Page 49 of Mardi Gras Murders & Midnight Masquerades
“Love you more, Sunshine.”
“Not possible,” I retorted as we continued our search.
This time we followed Phi's tracker to several more locations connected to the historical murders Lia and Lucas had discovered in Payne's cold cases. We hadn’t expected it, but each site contained a similar medallion. Each was embedded with Delacroix's signature magic. There went that theory. All of the murders would play into the ritual.
As we approached the final location—an unassuming herb shop tucked between tourist traps on Dumaine Street—the tracker suddenly flared with multiple signatures. There were red and several colors we hadn't seen before. "Someone's inside," Noah whispered. His enhanced senses pickedup movements beyond the shop's drawn curtains where I couldn’t. "Someone magical."
The doorswung open before we could retreat. A petite woman with silver-white hair and piercing dark eyes regarded us coolly from the threshold. Despite her diminutive stature, power radiated from her in palpable waves. "I was wondering when one of you would find me," she said in a voice that carried the weight of decades. "Come inside, Danielle Smith. You and your wolf are expected."
Noah tensed beside me. I had no idea what was happening here, but I wanted to find out. I placed a restraining hand on his arm. I hadn't detected malicious intent. Though her magical signature was unlike anything I'd encountered before.
"Who are you?" I asked, remaining on the sidewalk.
"Someone who has watched Armand Delacroix's machinations for longer than you've been alive," she replied. "My name is Elspeth Blackwood. I'm one of the few who remember the first ritual."
Curiosity overrode caution. We followed her into a shop that smelled of dried herbs, old books, and the unmistakable tang of protective magic. Every surface was covered with bottles, bundles of plants, and ancient texts. She also had to have an aversion charm on the place because none of the tourists outside seemed to notice the place existed.
"You've been tracking his magical signatures," Elspeth observed, gesturing to Phi's device. "Clever, but insufficient. Delacroix leaves false trails and misdirection. He has had a lot of years to cover all his bases."
"You know him," I said. It wasn't a question.
"I fought him," she corrected as she pulled back her sleeve to reveal a scar. It matched the sigils foundon recent victims. "I survived what his other chosen sacrifices did not."
Noah's eyes narrowed. "You were meant to be one of his vessels."
Elspeth nodded and poured tea into delicate cups without asking if we wanted any. "The seventh vessel, to be precise. The channeler. Every ritual requires six specific magical signatures plus a seventh who can direct their combined power. I was to be his conduit in 1923."
"But you escaped," I surmised.
"I disrupted the ritual," she clarified. "Cost him fifty years of preparation and nearly destroyed him in the process. He's been rebuilding his strength ever since with the Society as his unwitting battery."
I glanced at Noah, whose subtle nod confirmed he detected no deception in her words. "Why are you telling us this?" I asked.
"Because I believe you and your sisters can stop him." She pointed to me. "You, Danielle Smith, are his chosen channeler for this cycle. Your sisters provide the unique magical signatures he requires, but you—with your ability to absorb and interpret the essence of things—you are the vessel meant to contain and direct their power. Before you ask. A few of your sisters bring two powers. He plans to split their souls and place them in vessels around his circle."
A chill ran through me. "How can you be sure?"
"Because your ability mirrors my own." Elspeth touched my hand briefly, and I felt a faint echo of psychometry. It was similar to mine but refined through decades of practice. "Receptivity to energy, to memory, to essence makes the perfect conduits for his immortality ritual."
"What does he need from his victims?" Noah asked.
"They need to be aligned with the ancient forces of creation, destruction, transformation, protection, perception,projection, and communion. The last is reception. That’s the vessel that unites them all." She poured more tea with steady hands. "Your sisters each embody one of the seven forces."
"Then why target six witches?" I asked. "If he needs eight positions in total?"
"Historically, he has targeted eight. It was only after the prophecy of six that he changed tactics," Elspeth replied. "Delacroix’s centuries of accumulated power form the capstone of the ritual."
I absorbed this information, my mind racing. "How do we stop him?"
"The same way I did." Elspeth pulled an ancient book from beneath the counter. "By turning his own ritual against him. The eighth position—the channeler—is both the strongest and weakest link in his design. If the channeler redirects the energy flow at the crucial moment..."
"The ritual collapses," I finished.
"And threatens to consume the mage himself," Elspeth confirmed. "It nearly worked last time. With six of you working together, you might succeed where I failed."
Noah leaned forward. "What happened in 1923? Why didn't it destroy him completely?"
A shadow crossed Elspeth's face. "I underestimated his contingency plans. He had prepared a secondary vessel. It was an emergency transfer point for his soul. When the ritual collapsed, he abandoned his primary host and fled to this backup. He disappeared for many years because he was greatly weakened."
