward the door, my gaze caught on a small plaque beside one of the cases. The inscription was in Latin:Portalis ad Aeternum—Gateway to Eternity.
Outside, we walked several blocks before speaking to ensure we weren't followed. "They're oblivious," I said when the coast was clear. "The Society believes they're preserving history, but they're actually collecting components for something sinister."
"Who's the puppet master?" Noah asked. "And to what end?"
I pictured the mask at the plantation, the murder victims, and these ancient artifacts with their unusual channeling sigils. "Whoever it is, is incredibly patient," I replied. "They’ve been playing a game centuries in the making. It could be a vampire. Or a Fae. They live a long time, too. Regardless, whatever the endgame is, it happens at the masquerade."
Noah glanced at his phone. "Phi's found something in the historical records. Dre wants us back now."
My thoughts returned to those ancient masks with their one-way energy flow. They were beautifully crafted deceptions that had fooled their collectors for generations. "Let's go," I said, taking Noah's hand. "Time to become the hunters."
CHAPTER 9
Dakota
The storm clouds gathering over New Orleans matched my darkening mood as I spread parade route maps across the dining room table. Dani and Noah had just finished briefing us on their discoveries at Galerie d'Obscurité, confirming what I'd begun to suspect. The Society members weren't behind the murders. But there had to be some kind of connection. Too many of the clues pointed to them and they went beyond finger pointing. I'd bet they were being manipulated alongside us.
The realization had sent us scrambling in different directions. Given the short time frame and what was on the line, we did something unheard of and separated. That way, we could each pursue individual threads of this increasingly tangled web.
"These modifications don't make any logical sense," I muttered as Jeff leaned over my shoulder. His familiar cologne momentarily grounded me.
Adèle jumped onto the table with her characteristic grace. Her sleek gray fur gleamed as she settled next to the map. Her blue eyes narrowed as she studied the documents. "The city planning commission would never approve these changeswithout serious pressure," she projected into our minds. Her mental voice carried a slight French accent that had developed since she first bonded with us.
"Which is exactly what happened," Jeff confirmed, pointing to a signature at the bottom of one document. "Commissioner Beauregard signed off on every single modification without the normal review process. He claimed 'emergency considerations' due to last year's carnival season incidents."
I ran my fingers along the altered route for the Krewe of Bacchus. "They're using our fear of another structural failure as cover to create something much worse." Rain began to patter against the windows, and thunder rumbled in the distance. I loved the weather this time of year.
"Look at this," Jeff said as he grabbed a red marker and connected the modified sections on the transparent overlay map that Phi had created. "If you trace the actual changes, it becomes clear someone had specific plans for this route."
