“You done struck him!” Marjani screamed at a laughing Marie Laveau.
“Did I?” Marie chortled. “Maybe a blow to the head will put him right.”
“How could you do such a thing?” Marjani cried, kneeling down next to Punch. She looked up at Barbara Allen’s slumped figure and shouted, “And you, have you no sympathy for your own brother?”
Barbara only babbled incoherently.
Marjani ran her fingers across Julian’s head, looking for injury or traces of blood, but found none.
“That ain’t good. That ain’t good.” Marjani muttered. She knew that if Julian had not been visibly hurt, chances were that he was injured internally.
“You can have him now.” Marie snorted. “Take him out of here.”
Marjani, as she’d done before, lifted Julian’s body in her arms and carried him away from the fire. Her small frame didn’t strain under the weight of the man. Once again, she showed a strength that one would never expect from her.
“Go on!” Marie snarled. “Take him from here. I got what I needed from him.”
Marjani wondered if Marie thought that Julian was dead. Either way, she wasn’t going to argue.
“You’ll come back to us,” Marjani whispered to Julian’s limp body. “From wherever you are.”
Marjani would never have guessed where Julian was. While Mr. Punch yelped and whimpered in confusion from his lonely spot somewhere inside Julian’s body, Julian—or his spirit, or thoughts, at least—were elsewhere guided by an unlikely presence, Albert, the Prince Consort.
Prince Albert looked wearily at Julian who strained to hear what was going on outside of him.
“I asked you a question, Your Grace,” The Prince snapped.
“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Julian replied politely. “I’m attempting to assess the situation outside.”
“That doesn’t matter presently.” Albert barked.
“I fear that it does. I suspect something has gone awry.”
“More has gone awry in here than out there. Now, will you answer my question?”
“Will you repeat it?”
“Are you ready to move forward?”
“I suppose. You said that in order to do so, I’ll need to go backward. You’re not suggesting something tawdry like revisiting the people and places of my past, are you?”
“In a manner of speaking.” The Prince grinned.
“Like Mr. Dickens and his Ebenezer Scrooge? Such sentiment failed to move me ten years ago when I first saw it. Do you think I’ll be moved by it now? Are you a spirit, Your Majesty?”
“I detect an attempt at humor.” Albert smirked. “When I was a boy, I was often given over to humor. I enjoyed trickery and jokes.”
“And, now?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.” Julian replied softly.
“And you should be. However, your apology should come, not for your humor, but for being a liar.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir.”
“A liar, I said. How many times in the last decade have you secretly re-read those pages by Mr. Dickens? Do you not weep for poor Scrooge? Are you not overjoyed when he hoists the boy upon his shoulders and promises to be true in his life? Are you not, yourself, Scrooge? No, you’re not, perhaps, a miser with your wealth. In fact, if anything, you’re far too generous. You, Sir, are a miser with something far more precious than gold. You are a miser of spirit and affection. That’s a sin far greater than greed.”
“I had never given it thought, Your Majesty.”
“And, now, you shall.” Prince Albert grinned. “Whether you like it or not. Follow me.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-343? If so, you can read them here.
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