8. Cinn
eight
Cinn
“ C inn!”
“Béatrice!” he screamed, reaching into the empty air. The golden bangle was back on his left wrist. Three concerned, shocked faces stared at him with wide eyes, expressions grim.
Darcy pushed him back down onto the table. “Christ! You’re okay. You’re back with us. Now lie still, Cinn.”
“Did you find her? Did you see her?”
“Julien, give him a second!”
He’d made it back. He was back, and he was alive, and that thing hadn’t followed him.
However, something was wrong. Very wrong.
“My skin… my skin is burning,” Cinn croaked, rubbing his hands over the black marks etched into his chest and stomach with that strange black ink.
Darcy gasped, knocking his hands out of the way. “It’s reacting badly to the aethraven. Cinn, I swear it was fine up until now. Elliot, get hot water, pronto. Julien, run to my bathroom cabinet and bring the entire box down here. Go!”
Cinn’s skin crawled like a thousand fire ants were gnawing on him at once.
“Why did you put the bangle back on me?” he said, to distract himself.
“You were writhing and screaming. Elliot had to hold you down. Then Julien made the call to bring you back. ”
Elliot had likely enjoyed that experience. Would Cinn find giant bruises on his arms later?
Footsteps pounded on creaky floorboards, then both Julien and Elliot were back. Within moments, Darcy was pouring and rubbing various substances all over him, and the burning ceased.
Cinn moaned in relief, rubbing his face. His body ached like he’d just run a marathon.
“Well? What happened?” asked Elliot, and Cinn wanted to punch him.
Sitting upright, Cinn swung his legs over the edge of the table. A demand for another cigarette first danced on the tip of his tongue, but Julien’s desperate, hopeful face made him crack.
In as much detail as his energy level would allow, he described the whole absurd tale. When he got to the bit where Béatrice’s skin had seemed to melt in his hands before he awoke, he’d glanced at Julien, expecting to see disappointment, or even despair.
Instead, he saw only calculation.
Swiping it from the table, Julien held up Béatrice’s locket, swinging it like a pendulum. “What if we tried using an even stronger magnet item? That book you lent me has given me an idea for next time.”
“There will be no next time , Julien,” Darcy flatly declared. “Just look at him!”
“But he saw her!” said Elliot. “Surely it’s worth another shot.”
Cinn looked to Julien, who was staring at his half-naked, shivering form, skin red and raw from both Darcy’s scrubbing and the ink. He ran his hand through his hair before stepping towards the table with pursed lips. “It’s up to Cinn.”
“The hell it is!” snapped Darcy.
At the same time as Cinn said, “I’m fine. I’m okay to try again. Not immediately, though. ”
Darcy’s head whipped towards him. “Cinn, you know Julien will get that money to your friend now regardless, right? I personally assure you it will get transferred.”
“I know that. I know he’ll send it,” he told her, and he believed it. “But I still want to try again. Today was the first time I’ve been in the dark place— shadowrealm or whatever—and felt a tiny bit of control. I could… do stuff there. Control the shadowmotes. They… they listened to me. I think I want to see what else I can do. I know Noir is going to help me, but the extra practice won’t hurt. Especially if it’s purposeful, like finding your friend. Though mostly, I don’t want to be scared of it anymore. I’m done with that. So if you promise that it’s safe, that I won’t bring anything back with me, I can try again for you.”
The three of them stared at him, mouths hanging open at his grand speech. To be fair, he’d stunned himself, with the length of time he’d held the floor.
“That’s all well and good, Cinn, but this… abnormal creature thing you described has me worried.” Darcy’s eyes flicked between the other two. “Could it be…?”
Frowning, Elliot pursed his lips and ran a hand through his shaggy mane of hair. “What did you say, Cinn? Shapeless black masses that turn into inky, octopus-like, giant-mouth things? That’s definitely not far off…”
“The form they take here could be different to there, anyway.” Darcy’s voice dropped to almost a whisper.
Cinn had been, yet again, left in the dark, and so snapped loudly, “What are you all on about now?”
Darcy hesitated, made a sound, but stopped when Julien raised his hand and gave her a tiny shake of his head.
Cinn’s entire body shook as he clenched both fists. “You must be joking? After what I just did for you?”
“He’s right, Julien. ”
“It’s only that Eleanor wanted to explain everything to you herself personally, Cinn, in due course. About why you’re here.” Julien shifted uncomfortably, folding his arms. Could there be a hint of genuine sympathy in his eyes?
Throwing his hands up, Cinn shot daggers at each of them. “What do you mean, ‘why I’m here’? I’m here because I accidentally brought back a ghost that killed four people.”
An uneasy silence settled over the room.
Three pairs of eyes looked anywhere but Cinn’s.
“Not… exactly,” said Julien at last.
Cold ice threaded through Cinn’s veins so fast, he jerked backwards.
“Let’s go sit by the fire,” Darcy suggested. On autopilot, he pulled on his clothes, then let himself be guided into the living room. Soon, roaring flames were heating his cheeks as he sprawled on the rug.
“Obviously,” Darcy began, glancing at the other two. “Auri would have rescued you from the prison system, regardless. Well… they might have, I’d like to think, but there’s actually another specific reason they’ve brought you here.”
“The reason you were personally escorted all the way here by Madame Eleanor Sinclair,” said Elliot, snickering. “Not just anyone would get that honour.”
Darcy and Elliot were taking the lead, but for some reason, it was Julien who Cinn wanted to hear from. Sitting with him on the rug, Julien faced the fireplace, hands outstretched, and Cinn stared at him until he turned.
Julien sighed, a frown line crinkling his forehead. “The consortium has high hopes that you will be a useful tool in our fight against the increasing number of umbraphages, a near-constant and very deadly threat we’re finding incredibly tough to manage. The amount of moteblessed we’ve lost fighting them…”
“Umbrawhat? And who’s we ? ”
“The world.”
A stunned silence.
“It’s practically becoming an epidemic. Almost every few weeks now, another one appears. Sometimes following a natural disaster, but not always. The Arcane Purifiers have been claiming that they’re linked.”
“And I will help, how?” Cinn said, voice flat. “I’m not sure I like the phrase ‘useful tool’, to be honest.”
Julien winced. “Sorry. I meant helpful asset . The consortium is convinced the umbraphages originate from the shadowrealm. Which you may now have just proved. As the only person able to channel shadowmotes—”
“The only ? Surely not!”
Julien’s eyebrows shot sky-high. He rested a hand on Cinn’s knee before saying, “I figured Noir told you. Cinn, you’re the only confirmed shadowslipper currently alive today.”
Julien, Darcy, and Elliot froze stone-still, awaiting his reaction.
When Cinn threw back his head and laughed—laughed so hard his whole body shook as his breath came out in little snorts—they still continued to stare, albeit with a dash of concern on their faces.
“Of course I am.” Because this was his life, and it always had to be as difficult as possible. Cinn’s gaze drifted over to the window. “Why… is it dark outside?!”
Darcy crinkled her eyebrows. “It’s seven p.m., Cinn.”
“What?! How many hours was I out for?”
“Are you not normally gone for such a long length of time?” Julien asked.
“I don’t think so. To be honest, nothing about that trip was normal.”
“Speaking of the time, I have to bounce,” Elliot said, but made no move to do so, his gaze subtly flicking between Julien and Cinn. Just what was his deal? And did Cinn even want to find out?
Darcy rose first. “I have a paper due tomorrow. ”
Julien cleared his throat. “Cinn looks tired. Perhaps we could crash—”
With a raised hand, Darcy silenced him. “Julien. I love you, but please go home to your apartment. It certainly costs you enough in rent to deserve to be used. Plus, you might be a freak that enjoys sleeping on sofas, but I doubt Cinn wants that old armchair.”
Cinn could easily list ten far less comfortable places he’d slept in.
“I’ll make some tea for you two, then you can be on your way.” Darcy headed off, with Elliot trailing after her, pulling on his coat and giving Julien and Cinn one long last look. Cinn resisted the impulse to wave sarcastically at him.
Alone with Julien again.
Within seconds, a tangible tension descended between them, the rumble of Elliot’s motorcycle reverberating as it came to life the only sound.
After a beat, Julien shuffled closer to the fire. The glow from the flames caught his light hair, creating a halo of golden strands. He worried at a loose blue thread on the rug before gazing upwards at Cinn.
“Thank you for today.”
What to reply? No biggie, mate? Sure, anytime?
“We’ve been trying for months to reach her. Even resorted to some… unorthodox approaches. There’s a couple of obscure methods that are purported to temporarily grant you access to the shadowrealm. One of them, Mortalisfade, an elixir of sorts, involves near medical death. In a controlled manner. Both Elliot and I had a go at it… and it didn’t go well.”
Cinn found himself shaking his head slightly. The pure desperation of these three to contact Béatrice was so intense that it was quickly rubbing off on him. “Julien,” he said softly, reaching out to touch his knee. “She was so lucky to have you guys.”
Julien smiled sadly, sliding Béatrice’s locket off his neck and unlatching it to reveal a miniscule black-and-white photograph of a young woman, her arms thrown around two children. “This photograph miraculously survived the blast, even though the locket took a hit.”
“That your mum? She looks nice.”
“She was. She’s also”—Julien swallowed—“not with us any longer. But she was incredible.” Julien ran his finger over the photo. “Just me left now.”
“And your dad.”
The locket shut with a snap, and Julien’s leg stiffened, prompting Cinn to remove his hand.
Oops . A rapid change of conversation was needed. “Why are you so convinced Béatrice was murdered, anyway? Even before her connection to the Arcane Purifiers was confirmed yesterday?”
Julien turned to face the fire, mouth downcast. “We still don’t know that she was connected to them.”
It seemed pretty likely, but Cinn clamped his mouth shut.
“Although, she was acting very unlike herself the last couple of months before she died. She withdrew from all of us, and her other friends as well. Often she’d tell us she was going somewhere, or had been somewhere, and we’d catch her out in a lie. We thought she was in some sort of illicit relationship or something.” Julien’s lips quirked upward, the movement changing his entire face.
Slipping quietly into the room, Darcy returned with a tea tray. She placed it down on the coffee table, gave Julien a quick, sad smile, then left without a word to bang around in the kitchen.
“Elliot had the wildest theories about which mysterious lover she’d taken up. Anyway, things took a rapid turn about ten days before her death. There were giant black bags under her eyes, she was deathly pale, and Darcy heard crying coming from her room. I tried to talk to her about what was wrong, and she… s’est fermée comme une hu?tre . Closed like an oyster. Or ‘bit my head off’ if you like.”
There was something about this Julien, so honest and warm and open, that made Cinn want to keep him talking infinitely.
The lilt of his suave, sophisticated voice, that Cinn enjoyed the sound of.
The way his eyes sparkled when he smiled.
The subtle pull of his magnetic force, drawing in everyone around him.
Those damned dimples.
Cinn shuffled his body, stretching his leg out so his calf grazed Julien’s. The contact was completely accidental, of course.
“So she died in some sort of blast?” Although Cinn was reluctant to probe, the more he learned, the more he understood he needed the full picture.
“She went on this aid mission to the Philippines. Lots of Auri did. There’s a team made up of different departments that often sends out crisis-response crews. Our sister organisations from America and Asia do the same. I was so proud of Béatrice when she signed up for it.”
“Didn’t you want to do it with her?”
Julien laughed, touching the locket, back around his neck now. “My skills weren’t quite as necessary. She was always the better half of us,” he said quietly. “The Philippines mission was her first, after a lengthy training process.”
Images from watching the news in the break room at work emerged from the depths of Cinn’s memory. “I think I saw it on TV. The hurricane?”
“Yes. We sent over a few units of medical support and a division to help them rebuild infrastructure and key buildings quicker.”
Remembering their drinks, Cinn reached for the teapot and poured, relieved to see normal tea coming out rather than the weird stuff from the other day. He offered a cup to Julien, whose fingers lingered around his own for a fraction too long. Cinn shuffled his leg even closer, pressing it firmly against Julien’s own. It probably wasn’t the time—if ever—to be playing this game, but despite his better judgement, he couldn’t resist the warm comfort touching him offered.
“And nobody ever notices when people are magically healed and buildings miraculously get repaired overnight?”
“You’d be surprised. People in these crises rarely have time to stop and think about these things. Plus, we’re very adept at hiding our processes. Anyway, Béatrice’s body was found alone at the top of a mountain by one of her friends. The details are all a bit murky, but Auri’s autopsy examination reported enigmatic wounds consistent with motepower trauma. They concluded there was some sort of ‘blast’, because…” Julien stared intently into the fire, body very still, clearly reliving some of the worst days of his life. Cinn’s hand twitched to reach out to him.
“Large patches of her skin were burned off. Mostly around her chest and arms. The conclusion was that she channelled too much motepower at once,” he finished, then scoffed.
Cinn drained his tea in four gulps, then dared to ask, “So… why is that suspicious?” tensing while he did so.
“Very few deaths have ever been blamed on channelling too much motepower.” Julien’s eyes crinkled. “Heard the word moteblown yet? It’s what we call it when we channel too much. It can be dangerous, occasionally causing one to faint or even require medical aid. It’s rarely fatal though. And it certainly doesn’t cause physical trauma such as that found on my sister.”
Three knocks on the slightly ajar living-room door.
Cinn instinctively jerked his leg away, then glanced at Julien to see if he noticed, to find him wearing a knowing smirk.
He scowled back in return.
“It’s my bath and yoga time!” Darcy called through the door. “Time to go! ”
“Anyone would think it was her house or something,” muttered Julien, rising to his feet.
Darcy waited by the door to see them out, a slip of paper in her hands. “Auri reopens tomorrow. Madame Sinclair sent this note to my bedroom fire to pass on to you. Shall we pick you up tomorrow at nine?”
Sent a note to a bedroom fire?! But Cinn had absorbed enough information for one day, and didn’t have the strength to question it.
“If it’s not too far out of your way,” mumbled Cinn, glancing at Julien. He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d get to Auri without him.
“Oh, and let’s do lunch,” Darcy continued brightly. “We’ll show you the café we usually eat at. They do the best pastries. Even Julien approves of their choux à la crème .”
She passed him the handwritten note, which informed him he had a meeting with Noir in the morning and another with Eleanor Sinclair herself in the afternoon.
Good thing he had no other plans.
As Cinn slid the note into the back pocket of his jeans, Darcy and Julien exchanged a hurried glance, worry laced on Darcy’s face.
“Don’t…” started Julien. “Don’t mention today to Eleanor. Or anything about Béatrice.”
“Why? I thought she was your close family friend or something?”
“It’s complicated.”
Of course it was.
Cinn rolled his eyes and bit his tongue. If they still wanted their secrets, they could have them.