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

by Nellie H. Steele

  “Yep,” Michael agreed.

  “Perhaps once we meet Celine, it’ll take a turn for the better.”

  “Man, I hope so,” Michael added.

  Within a few moments, Alexander returned to show them to their rooms. They agreed to get some sleep and hoped tomorrow brought better news. Neither of them could recall any additional details about why they were sent here, nor the events leading up to their visit.

  Damien tossed and turned most of the night, sleeping off and on. He arose early the next morning, pacing the floor of his room. A light knock sounded at his door. He rushed to open it, finding Michael on the opposite side.

  “Hey,” Michael greeted him, stepping into the room. “Did I wake you? I couldn’t sleep.”

  “No, I was awake. Couldn’t sleep either. None of this makes sense. I keep replaying everything over and over in my head and nothing adds up.”

  “Yeah, same. And there’s so many questions. Why 1812? Why London? How the hell did Celine marry the Duke? And what are we supposed to do here?”

  “I’m not sure,” Damien answered. “Was Celine aware this was going to happen and sent us back without instructions in some kind of rushed panic?”

  “Do you remember anything like that?”

  Damien reflected for a moment. He shook his head. “No, nope. Nothing.”

  “Okay, okay, let’s start with what we do remember and try to work forward. Perhaps then we’ll have an easier time remembering.”

  “Good idea. What’s the last thing you remember clearly?” Damien inquired.

  “You brought up going to 1791 to retrieve Celine’s painting. I remember that, do you?”

  “Yes. Yes, I remember that. I remember that painter. The painting at the barn. The Duke broke Abbott’s hand. Celine pulled a second Celine from a mirror and we stole the painting from the Duke’s bedroom. And we hid it in another painting.”

  “Right. Ships in the Harbor! That’s how I remember it too. And then the Duke caught us, and we thought we were doomed. Or at least, I did. Then Celine hit him with a fireball, and we ran.”

  “Yeah, and she met us a few minutes later and sent us home.”

  Damien nodded in agreement. “Then what?” Damien paced the floor, deep in thought. “We told everyone we found the painting.”

  Michael considered it. “Yeah… no! Wait!”

  “What is it?” Damien questioned.

  “Was everyone there? We were in the unused wing. In that room the kids took us to when we first arrived at the house.”

  “I remember Gray,” Damien paused. “And Alexander.”

  “Yes, I remember both of them too. But where was Celine? She wasn’t there.”

  Damien pondered. “She wasn’t?”

  Michael reflected again. “No, I don’t remember her being there.”

  “Where would she have been?” Damien questioned.

  Michael paused. “Gone. She was gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “No one knew. Gray said she went missing right after we left. That same night.”

  Damien shook his head. “No,” he paused. “No… oh wait. Wait, yes. Yes, you’re correct. Celine wasn’t there. She was missing.”

  “Right. Then what?”

  “I’m not sure,” Damien admitted.

  “Me either,” Michael replied. “Umm.”

  A knock sounded at the door. Damien opened the door. “Good morning,” Alexander greeted him. “I hope you slept well.”

  “Good morning,” Damien answered, standing aside to allow him to enter the room. “The accommodations were most suitable, yes. Thank you.”

  “Ah, and Michael. Good morning.”

  “Good morning. Yes, we were just… brainstorming what happened, the best way to proceed.”

  “Ah,” Alexander responded. “I hope I am able to assist you. However, I must admit I am quite at a loss.”

  “So are we,” Damien informed him.

  “My cousin, Grayson, arrived in the wee hours of the morning. It may help if you recount your tale to him. Perhaps we can solve something that way.”

  “Gray’s here?” Damien asked.

  “It’s not a tale,” Michael added before Alexander responded.

  “Yes, Gray is here. If you’d like to join us for breakfast, you can relay the information to him.”

  “We’d be happy to,” Damien answered. “Lead the way.”

  Alexander showed them to the dining room downstairs. Gray sat at the dining table. He rose as they entered the room. “Gray, may I present Michael and Damien Carlyle? These are the men I told you about earlier.”

  “Grayson Buckley,” Gray introduced himself, extending his hand. “A pleasure.” Michael and Damien each shook his hand. “My cousin tells me you have quite a unique story.”

  “Please help yourselves to breakfast,” Alexander said, signaling to food on the sideboard. “We can discuss this over our meal.”

  Michael and Damien helped themselves, sitting at the table across from Alexander and Gray. “So, what is this story?” Gray inquired.

  “Ah, well,” Michael began, glancing around the table. “We don’t come from this era. Where we come from, we know you, all of you. But things are different there.”

  “That sounds sufficiently vague. Care to give any details?”

  Damien chimed in, “We’re from the future. I realize how crazy that might sound, but it’s true. We’re very good friends with Celine. She’s sent us into the past twice already. Both times we’ve remembered why we were there and had a clear goal to achieve. This time we don’t remember the events leading up to this or what we’re supposed to do here.”

  “Tell Gray about the scenario you explained to me regarding Celine,” Alexander requested.

  “About who she’s married to?” Damien inquired.

  “Yes.”

  “Where we come from Celine is married to you, Gray. She’s been married to you for a long while,” Damien explained.

  “Me?” Gray questioned; his eyes wide.

  “Yes,” Damien answered.

  Gray roared with laughter. “I’ve never even met the woman. Nor do I imagine I would care for her at all if I did.”

  “But…” Damien began.

  “Any woman who can marry a man like Marcus Northcott would not be my cup of tea.”

  “I don’t understand how that happened either, but it’s plausible. That night she became…” he paused, searching for the words, “a witch was horrible for her.”

  Gray stared at Damien, unimpressed with the explanation. “Regardless, as is obvious, we are not married and never will be. This fantasy you have created, while you may find it amusing, is pointless.”

  “It’s not a fantasy,” Michael countered.

  “It is not reality,” Gray argued.

  “In either case,” Alexander chimed in, “something must be done to assist you gentlemen to return to your proper place.”

  “Thanks,” Damien said. “We appreciate your help. When do we leave to visit Celine?”

  “You’re taking them to meet her?” Gray questioned.

  “Yes. I promised to pay a call, allowing them to meet her.”

  “That is unwise,” Gray counseled.

  “I couldn’t see how it could hurt,” Alexander argued. “If my sources are correct, she accepts visits today between one and three in the afternoon. We shall try at half-past one.”

  “Great,” Damien answered, finishing his breakfast. “We’ll work on trying to remember more in the meantime. Perhaps it will help when we speak with Celine.”

  “Please feel free to use the sitting room. It should be available for the better part of the morning,” Alexander informed them.

  “Thanks,” Damien answered. He and Michael stood and left the room, making their way to the sitting room where they met Alexander the night before.

  “Interesting pair,” Gray remarked as they departed.

  “Their story is fascinating,” Alexander answered.


  “And untrue.”

  “They disagree.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Insane people tend to believe their stories are true.”

  “They don’t seem insane.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Gray replied.

  “There is something about them that intrigues me. Something that draws me to believe them.”

  Gray rolled his eyes. “You are too kind, Alexander. You aren’t serious about calling on Duchess Northcott, are you?”

  “I am.”

  “Alexander, this is madness. You cannot set foot in that house.”

  “I realize the danger; however, Duke Northcott should not be at home.”

  “This is foolish,” Gray warned.

  “That may be, but as I said, something about them draws me to want to help.”

  “Be careful, cousin. Those two may draw you further into trouble than you’d prefer.”

  “I will, Gray. Thank you.”

  Chapter 15

  Michael collapsed on the couch in the sitting room. “That went well,” he stated. “Why, no matter what happens, does that guy dislike us?”

  Damien took a seat across from him in an armchair, shaking his head. “Gray? No idea.”

  “Yeah, Gray. ‘Your fantasy is pointless.’” Michael imitated.

  “What could have happened? How were we not there to help Celine?” Damien questioned.

  “I’m not sure,” Michael admitted. “Did the Duke change history again?”

  Damien considered it for a moment. “How? Did he stop us from meeting her at all when she was sixteen? Why don’t we remember it?”

  “Our memories aren’t too good these days.”

  “Good point,” Damien conceded. “Let’s try to work on that again.”

  “Okay,” Michael agreed. “Where did we leave off?”

  “We established that Celine was missing.”

  “Right. Gray said she had been missing for days. No one had seen her or heard from her.”

  Damien pushed his mind to recall the moment. “Yes, right! She left a note that she was going to see Celeste.”

  “Yes, that’s right!” Michael exclaimed, sitting straighter. “They said they talked to Celeste, and she didn’t know anything. She thought Celine went home right after speaking with her. You didn’t believe her, and you and Alexander went to speak with Celeste.”

  Damien nodded. “That’s right. That’s right. I went to talk to Celeste. She told me the same story. So, what happened? Did we find Celine? We must have, otherwise, how are we here?”

  Michael pondered it a few moments, rising from the couch to pace around the room. “We were at Alexander’s a lot. Something was wrong with you.”

  “With me?” Damien questioned.

  “Yeah. I can’t remember what, but everyone was always fussing over your health. Why?”

  They spent the remainder of the morning trying to piece together the mysterious illness that plagued Damien as they searched for Celine. They were unable to do so even after hours of discussion. Their memories continued to be hazy and seemed to be returning in bits and pieces. They gave up as Alexander entered, inviting them to lunch. They planned to leave for the Northcotts’ following the meal.

  Damien picked at his food, finding it difficult to eat. Nervous butterflies filled his stomach. What would they find when they arrived at Celine’s new home? Would Celine remember them? Would the entire nightmare end? While it was unlikely things would change in an instant, Damien hoped against hope seeing Celine somehow magically helped their situation.

  Using borrowed cloaks, Michael and Damien followed Alexander as they wound through the streets of London on foot. Damien kept quiet, anxiety holding his tongue captive. Michael, too, remained untalkative, also nervous about the upcoming visit.

  As they neared the Northcott residence, Alexander informed them they may not even be granted an audience. “Duchess Northcott may recognize my name and find herself too busy to entertain,” he warned.

  “I hope not,” Damien mustered.

  “As do I, for your sakes,” Alexander answered. “Here we are.”

  They approached a stately home with several steps leading to the front door. Alexander climbed them, followed by Michael and Damien. He knocked at the door, giving his name to the butler who answered it. The butler showed them into a parlor off the foyer and asked them to wait. A large clock ticked away the time. Had it not been for the noise, Damien might have assumed time stopped. His leg bounced up and down with agitation. He placed his sweaty palms on his thighs, taking deep breaths to steady his nerves.

  Within fifteen minutes, Celine entered the room. Something seemed different about her, Damien noted. She carried herself rigidly, and the friendly countenance he was accustomed to seemed absent. “Mr. Buckley,” she stated in a crisp British accent, “this is a surprise.”

  “Duchess Northcott,” Alexander greeted her with a bow. “How kind of you to take the time for my request.”

  She offered him the briefest of smiles before perching on the couch across from Michael and Damien. “May I offer you tea?”

  “No, thank you, Duchess.”

  “Then may I ask the nature of your visit?”

  Damien watched the exchange with great interest. Celine was not acting like Celine. The accent alone was odd. When they first met Celine as a young woman in Martinique, she possessed a heavy French accent. When they visited her again in 1791, her accent had waned, replaced by an American one following her marriage to Gray. Damien had never heard her with a British accent. Moreover, she was formal and stiff, nothing like the Celine he knew.

  “I desired for you to make the acquaintance of my cousins, Mr. Michael Carlyle, and his younger brother, Mr. Damien Carlyle. They have traveled from the States with my other cousin, Grayson.”

  Celine glanced to the two men, holding her hand out, palm down. Damien stood to accept it, bowing to her. Michael followed his example.

  “How pleased I am to make your acquaintance,” Celine responded, her voice emotionless.

  “As we are to make yours,” Damien answered.

  “What business brings you to London, Mr. Carlyle?” Celine asked politely.

  “We need your help,” Damien answered.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” Celine responded.

  “If I may, Duchess,” Alexander interjected. “What my less than eloquent cousin means is we had hoped to ask a favor of you.”

  “A favor, Mr. Buckley?”

  “Yes. I understand how awkward this may appear; however, my cousins have a great desire to attend a formal London event. There is no one better than yourself to orchestrate an appropriate invitation.”

  Celine gave no indication of what crossed her mind, her face remaining expressionless. “You wish me to arrange an invitation for them to an upcoming social?”

  “Yes. As I said, I understand this request to be odd, however, you are undeniably the best person in London to speak with.”

  “It is odd, yes. However, as you stated, I am the best person in London to coordinate such an invitation.”

  “Then you’ll do it?” Damien asked, perching on the edge of his seat.

  “Are all Americans as forward as you, Mr. Carlyle?” Celine questioned.

  “He means no harm, Duchess,” Alexander explained. “He is merely overzealous.”

  “I see. Despite the odd nature of your request, I shall be happy to arrange an invitation.” She rose from the couch, stepping to a desk in front of a nearby window. She glanced through a small book there. “It appears Lord Blackburn is hosting a ball in honor of his now-eligible daughter. Will this suffice?”

  “Without doubt, it would be a most generous invitation,” Alexander stated.

  “I shall make the request of Lady Blackburn tomorrow. I will send word as soon as I’ve secured the invitation,” she said, snapping the book shut.

  “How gracious, Duchess Northcott. I am truly indebted to you.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Celin
e answered. “If there is nothing else, I have much correspondence to finish.”

  “There is not. We have taken enough of your time. Thank you for the honor of your gracious hospitality,” Alexander replied, bowing to her.

  “Good day, Mr. Buckley,” she responded.

  “Good day, Duchess Northcott,” he answered as she departed. Michael and Damien leapt to their feet, bowing as she left. “Come,” Alexander directed them, “we should return home.”

  They retrieved their overcoats from the butler before departing the house. As they strolled down the street away from the Northcotts’ residence, Damien began the conversation. “Okay, if no one else is going to say it, that was weird.”

  “Yeah, I agree,” Michael concurred.

  “She acted like a different person. I hardly recognized her. And what was with the accent?”

  “Right?!” Michael asked. “That’s new.”

  “Are you saying she is not, in fact, the woman you believed her to be?” Alexander questioned.

  “No, no,” Damien corrected. “That’s definitely Celine. But her behavior was unlike her.”

  “I found nothing unusual,” Alexander commented. “Although, as I said, we’re not well acquainted.”

  “Not just her accent, her posture and everything. So stiff and formal, so unlike our Celine,” Damien continued.

  “Yeah, even when we’ve seen her in the 1700s, she hasn’t acted like that,” Michael agreed.

  Damien pondered over it for another moment, before changing the subject. “Why did you divert the conversation when I asked for her help?” he inquired of Alexander.

  “Because it was wise to do so,” Alexander replied.

  “Wise?” Michael questioned. “We’re stuck in 1812 for some unbeknownst reason and you figured it was wise to have the one person who could help us take us to a ball with her instead of just help us?”

  “It was imprudent to explain to her the circumstances at this time,” Alexander insisted.

  “Imprudent?” Michael queried. “I find it imprudent to continue to play around in a time period we shouldn’t be in.”

  Alexander ceased walking. “You cannot tell her what you told me.”

  “Why?” Damien cried.

  “For many reasons, not the least of which is the first thing she will do is inform her husband. He will then wonder who you are, what you know, and how you’ve come to this knowledge. The scrutiny of Marcus Northcott is not something you want to invite upon yourselves.”