Thirty-nine:
Prince Marlowe
When I arrived home, there was a man standing in our parlor. He was in a suit and there was an envelope in his hand with a blue wax seal on it. I had no doubt that the wax seal bore the fleur-de-lis. “What is this?” I asked.
“I am a messenger, nothing more,” he replied, as he stepped forward and handed me the sealed envelope.
Without a word, he left. I was stuck in the parlor, holding the wax seal, knowing what it would say. I took out my cell phone, and I texted Cecelia.
Marlowe: I need to speak with you.
Dots appeared on the screen as she started to type a reply. There was a long pause, too long for my liking. She knew. Somehow, she knew before me, and I had no doubt she was going to try t
