Chapter 10 - The Missing Child
"Valentina's rabbit," Marisa whispered, her voice dropping to a terrified squeak. She knelt down on the dusty floorboards, ignoring the filth as she reached out with trembling fingers to pick up the stuffed toy. "How did her toy get up here? She never lets it out of her sight!"
Julian stared down at the rabbit, his dark eyes narrowing with a dark, calculating intensity. He didn't answer Marisa. Instead, he spun around on his heel, his heavy boots kicking up clouds of ancient dust as he sprinted back toward the attic entrance.
"Master Julian, where are you going?" Arthur called out from the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane.
"The nursery," Julian snarled, his voice echoing off the vaulted beams. "Someone is playing a psychological game, and they're using the child to do it."
Marisa clutched the toy rabbit to her chest and ran after him, her black apron rustling frantically. The terrifying thought of Valentina alone in the nursery while unseen forces stalked the halls of the Blackwood estate fueled her speed. They rushed down the narrow stairs, past the grand portrait of Clara Vanguard, and raced down the long corridor toward the west wing.
The door to the nursery suite was slightly ajar, just as Marisa had left it. A thin strip of warm yellow light spilled out onto the dark carpet.
"Valentina!" Marisa shouted, pushing the door open with such force that it slammed against the interior wall.
The room was completely empty.
The bed was neatly made, the heavy curtains were drawn shut against the stormy night, and a small nightlight glowed softly beside the mattress. But the child was gone.
Julian entered the room behind her, his gaze sweeping the space in seconds. He strode over to the walk-in closet, flung the doors open, and found only rows of small dresses hanging neatly. He checked the en-suite bathroom—empty.
"She was right here," Marisa choked out, tears finally spilling over her lashes as she clutched the stuffed rabbit tighter. "I put her to bed myself less than twenty minutes ago! She promised she wouldn't open the door for anyone!"
Julian walked slowly over to the nursery window. The heavy glass was latched securely from the inside, but the condensation on the pane had been wiped away in the shape of a small child's handprint—pressed from the outside.
"She didn't leave through the door or the window," Julian said softly, his voice dangerously quiet as he turned to face Marisa.
Before Marisa could demand an explanation, a sharp, metallic clanging sound echoed from the air vent set high up in the nursery wall.
Clink... scrape... thump.
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Julian reacted instantly. He leaped onto the nursery desk, reached up, and gripped the metal grating of the air vent, twisting the screws with his bare hands until the heavy cover snapped free and clattered to the floor.
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