Page 45 of Mardi Gras Murders & Midnight Masquerades
The staircase spiraled downward. It wasn’t nearly as big as the last one we went down. It didn’t take long to reach the bottom. Three tunnels branched off of our location. We took the one on the right and found a circular chamber carved from bedrock beneath the cemetery. It was austere, functional, and clearly designed for work.
A massive stone desk dominated the center. It was covered with ancient texts. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound journals arranged chronologically. How many places did this man set up a workshop?
I scanned the glass cases that displayed artifacts. Each hummed with dark energy. There were also vials of what appeared to be blood, ceremonial daggers, and fragments of masks. "This looks more like an archive," I observed. "Maybe it’s his personal record of everything he's done."
"That sounds about right. Look at these," Payne said, gesturing to the journals. "They're dated from 1723."
I carefully lifted the oldest journal. Its leather binding cracked with age. The handwriting was elegant and precise. The ink was also faded to a rusty brown.
"September 3, 1723," I read aloud. "Today marks the beginning of my greatest work. New Orleans is but an infant city, raw with potential and power. The confluence of ley lines makes it the perfect canvas for my ambitions. I have begun gathering like-minded individuals. Fools who believe they seek knowledge when in fact they will serve as the foundation for my ascension."
"The Society," Lucas murmured.
Icontinued reading. "December 15, 1723. The Society of the Masked has been officially formed. It has started with twenty-three members. Each believing they stand at the threshold of occult enlightenment. How easily they accept my guidance, never questioning why their rituals drain rather than empower them."
Payne pulled down another journal from 1830. "He documents the murders here. Names, dates, and... the power signatures he harvested from each victim. I don’t think I will ever get used to this world."
"Look at this," Lucas called, standing before a large parchment map. Red pins marked locations throughout the city. They were connected by lines of black thread that formed an elaborate web.
"It's his murder map," I said. "Each pin represents a killing, and the threads show how they connect to form his ritual circuit."
"There are so many lines you can’t see through the yarn," Lucas observed, pointing to the colored threads.
I pulled down several more volumes. Each confirmed Delacroix had been killing to elongate his life far more often than every fifty years. Those years were his attempt to ascend and gain immortality.
"Listen to this," I said, reading from an 1865 entry. "'The Society has paid dividends I never anticipated. Through it, I've discovered how to combine magical traditions previously thought incompatible. The process is unstable—requiring more frequent sacrifices—but the results repair my deteriorating flesh far more effectively than previous methods. The masks I create for them are perfect conduits, siphoning their power while leaving them with just enough to maintain their devotion.'"
I turned several journals ahead and found an entry dated 1975 that made my blood run cold. "'Today I glimpsed the future through a scrying ritual of unprecedented power. Sixflames burning as one, six vessels united in magical ability unlike any I have encountered. They do not yet exist, but they will come. When they do, my centuries of preparation will finally bear fruit. The vessels I have sought for so long will manifest in a family of witches whose combined power will complete my ascension’."
"He saw us coming," I whispered. "Decades before we even had our powers."
My phone buzzed with a call from Dre. "Lia, get back here now," her voice was tight. "Society members are trying to break through our wards. They're after the mask."
"Shit. We'll be right there," I promised, my heart racing as I shoved journals into my bag. "How bad is it?"
"Just hurry," she said before ending the call.
Lucas and I exchanged alarmed glances as we gathered as many of Delacroix's journals as we could carry. These records contained centuries of his planning and could be the key to stopping him. "I want to offer my assistance," Payne said as we climbed the stairs. "But I know better. Call me later and let me know you’re alright. I’ll keep looking for information and secure the scene."
"Be careful," I warned him. "There could be traps we haven't triggered."
"After twenty years on the force in New Orleans, I've seen enough to know what I'm up against." He checked his weapon and nodded. "Go."
With a nod, we raced out into the night air. It was shockingly fresh after the stale atmosphere of the underground chamber. The cemetery's marble tombs gleamed eerily in the moonlight as we sprinted toward Lucas's truck.
Lucas practically threw me in the passenger seat and was behind the wheel before I could buckle. He gunned the engine and peeled out with a squeal of his tires. He weaved through the narrow streets of the French Quarter with thepracticed precision of someone who knew every back alley in the city.
"Call the others," he instructed, eyes fixed on the road as he took a corner at alarming speed. "Find out exactly what we're driving into."
I dialed Dani, who answered on the first ring. "How many are there?" I asked without preamble, bracing myself against the dashboard as Lucas accelerated onto the highway.
"Fifteen Society members at the edge of the property line. The wards are holding, but they're using void magic to create gaps."
"We'll be there in ten. Maybe less with the way Lucas is driving," I replied and hung up.
We made it in eight minutes. His headlights illuminated a chaotic standoff. Robed figures surrounded our property. They were channeling power and throwing it against our magical barriers. My sisters stood in defensive formation with Kota at the center, her arms covered in iridescent scales.
Lucas and I leapt from the truck and ran to join my sisters. Waves of corrupted magic battered against our plantation's wards. Each pulse sent ripples of sickly green light fracturing through the air. I gathered my power in my palms and took my place in our defensive formation.
