Jean Genie
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 71: Finding Shelter
Nicole wanders the streets of Paris like a ghost. Her cloak is damp with the early evening fog, her shoes caked with mud, her breath trembling with every step. The weather is miserable, but it at least means fewer eyes watching her. She has no destination ... only the instinct to move, to hide, to survive. The city around her roars with revolutionary fervour, but she feels only the hollow ache of Louise’s absence.
I whisper from the bracelet. ‘Stop.’
Nicole freezes, heart pounding. “Jeannia ... what is it?”
‘You cannot leave Paris. Not yet. There are too many checkpoints and patrols.’
She turns slowly, scanning the road ahead and the dark alleys branching off.
“But they’ll arrest me if I stay.”
‘Curfew is in another hour and we’re still a long way from the city outskirts. They’ll be on the lookout for you by now.’
Nicole’s breath catches. “Then where do I go?”
I whisper gently. ‘Home.’
She frowns. “I don’t have a home any more.”
‘Not yours. Mine. We might find shelter there.’
Nicole hesitates, confused. “What do you mean?”
I manifest. Light gathers around Nicole’s wrist, rising into my form. Nicole gasps softly as I step from the shadows ... solid, real, glowing faintly in the fog.
“Follow me,” I say.
Nicole nods, wiping her tears, and we walk in a different direction.
We pass through a narrow lane near the river, avoiding patrols and the few people out in this weather. Nicole keeps her hood low, her steps quiet. The city feels different now ... more dangerous, people more suspicious of their neighbours as though hungry for enemies.
Nicole whispers, “Where are we going?”
“An inn once owned by the last wearer of your bracelet.”
Nicole’s eyes widen. “It still exists?”
“Yes. And it is still in the family.”
She swallows hard. “Will they help me?”
I touch her arm gently. “For years they helped others fleeing persecution. I’m sure they will help you.”
Nicole nods, hope flickering through her fear.
The inn stands on a quiet street in the old Jacobite quarter ... its sign is faded and its shutters worn, but its door is still sturdy. Warm light spills from the windows, casting a soft glow onto the wet cobblestones. The sound of people drinking and carousing is strangely comforting. The curfew clearly has little meaning in this patriotic corner of the city. Nicole stops across the street, staring.
“It looks...” She hesitates. “Dangerous.”
“It was once a refuge for the hunted. It can be again. Ask for Robert. Tell him Jeannia asks him to help you.”
I return to the bracelet but ready to intervene if necessary. Nicole approaches the door, her hands trembling. She enters the inn and approaches the counter. A man stands before her. He’s broad‑shouldered, with greying‑hair, with the same steady eyes Hamish once had. His face is lined with years of work and worry. He studies Nicole with cautious suspicion. Her clothes are a little too fine to pass for a typical revolutionary woman.
“Yes?” he asks.
Nicole swallows. “Are you Robert?”
His eyes narrow. “Who’s asking?”
Nicole hesitates, then lifts her wrist slightly. The bracelet glints in the lamplight. Robert’s breath catches. “Jeannia asks that you help me.”
He stares at the bracelet, then at Nicole.
“Where did you get that?” he whispers.
Nicole’s voice trembles. “It once belonged to your mother, Elizabeth. My aunt purchased it and gave it to me. Jeannia guided me here.”
Robert’s face softens with a mixture of shock, grief, and memory. “Jeannia! My mother often spoke of a Jeannia. How she helped my parents escape Scotland in forty-six. I thought she was just a figment of her imagination. But Jeannia must be really old by now.”
Nicole nods. “I need help.”
Robert looks at her and sees the fear and the exhaustion clinging to her like smoke.
He steps aside. “Come into the back room.”
Nicole exhales shakily and enters.
The inn is dimly lit, but warm in a familiar way that Nicole cannot explain. The smell of bread and wood-smoke fills the air. A fire crackles in the hearth. Robert closes the door behind them and bolts it.
He turns to her. “Who are you?”
Nicole hesitates. “Nicole de Marillac.”
Robert’s expression tightens. “A noble.”
Nicole flinches. “I’m not ... not any more.”
Robert studies her, weighing her words. “Why come here?”
Nicole’s voice breaks. “My aunt was arrested. They’ll come for me next. They may be searching for me as we speak.”
Robert’s jaw clenches. “The Terror.”
Nicole nods, tears spilling. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Robert looks at the bracelet again. “How did you know to come here?”
Nicole whispers, “Jeannia guided me.”
Robert’s breath trembles. “Jeannia...”
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