Gone: A Shadow Slayers Story (Shadow Slayers Stories Book 3)

by Nellie H. Steele

  “Nothing,” Michael grumbled.

  “Me either,” Damien confirmed.

  “No money either. So that’s just great. Okay, let me try to get the date at least. Perhaps that will jar something in our memories.”

  “Good luck,” Damien called after him as he trotted to the child on the corner.

  Damien eyed them as Michael approached the boy, speaking a few words to him. The child answered, Michael spoke again. After a moment, the child showed him the front of the paper. Michael stared at it, then spoke a few words before trotting back to where Damien waited.

  “Well?” Damien asked.

  “The date on the paper is December first, 1812,” Michael answered.

  “1812?” Damien questioned. “1812… 1812… why 1812? Why London? What did you want us to do, Celine?” Damien murmured.

  “Was Celine in London in 1812?”

  “I’m not sure. This is so frustrating. We have no idea why we’re here, where to go, what to do! Which begs the question: what the hell are we going to do?”

  “I have no idea. We have no information, no letter of introduction, no directions on where to go. This is a nightmare,” Michael said.

  Damien sighed. “We have to figure something out. Before we’re sleeping on the streets of London in 1812.” Panic laced Damien’s voice as the seriousness of their situation set in.

  Michael noted the alarm entering Damien’s voice. “All right, all right, just calm down. We need a place to sit down and think.” Michael glanced around for a suitable location.

  “The park,” Damien said. “St. James Park. We can go there, find a place to sit down, regroup, come up with a plan.”

  “Sounds good,” Michael agreed. “Do you know the way?”

  “If we walk toward the river, we should get to it,” Damien said. “At least I think so.”

  Using the palace and river as their guide, Michael and Damien hurried along the sidewalk. Within moments, they came to the park. They spotted a bench, hastening to it. “Okay, okay, okay. Think, Damien, think,” Damien muttered to himself. After a few moments, he threw his hands in the air, frustration forming. “Nothing, I have nothing. Ugh!”

  “Relax, we can figure this out,” Michael assured him. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Ummmm,” Damien paused. “Uh, I’m not sure. My memory is so hazy. It’s like I can’t remember. What about you?”

  Michael furrowed his brow, concentrating. “Uh, yeah, mine is hazy too. Wait, wait. Being at Alexander’s house? But I don’t remember why.”

  Damien gave his memory another try. “Yeah, okay, yes, I can remember being at Alexander’s. I think I can anyway. It may be a false memory because you said that. This is getting us nowhere!”

  “Okay, that’s fine. Like I said, calm down, we can figure this out.”

  “How do you propose we do that, Michael?” Damien queried. “I don’t have a magical wand to wave.”

  “No, I realize that,” Michael answered. “But we can talk through this and figure something out. We need a plan. It doesn’t have to work, but we have to try something until it does.”

  Damien puffed out a deep exhale. “Okay,” Damien said, rubbing his hands on his thighs.

  “Okay, now,” Michael said, “if Celine was in London, where would she be? Do you know where she typically stayed when she was here?”

  “Umm,” Damien said, his voice trembling as he considered it. “No, I never discussed London with Celine. I don’t…” His voice trailed off.

  “What?” Michael prompted, realizing Damien was vetting an idea in his head.

  “I never discussed London with Celine, but I did discuss it with Alexander. He mentioned it during one of our chess games. The Buckleys had an estate here before they moved to the States. They also had a house in London. Where did he say it was? I can’t remember!” Damien exclaimed.

  “Okay, okay, that’s good. We just need to find the house. Just relax, think. What prompted the conversation between you? Try to remember what you were discussing, perhaps that will help you recall where the house is located.”

  Damien muttered, “Uh… we were talking about… uh… his house! We were talking about him building his house! He said he patterned it off the estate here. I asked him if he stayed there when he traveled, and he said not always. Many times, he’d stay in the London house. Which was on…” Damien paused, deep in thought. “Which was on… on… on Canterbury Way!” Damien snapped his fingers, beaming and staring at Michael. “That’s it! Canterbury Way!”

  “Great job, buddy!” Michael exclaimed. “New plan: we find Canterbury Way, figure out which house belongs to the Buckleys and hope somebody is home!”

  “Wow, that is the worst plan ever, but okay, let’s go!” They stood from the bench. “Do you know the way?”

  “No! Why would I know the way?”

  Damien shrugged. “You’ve been to London before, right?”

  “Yeah. In the twenty-first century with a chauffeured car. I have no idea where Canterbury Way is or how to get there.”

  Damien frowned. “Dang. Oh well, we’ll ask for directions along the way and ask about the Buckleys when we get closer. Perhaps someone will be familiar with them.”

  As they exited the park, they stopped a well-dressed gentleman to inquire about Canterbury Way. They were fortunate to find he was familiar with the street, giving them directions to it. Twenty minutes later they arrived at their location. “That wasn’t too bad,” Damien said when they spotted the Canterbury Way sign.

  “Good thing. It’s starting to get dark,” Michael replied.

  “You afraid of the dark?” Damien joked.

  “No, but I don’t want to be on the streets of London with Jack the Ripper.” Damian made a face at Michael. “What?” Michael asked.

  “Jack the Ripper isn’t around now. He operated in the late 1800s. Plus, he killed prostitutes, so I think we’re safe.”

  “Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t want to be sleeping on the streets of London.”

  “There are only a few houses on this street. Perhaps this will be easy.”

  “What do you suggest we do? Knock on every door?”

  “No, but maybe if we hang around, we’ll spot Alexander or Gray or Celine. Or we can ask someone if they come along.”

  “I hope someone comes along soon. It’s getting cold!” Michael complained.

  They waited a few minutes, parading up and down the street, searching for any clues. They found none. Another few moments passed before Damien spotted a man walking down the street. Not wanting to miss him, Damien hurried toward him, shouting, “Excuse me, sir? Sir?”

  “Yes?” the man answered.

  “Sorry to disturb you, but I was hoping you could help us. We’re trying to find a friend’s home. Perhaps you can help us. His name is Alexander Buckley. His home is on Canterbury Way, however, I’ve forgotten the address. Do you know it?”

  “Ah, Buckley, yes. Alexander, did you say? Yes, Edgar and Abigail’s son, if I recall. Their home is number four,” he said, pointing down the street. “It’s near the end.”

  “Number four, yes, that’s right! Thank you so much, sir.”

  “Quite welcome, sir. I do hope you enjoy your visit to our country.”

  “Thank you!” Damien answered as they both said their good nights to the kind gentleman, allowing him to enter his home.

  “Number four Canterbury Way, here we come,” Michael said as the man disappeared from their earshot.

  “I’m crossing my fingers Celine is here and we can get some perspective on what we’re doing here,” Damien said as they continued down the street.

  “Yeah, me too,” Michael agreed as they approached the steps leading to the house. “Especially since we don’t have any letters of introduction. We’re going to need someone to vouch for us. Perhaps we should ask for Alexander. The guy we talked to seemed to know his name.”

  “Good idea. That’s probably the safest bet.”


  They climbed the steps, using the door knocker. Michael wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. A white-haired gentleman opened the door, inquiring if he could help them.

  “Hello. Michael and Damien Carlyle to see Alexander Buckley,” Michael answered, using their usual ruse for time travel of being brothers.

  “Please come in, I shall inform him you have arrived. Are you expected?”

  “Ah,” Michael hesitated, as they entered the foyer “I am not sure if he received our correspondence. We did write.” He glanced to Damien, who gave him a slight nod, encouraging his ruse.

  “If you’ll wait here, gentlemen,” the man said, signaling a sitting room to the left, “I shall inform Mr. Buckley.”

  “Thank you,” Michael answered as they entered the sitting room.

  They waited a few moments. Damien bounced his leg on the ground as he sat perched on the edge of the settee near the fireplace. “Is it hot in here or is it me?” Damien asked, pulling at his collar before the door opened.

  Alexander appeared through the other side from where they had entered. Damien leapt to his feet. “Gentlemen,” Alexander greeted them, “how may I help you?”

  Relief coursed through Damien. “Oh, Alexander, are we glad to see you,” he said, beaming at him. “We are in terrible trouble.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Alexander answered. “Although, I am not sure how I may be of help. I’m not quite sure why you’ve sought me out.”

  “Well,” Damien began, “I remembered you telling me about the house in London. So, when we found ourselves here, we figured it was our best option. We don’t remember why we’re here or what we’re doing here, but maybe Celine can help us.”

  “I told you about the house?” Alexander questioned, confusion entering his voice.

  “Yes,” Damien confirmed. “Is Celine here?”

  “Gentlemen, my apologies, but I am baffled by your request and your statements.”

  Damien issued a confused look to Michael, who returned the expression. “Alexander, we’re as confused as you are. I’m sorry we don’t have more information to share. We’re at a loss here.”

  Alexander continued to eye them with suspicion. “You stated I told you about the London house. Yet, I cannot understand how. Gentlemen, we’ve never met before.”

  Damien’s jaw dropped. He furrowed his brow, glancing at Michael then back to Alexander. “Uh, you don’t remember us?”

  “I do not, and I am quite good with faces. Perhaps you might remind me of when and where we met?” he suggested.

  “Uh,” Damien murmured, collecting his thoughts. “1791,” Damien stated, “Bucksville, Maine. Uh, no, Massachusetts then. At your family’s estate. We were visiting Celine. She was calling herself Mina then.”

  “Odd,” Alexander said, placing a finger on his chin in contemplation.

  “What is?” Michael asked.

  “I do not recall meeting you at my uncle’s estate. And who is the woman you are referring to? You’ve mentioned her several times now.”

  “Celine,” Damien said, expecting a response and receiving none. “Grayson’s wife, Celine.”

  Alexander’s face was a mask of confusion. “Grayson’s wife? As in my cousin, Grayson?”

  “Yes!” Damien exclaimed.

  “Impossible! My cousin, Grayson, is not married.”

  “What?” Damien asked, incredulous. He stared at Michael, shock on his face. “No, no, no, no, no.” Damien murmured as he ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Sorry,” Michael apologized, “my brother is flustered by your news. The last time we saw Celine, she was married to Gray. We were at the Buckley manor in Bucksville. What happened since then? I realize it’s been years, but I was under the impression that Celine and Gray remained together.”

  Alexander’s confusion grew. He shook his head. “Mr. Carlyle, my cousin has never been married. Not to a woman named Celine or anyone else. I’m sorry, I’ve little idea what you two are talking about. I wish I could be of more assistance, but I cannot make heads or tails out of your story.”

  Damien whipped around to face Alexander. “Do you know a woman named Celine Devereaux? She’s from Martinique. Blonde hair, blue eyes, pretty.”

  Alexander studied him, then responded, “Yes, I am acquainted with a woman fitting that description. She no longer uses that name since her marriage.”

  “Her marriage?” Damien questioned.

  “To someone other than Gray?” Michael inquired further.

  “Yes,” Alexander confirmed.

  “Who is she married to?” Michael asked.

  “Marcus Northcott,” Alexander answered.

  Chapter 14

  Damien’s jaw dropped at the bombshell admission. He stared at Michael, trying to make sense of it. “Oh, no. I need to sit down,” Damien said, plopping onto the couch.

  “Are you all right? May I offer you a drink?” Alexander asked.

  “Please,” Damien breathed.

  Alexander poured and offered him a brandy, doing the same for Michael. “Gentlemen, there seems to be some miscommunication. You are either very confused or something very strange is happening. Perhaps you should begin again, leaving nothing out.”

  Damien gulped his brandy, his hands shaking. Michael began filling in the story. “It’s complicated. We are friends of Celine’s, at least I assume we are.” He knit his brows, trying to explain the story in a way that made sense. “We…”

  Damien interrupted him. “We’re not from this century. We’re from the future. We are aware of what you are, what Celine is, Gray, the Duke, all of you. We’ve traveled back several times to the past courtesy of Celine, who is Celine Devereaux Buckley where we’re from, and her ability to open time portals. Once we traveled to Martinique and we helped her steal a book from Marcus Northcott, the Book of the Dead. We used it to banish him from the earth. Another time we traveled to the year 1791. We helped Celine find her painting, the one Benjamin Abbott painted that captured a piece of her soul. Marcus Northcott stole it and we helped her retrieve it. Now, every time we’ve time traveled before, we’ve remembered the events leading up to it, why we were there and what we needed to do. This time we have no idea how we got here or why we’re here. We have no memory of Celine sending us here. And now you’re telling us Celine isn’t even Celine. Celine is married to the Duke, which can’t be true because we saved her from him back in Martinique. After that, she should have met and married Gray, traveled to America, had a portrait painted of her, left to go to Dunhaven, Scotland, et cetera, et cetera.”

  Alexander’s eyes were wide. “That is a most interesting tale, Damien. Although, some of it may be factual, I don’t believe Grayson has even met the Duchess Northcott. I can assure you Celine Northcott has never been to Bucksville. You and I have never met. And I don’t believe anyone has ever gotten close to the Book of the Dead, other than when they’ve sold their souls to Duke Northcott. That covers all of it, if I’m correct. Now, gentlemen, I do not understand the reason for your tales but…”

  “They aren’t tales!” Damien shouted. “We need your help!”

  “You mentioned being aware of what I am, what Celine is, what Gray is. What did you mean?”

  “You guys have supernatural powers. You’re a warlock.”

  “And how did you come to this knowledge?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “You ask for my assistance but refuse to give me any details?”

  “I’m related to Celine. Sort of. It’s complicated. Where we come from, she’s different. She knows us well. She introduced us to all of this supernatural stuff.”

  “I see.”

  “Look, Damien’s right,” Michael confirmed. “We really need help. We’re floundering here. Everything we know you’re telling us isn’t true. We have no idea why we’re here.”

  “And the only way we can get back to where we’re from is with Celine’s help. Oh, unless you can open a time portal?” Damien inquired, hope lingering i
n his voice.

  “I’m sorry. I regret to inform you I do not have that ability. Few people do.”

  “So, we’re stuck here,” Damien moaned.

  “Unless you can take us to Celine and convince her to help us,” Michael proposed to Alexander.

  “Take you to Celine? That’s quite a tall order! I doubt the Duchess Northcott would entertain a call from me, let alone a request for help!”

  “You said you were acquainted with her!” Michael insisted.

  “I have met her on a few occasions. Acquainted, yes. However, we do not move in the same social circles. She sips tea with the Queen! Heavens, she’ll likely be queen one day. Perhaps I could arrange for you to meet her, but that is as much as we could hope to achieve. A favor, likely not. Duke Northcott and my family are not on the best of terms. I doubt his wife would entertain the idea of helping me or anyone in my company.”

  “We have to try!” Damien cried.

  “He’s right,” Michael agreed. “We can’t stay here. We aren’t from this century, we have nowhere to go. We don’t even have any money to get by until we figure out a plan. We need help and in order to return to where we’re from, we need Celine.”

  Alexander considered the conversation, studying them both. “All right, I’ll help you,” he agreed. “There is something quite odd about all of this, yet I cannot help but feel as though you are being truthful.”

  Damien breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said, slumping onto the couch again.

  “I cannot promise anything. But we shall try.”

  “That’s all we can ask,” Michael said. “Thank you.”

  “We’ll call upon Duchess Northcott tomorrow. Let’s determine how she reacts to your presence. For now, I shall have rooms made up for you to stay.”

  “Thank you,” Damien answered.

  “Yeah, we really appreciate this,” Michael added.

  Alexander exited the room. Michael collapsed onto the couch next to Damien. “Wow,” he exclaimed. “This is…”

  “Bad,” Damien finished for him.