Adrienne rose and rushed to her husband. “Were you able to find them?”
“We didn’t get to Charles or Barbara,” Cecil shook his head.
“You didn’t retrieve Lady Barbara?” Agnes Rittenhouse gasped.
“No,” Cecil snarled, lowering his eyes at Julian’s former nanny. “We didn’t make it that far.”
“That’s terrible.” Agnes began.
“Aren’t you at all concerned about your other former charge?” Cecil grumbled.
“Oh,” Agnes sniffed. “Did His Grace get himself into a scrape again? Foolish boy.”
Cecil began to speak, but was interrupted as Robert and Marjani carried the limp body of the Duke of Fallbridge into the parlor.
“Mon Dieu!” Adrienne whispered upon seeing Julian’s face, his pale skin offset by the growing bruise on his temple. “What’s happened?”
“Marie Laveau struck him.” Robert responded.
“With a rock.” Marjani added.
“Get that bitch out of here,” Robert snapped, gesturing with his chin to Agnes Rittenhouse. “I’ll not have him see her when he awakens.”
“Miss Rittenhouse, perhaps you can retire to the library…” Adrienne began.
“I’’ll show you the way,” Cecil smirked.
“No!” Robert spat as he and Marjani lowered Julian onto a low, plush sofa. “I want her out of the house.”
“But, Sir, I can be of assistance,” Agnes squawked.
“I highly doubt that.” Robert growled.
“Come with me,” Cecil ordered.
“I will not leave, unattended with a gentleman.” Agnes replied icily.
“Just what do you think I’ll do to you?” Cecil laughed.
“I’ll take you,” Adrienne interrupted. “You’ll be quite comfortable in the library.”
“Hurry, my dear.” Cecil whispered to his wife.
“I will.” Adrienne nodded.
Once Agnes had left the room, Robert loosened Julian’s cravat and collar. “Why hasn’t he regained consciousness yet?”
“He’s fighting a terrible battle,” Marjani shook her head.
“To come back to us.” Robert muttered.
“Yes,” Marjani nodded. “But, also, Sir, to come back to himself.”
Robert brushed his fingers against Julian’s forehead, moving Julian’s chestnut hair.
“I wish I could help him,” Robert mumbled.
“Only he can help his own self right now.” Marjani whispered.
At that very moment, inside his own body, in a world of his own creation—a world built on ghosts and memory—Julian snarled at the specter of his mother.
“Let the boy go.” Julian demanded as he pointed at the frightened, suffering image of himself as a child.
“Never,” The Duchess shook her head. “He’s mine—forever. You will always be powerless against me. Always.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Julian said, stiffening his back. “Don’t be so sure.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-347? If so, you can read them here.
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