Chapter Nine
He stared at the depleted container, then at his watch, then back at the container as if the beans might spontaneously regenerate through sheer force of disapproval.
They didn’t.
“This is suboptimal,” he informed the kitchen.
The shadows in the corner seemed sympathetic, but shadows couldn’t brew coffee. Julian had asked. Twice.
He pulled on his coat and grabbed his keys.
He’d clearly been too busy with his research and obsession with Cillian to calculate the extra coffee needed when a person was suspended from their typical work duties.
The reason behind the lack of coffee made sense, but facts alone didn’t replace the beans.
The store three blocks east opened at six and stocked the Ethiopian blend he preferred.
A quick twelve-minute round-trip accounting for transaction time, and he’d be back before a possible visit from his shadow guardian.
Julian locked his apartment and headed downstairs, nodding to Mrs. Gable in 2B, who was collecting her newspaper.
“Early morning, Julian!”
“Coffee emergency,” he explained as he hurried past, a statement she seemed to find amusing.
The November air bit at his exposed skin as he stepped outside.
Julian tucked his chin into his scarf and walked east, mentally cataloging his research progress on guardian lore.
He’d found three more references to beacons in obscure occult texts, though the terminology varied.
Anchors. Resonance Points. Light-Bearers.
All described the same phenomenon. They were rare human souls that called to darkness, and who could touch shadow without being consumed.
Julian found the whole thing remarkably efficient from an evolutionary standpoint. If guardians required beacons for stability, and beacons provided anchoring for…
A man in a grey jacket crossed the street twenty meters in front of him.
Julian’s stride didn’t falter, but his awareness sharpened. The street was relatively empty because of the early hour. There were a few early commuters, and a delivery truck unloading outside the corner store. Normal urban patterns.
Except the man in the grey jacket had been leaning against a lamppost outside Julian’s building when he’d left.
Julian turned left at the intersection instead of continuing straight. The store was straight ahead, but the left route would take him past the bakery, which was always busy first thing in the morning. More witnesses. Better lighting.
The man in the grey jacket turned left as well.
Julian’s heart rate elevated. Not to panic levels yet, but close. He pulled out his phone without breaking pace and opened his messages.
Julian: Someone is following me. Grey jacket, approximately 6’2”, Caucasian, visible neck tattoo. Should I be concerned?
He watched the screen as he walked. The three dots appeared immediately, then vanished, then reappeared.
Cillian: Where are you?
Julian: Three blocks from my apartment. Heading toward the bakery on Franklin.
The dots appeared and disappeared twice more before:
Cillian: Stay in public areas. I’m coming.
Which didn’t actually answer Julian’s question.
Julian glanced to his side. Grey Jacket had been joined by a second man, this one in a dark hoodie. They weren’t trying to be subtle anymore.
Julian: Two now. Are they Vane’s men? You didn’t answer my question about concern levels.
Cillian: Julian. Stay visible. Don’t let them isolate you.
Julian’s stomach tightened. Cillian was deflecting, which meant yes, Julian should be concerned, but Cillian either couldn’t or wouldn’t explain why through text messages.
He picked up his pace. The bakery was two blocks ahead. He could see the warm glow of its windows, the line of customers already forming outside.
A third man stepped out from a recessed doorway directly in front of him.
Julian stopped. The man was blocking the sidewalk, hands in his jacket pockets, his expression neutral. Grey Jacket and Hoodie were suddenly looming behind him.
“Morning,” Julian said, because ignoring the situation seemed counterproductive. “You’re blocking the pedestrian right-of-way.”
“You’re Julian Purdy.” It wasn’t a question.
“That’s factually accurate. However, I don’t know who you are, which creates an information imbalance I’d like to correct before this conversation continues.”
The man’s expression didn’t change. “You need to come with us.”
“I disagree. I need to purchase coffee, return to my apartment, and complete several research tasks. Your request doesn’t align with my schedule.”
Grey Jacket and Hoodie spread out, forming a triangle around his position. Other pedestrians were giving them a wide berth, heads down, pointedly not noticing.
Julian’s pulse hammered against his throat. He kept his phone in his hand, screen still visible.
Julian: Three men. They know my name. One just requested I accompany them, which I declined.
The dots appeared instantly.
Cillian: DO NOT GO WITH THEM. I’m two minutes away.
The man in front of Julian shifted his weight. “We can do this easy or hard. Your choice.”
“I agree it should be my choice because it’s my person we’re discussing.
However, those aren’t the only options available.
There’s also option three, where you explain your objective and we negotiate a mutually acceptable outcome.
” Julian adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit he’d never managed to eliminate.
“For instance, if you’re concerned about what I witnessed in the alley last week, I can assure you I have no intention of reporting anything to the authorities.
Civic cooperation would be counterproductive given… ”
“Shut up,” Grey Jacket said from behind him.
“That’s unnecessarily rude. I’m attempting to establish dialogue and…”
A hand clamped onto Julian’s arm. He jerked back instinctively, and Hoodie grabbed his other arm.
“Let go.” Julian kept his voice level despite the adrenaline flooding his system. “You’re committing assault, which will complicate whatever outcome you’re attempting to achieve.”
They started pulling him toward the alley between two buildings. Julian dug his heels in, but they were stronger, and his body weight didn’t provide sufficient resistance.
“Stop. This is kidnapping. The legal penalties are…”
“I said shut up.” Grey Jacket’s grip tightened painfully.
Julian’s phone nearly slipped from his hand. He managed to keep hold of it as they dragged him into the alley, away from the street, away from the bakery’s windows and the pedestrians who weren’t looking.
The alley stunk. Dumpsters lined one wall, and clearly, there was a glitch in the collection schedule. There were no cameras visible, which meant no witnesses. Julian’s analytical mind cataloged these details while his hindbrain screamed danger.
The men shoved him against the brick wall. Julian’s shoulder hit hard enough to send pain radiating down his arm, but he maintained his grip on his phone.
Julian: Alley between Franklin and Oak. East side. They’re…
Hoodie knocked the phone from his hand. It clattered across the pavement, screen cracking.
“Marcus Vane wants a conversation,” the leader said. “About what you saw. About who you told.”
Julian’s breathing was shallow now, but he did his best to keep it controlled. “I haven’t told anyone. And even if I had, what would I report? That I witnessed something I don’t fully understand? The authorities would dismiss it as…”
Grey Jacket punched him in the jaw and then again in the stomach.
Julian doubled over, gasping. The pain was sharp and immediate, radiating outward from the impact point. He’d never been punched before. It was significantly worse than he’d anticipated.
“Stop talking,” the leader said. “You’re coming with us. Vane has questions, and you’re going to answer them.”
Julian straightened slowly, one hand pressed to his abdomen. His glasses had been knocked askew. He pushed them back into place with shaking fingers.
“I’m not sure I understand your directive.” Julian’s voice was steadier than he felt. “Bringing me to Vane is illogical. I don’t have answers he’d find satisfactory, and abducting me only increases the likelihood that any hypothetical entity will take offense.”
“We’re not scared of your shadow-freak,” Hoodie said.
“You should be. He’s significantly more dangerous than you’re estimating.” Julian met the leader’s eyes. “And he’s extremely possessive. Harming me will result in your deaths. I’m stating this as an objective fact, not as a threat.”
The leader smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Then where is he?”
Two minutes, Cillian had said. That was…Julian checked his watch automatically, though his hands were trembling - eighty-seven seconds ago.
“Approaching rapidly,” Julian said. “If you leave now, you might survive the encounter.”
“Bullshit.” Grey Jacket grabbed Julian’s collar, slamming him back against the wall. “You’re bluffing. Marcus said you were some weird library rat who saw something he shouldn’t. So now you’re going to tell Marcus everything, and then…”
“Then what?” Julian’s academic curiosity pierced through his fear. “You kill me? That solves nothing. The entity already knows I exist. Eliminating me only removes the one person who might potentially convince him to show restraint when he inevitably hunts you down for this.”
Hoodie pulled out a knife. The blade caught the dim alley light.
Julian’s heart rate spiked well into panic territory. The situation was escalating beyond his control. He’d assumed they wanted him alive for questioning, but the knife suggested alternative scenarios.
“Last chance to cooperate,” the leader said.
“I am cooperating. I’m providing you with tactical information that might preserve your lives.” Julian’s voice stayed level through sheer force of will. “Leaving now is your optimal strategy. Every second you remain decreases your survival probability.”
The leader nodded to Hoodie.
Julian braced himself, calculating angles and impact points, his mind running through self-defense techniques he’d only read about and never practiced.
He was going to get stabbed. The knife would penetrate approximately three to five inches, depending on the attacker’s strength and angle of approach, likely targeting his torso to maximize damage while…
Shadows exploded across the alley entrance.