9. Julien
nine
Julien
W aving goodbye to the others, Julien’s feet dragged him towards the Cerulean Auditorium, unable to resist its macabre pull.
He joined the trickle of people making their way there, all wearing sombre faces and pulling their coats tighter to their bodies in the cool morning chill.
The auditorium was, unsurprisingly, a ruin.
A haunting silhouette against the bright sky, the charred remnants of the building still stood in the centre of Auri, although in a sorry state. Amidst the blackened debris and rubble, mourners had placed bright flowers—petals of white, crimson, and gold interwove with the edge of the desolation, providing a stark contrast. The very subtle shimmer dusting the flowers, was a telltale sign they’d been grown in the Verdant Conservatory, and would likely remain beautifully fresh for many months.
There would certainly be many months of mourning ahead for Auri.
Huddles of people gathered around in small groups, soft cries coming from many of them. Snatches of sentences containing the words ‘Arcane Purifiers’ drifted over to him on the light breeze.
His father was right. They’d gone too far this time, with three people dead, many more injured, and a treasured building obliterated.
How could Elliot and Darcy possibly think that Béatrice had been involved with them? She’d once cried when she stepped on a snail, for fuck’s sake. The possibility of her writing ‘Jour J’ into her diary with the intention of supporting the Arcane Purifiers in literally murdering people was ludicrous.
Once he’d left the scene to head to his first task, he encountered a subdued atmosphere on every street. People appeared to be walking slower, physically burdened by the events two days prior.
It was a relief to reach Eleanor’s office.
He knocked, pushing open the door without waiting for her invitation. After all, he didn’t have an appointment. Poking his head around the door, he smiled at Eleanor, who raised one dark eyebrow in return. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“It’s just a quick one,” he promised, closing the door behind him.
Eleanor’s office was truly a reflection of the woman herself. Monotone, sparse furniture with a sprinkling of decoration, each chosen and placed with evident, deliberate design. The only thing he approved of was her taste in art—she had several captivating Rothko canvases proudly hung on her wall, their colour gradients and subtle complexities adding a refined allure that he itched to add to his own collection.
Perhaps if he complimented them enough, he’d be left them in her will.
As he sat down opposite her on a burgundy leather wingback chair, Eleanor’s face remained expressionless, stoic. Not a single strand of hair was out of place, not even in her box fringe. A fraction of understanding of why others found her intimidating struck him.
“I just wanted to check in with you about my reference. I had a letter this morning from MEET saying they were still waiting for it.”
His promotion to a permanent position as a lead project coordinator within Mote-Enhanced Engineering and Technologies was practically an assured deal. After all, he’d been a junior associate there for years, working on various projects alongside world pioneers, several of whom had already submitted outstanding references for him .
When he’d filled in the character reference information box, Julien had thought writing ‘Madame Eleanor Sinclair’ had been a stroke of genius. The icing on the cake of an exceptional application. He’d presumed she’d already written and sent it.
“It’s two weeks late,” he added.
“I’m aware,” she said simply.
Julien dug his fingernails into his palm.
“I’m still finalising it.”
He relaxed, infinitesimally.
“However, to be honest, Julien, I’m not convinced it’s the right path for you.”
Julien rapidly blinked at her. Not the right path? Was she joking?
“You were such a skilled channeller, back when you practised.”
Julien pressed his lips together before saying, “You know I don’t like talking about that. For very good reasons.” What was Eleanor playing at?
“And you know that I think your reasons for not channelling are nonsensical. It baffles me that someone as intelligent and as reasonable as you still blames themselves for something that was—”
“Anyway,” interjected Julien, dragging the conversation away from dangerous territory. “MEET is part of my ten-year plan to enter the field of quantum mote engineering.” She knew this. His career path had been discussed many times with Eleanor around the dinner table, his father often being the one to bring it up.
For a moment, he almost considered bringing his father’s expectations into the conversation—he wasn’t sure what he would make of Eleanor writing anything but a glowing recommendation for the man who was practically a nephew to her. What stopped him was the determination to get where he needed to go all by himself, without any purposeful use of his family name.
References from friends of the family aside .
Peering at him over her glasses, Eleanor said, “Did you know that your mother tried to leave your father when you were five?”
Julien choked on his own saliva. “Excuse me?”
Eleanor stood up to wander over to her floor-to-ceiling window. The view from her tenth-floor office had always impressed Julien—the majority of Auri’s awe-inspiring buildings were visible, each one its own work of art. Eleanor proceeded to stare out at the view as she continued, “One night, she met with me, the two of you in tow. Béatrice wouldn’t stop screaming, but you were oddly quiet, with puffy eyes. She told me she’d had enough, and that the next day she planned to tell your father she was divorcing him and taking the two of you. She wanted my support. Financially. Practically.” She expelled a breath so large, it misted the glass. “Emotionally.”
“And what did you say?” Julien had no recollection of this event, but that didn’t surprise him. There were many, many gaping holes in the tapestry of his childhood.
“I told her to think about her decision very carefully.”
A long, tense silence filled the space between them.
Julien blinked back hot tears at the image of his mother returning home that night, her escape plans shattered. Had she ever tried again?
“Why are you telling me all this?” Julien spat. This was the last thing he needed right now. There were some things that he’d rather not know at this point, including that Eleanor, someone he trusted like family, had so badly let his mother down. “Have you had a dispute with Père ?”
“Because, Julien, as much as you’d easily sit here and claim to despise your father—don’t give me that look—you’re already becoming a pawn in his game. His son climbing up the MEET ladder would be the queen’s gambit in motion, checkmating every move before it’s even made. There is already growing concern from many parties about his excessive influence over the consortium. Not to mention his ever-expanding collection of assets. ”
Julien blinked at her in disbelief. Her distaste for his father, never before detectable, was fleetingly splashed all over her face before she pulled her expression flat.
“Did you know he now owns ninety percent of all motetech patents, if you factor in all of the smaller companies that have aligned themselves with HorizonTech?”
Julien shrugged. “Sounds about right.” His father was relentless in his acquisition of anything with the slightest bit of buzz around it.
A beat of silence as a bird flew close to the windowpane, stretching its wings to full span. Then, “And do you think that’s morally right, one man having so much power?”
He bit back a laugh. “ Non , obviously not. But unless you’ve got more than a few million in the bank, there’s nothing you or I can do about it.” He narrowed his eyes. Whatever reaction Eleanor wanted out of him, she was likely disappointed. “Unless you want me to poison his wine? I can’t deny the thought has crossed my mind from time to time.”
Turning away from the window, she walked back to perch on the edge of her desk, inches away from him. “I think about that conversation with your mother all too often. I would do anything to go back in time and change my actions. I’ll carry that guilt to my grave now. It may be too late for me to change Isabelle’s fate.” Eleanor rested a hand on Julien’s shoulder in a rare moment of physical contact. “But it’s not too late for you. I’ll write you that reference. Not that you really need it. They know you’re a brilliant young mind. However, you need to make sure you’re doing this for you, not him.”
I am.
It was true—the world of motetech fascinated him, and most importantly, he was good at it. Excellent, in fact. The fact that it fell in line with the business interests of a father he hated was purely coincidental. Wasn’t it ?
Not trusting himself to speak further on the topic, he nodded. His mind reeled, the multiple shocking revelations swam around his head like sharks, threatening to drag him under.
Julien combatted it with a rapid change of conversation. “Why are you meeting with Cinn this afternoon?”
Eleanor frowned at him, circling round to sit in her chair. “Viktor Sturmhart has instructed me to oversee his progress. Check his support network is working for him.” She gave him a pointed look. “Make sure he’s on track to assist us with the umbraphage onslaught. Of course, I’ll wait until Noir gives me the all clear that he’s emotionally ready before I divulge that information to him.”
Julien scratched the back of his neck. Putain. “He… he may already know a smidge about them. And about how Auri hopes he may be of assistance.” He braced for fire.
Eleanor’s smile froze icily on her face. “Does he now? And how did that come up in conversation?”
“The Arcane Purifiers.” The lie slid easily off his tongue. “He was asking lots of questions, and it came up that AP blame the appearance of umbraphages on mote usage.”
“And you decided to fill him in on the rest?”
“Well…” He stalled, brain stumbling. He really should have made coffee before leaving the house. “He asked how we were fighting them, and Auri’s theory on shadowmotes came up…”
Eleanor shook her head. Sighed. “To be honest, I don’t really care as long as that boy stays put and agrees to help us in due course. Are you being nice to him?”
Julien flashed her his fox-grin. “Since when am I not nice?”
“Did you see the images from the latest umbraphage attack?” she asked abruptly, reaching within her desk. “Last week. Outskirts of Seville. Ten people dead before we could dematerialise it. That fucker better not reform anytime soon. ”
Their biggest problem with the umbraphages was that they currently appeared unstoppable, permanently at least. That, and their numbers grew by the month.
“Want to see what we’re up against? I’m sure you’ve heard about MEET’s progress in developing a range of weapons for us to trial.” Eleanor slid a cassette into the tiny television that sat in the corner of her room and hit play.
Shaky footage from a handheld camera filled the screen. The recorder’s panicked breath coming in short bursts obscured any other sounds. The camera pointed at a pavement littered with junk. Then, the view jerked up to reveal a woman’s lifeless body, coated in blood, floating in mid-air, her limbs arching backwards.
“They’re invisible within video footage.”
With a sudden jerk, the woman dropped to the ground, and the videographer stumbled backwards, screaming bloody murder. They evidently dropped the camera. The view of the street bounced around wildly until only a patch of concrete was visible. Then, a limp hand engulfed the frame, fingers twitching one last time before falling very still.
An eerie garbled sound came out of the TV that Julien struggled to assign meaning to. The umbraphage?
“The camera was… recovered from an eyewitness. The concealment team had quite the task this time. Over twenty people needed their memories tampered with. It’s a good thing they now have the LMD to work with.”
The Lumimeld Memory Disrupter project had taken Julien’s team over eight months. The peculiar-looking headpiece harnessed the unique properties of various motes, blending them to create a powerful and targeted memory manipulation effect.
The effectiveness of it varied—particularly if not used immediately after the event that needed to be wiped—but it usually got the job done. In clinical trials, volunteers were often left with migraines lasting many weeks, but the consortium hadn’t seemed particularly concerned about that side effect.
Eleanor’s attention remained captured by the footage, which she was rewinding to play again.
“Did you see AP’s statement printed in the morning paper?” Julien asked pointlessly. The idea of Eleanor not having access to it before it hit the press was unfathomable.
“Yes,” she said simply.
“And? Do you believe their claim that it was a subgroup gone rogue? That the auditorium was never meant to be damaged?”
A tiny crack fractured Eleanor’s emotionless mask. “Does it matter, when five lives were taken? Even if the majority of AP never intended the result, their name is now tarnished with blood.” Her lips pursed as if tasting something sour. “Even if they originally had good intentions.”
On the screen, the woman’s body was again contorted into an obscene shape before being thrown to the ground. The scream sounded again.
“So, what’s the consortium going to do about it?”
A bark of hollow laughter. “Rest assured, Julien, they will be dealt with. You focus on keeping your head down and your eyes and ears open.”
“Indeed,” said Julien, rising to his feet. “I won’t take up anymore of your time. Thank you in advance for finishing the reference.”
Bracing himself for her to say something else about his parents, Julien was surprised when she only nodded, and said her goodbyes before turning back to replay the video footage.
Julien wandered over to Aurelia Library, mood sombre. Like all moteblessed, the umbraphage threat terrified him. Being powerless to help, he preferred to distance himself from any news of them. However, their presence was getting harder and harder to ignore. How much longer until their existence could no longer be covered up to the general population ?
His spirits lowered even further when he discovered their favourite study room was occupied by a group of four people in mid conversation. Someone was sitting in Béatrice’s armchair.
Ignoring their stunned looks, he entered the room anyway, spreading his papers over half of the central table and tapping his pen loudly against the wood.
After a minute, they wordlessly gathered their belongings and filed out of the room, their quick, pointed glances at him as they did so burning holes in his head.
Oh well. He hadn’t asked them to leave. Although he couldn’t deny it was likely because they knew who he was. Or rather, who his father was.
Lucien Montaigne.
CEO of HorizonTech Enterprises.
Wealthy and powerful beyond most people’s wildest dreams, but never satisfied.
One of the most influential moteblessed to hold a seat within the consortium, and also the most feared.
Rumoured to have world governments in his pockets.
Julien sighed, the empty room feeling large and lonely without his friends filling it with him. He glanced at the navy-blue Morris chair that Béatrice would never again sit on.
Pull yourself together.
Julien pulled the paper that he’d planned to review yesterday towards himself—the proposal for mote-powered steam engines, aimed initially at the cargo ship production sector. His father was about to invest a large amount of money into the company and wanted his opinion.
A pawn in his game, Eleanor had said. She was wrong. Julien was completely in control of his own actions, his own destiny. It was his choice to read this proposal regardless, to further his own knowledge in the latest motetech developments .
After two hours of being completely absorbed in his task, the bells of St. Caelum’s chimed noon. With haste, he snapped his notebook—now full of his scribbled thoughts—shut, and was ready to leave within moments.
Had he ever been quite so eager to meet his friends for lunch? Probably not. However, today Cinn would be there. He hadn’t been able to get him out of his mind since their conversation in Darcy’s garden, where Cinn had caught him off guard with the depth of his loyalty to his friends. And then, of course, there was the experience of inking his skin, which had become unexpectedly sensual….
Taking massive strides, Julien reached Curio Café Collective in record time, motivated mostly by finding out how Cinn’s meeting with Noir went. Plus, there could be more opportunities to subtly tease him again, and make him blush or bite his lip.
As usual, the large eatery was overcrowded, every table jam-packed. Scanning the room, he spotted Darcy’s mane of auburn curls and Cinn’s grey beanie, despite the sweltering room temperature. God, did the guy ever take it off? He smiled as he took a step—
He froze.
There weren’t two bodies sitting at their table, but three.
The third occupier certainly wasn’t Elliot—he would be the most recognisable of them, with his wild hair, and besides, Elliot would arrive fashionably late.
He meandered towards them, trying to identify the stranger. He could only see the back of their head, but what he could see was Cinn’s beaming smile, bright as sunlight, directed at the invader.
Julien slid into the empty seat next to Cinn, eyes snapping straight to the person Cinn was so captivated by.
Eric .
Fuck. His heart sank like a ship.
Eric’s laughter died in his throat. Darcy looked between the two of them, body twitching like she might get up and leave. Julien couldn’t blame her.
“Julien,” Eric said, voice light but eyes full of daggers.
All Julien’s usual energy for putting on performances disintegrated as he stared at Eric’s expressionless face. “What are you doing here?” he snapped flatly.
Cinn’s head swivelled towards him, but Julien didn’t glance his way, avoiding the shock that would be written all over his face.
After a scoff, Eric replied, “I was just checking in with your new friend here. I met him at the Nexus Towers elevators the other day. He needed help using them, given that it was his first day here. Funny how you accidentally walked him to the wrong tower, eh?”
Julien wanted to close his eyes. Why did his day keep going from bad to worse? And had he really walked Cinn to the wrong tower? He could have sworn Noir’s office was at the top of the Ivory Tower…
“Well, it was nice seeing you again, Eric. See you around,” he said, before he could stop himself, causing Darcy to hiss.
“ Julien !” she directed at him, while darting her eyes towards Cinn. Julien was embarrassing her. Embarrassing himself.
Eric’s face darkened. “Fucking hell, Julien. After the way you ended things with me, I thought you were just deranged, but it seems like you’re a genuine cunt.”
Ouch. That one hurt. Just a little.
Cinn spluttered out some of the water he was drinking.
“Cinn, my offer still stands,” said Eric, now intently focused back on Cinn again. He reached into his rucksack, pulled out some paper, and scribbled a number on it. A number Julien had called himself a handful of times. “Let’s meet up at some point. I can introduce you to a friend who, a bit like you, was very late to discover she was moteblessed. Between us, we’ll make sure you have everything you need. ”
“There’s no need for concern, Eric. We’re taking care of him just fine.”
Under the table, Darcy’s leg connected with Julien’s kneecap. He winced.
Eric leaned over the table, pressing the paper into Cinn’s hand before grabbing his forearm. “Honestly, Cinn, ring me anytime. It was lovely to meet you properly.” Eric squeezed his arm as he stood up, and Julien was tempted to grab the butter knife that lay on the table.
“Thanks,” mumbled Cinn, pocketing the paper. “I’ll give you a call.”
The hell you will.
As Eric ambled off, shaking his head, Julien fought back memories of Eric’s naked body under his hands—oh, how his body had seemed sculpted by angels, a sea of smooth skin and firm muscles that Julien had thrown onto his bed before pinning his hands down…
And the thought of Eric doing that to Cinn—
“Julien Montaigne, I am downright embarrassed to be associated with you sometimes. Scrap that— most of the time, recently.” Darcy had brought out her most disappointed expression. That was okay. Julien deserved it. “It’s honestly no wonder you have a grand total of two close friends, if you go around talking to people like that.” She banged the table with her cup.
“What… what was that?” Cinn asked weakly.
Darcy turned to Cinn, and took great joy in explaining, “Eric is one of Julien’s many, many scorned lovers.”
Julien winced, the butter knife seeming appealing again.
“Many, many is a bit of an—”
“Many, many, Julien!” she practically screamed, banging her cup on the table. “Many, many ! We often can’t walk down a hallway together without some girl or guy sending me a death look, thinking I’ve stolen you away from them.”
Beside him, Cinn stared into his water cup .
“You were just disgusting to poor Eric. It’s ironic that you were the one who was a complete twat to him, during your short relationship or whatever it was, and yet he was simply delightful towards you, and you were downright rude!”
Julien teetered on the edge of two choices: shutting down the conversation, which was his preference, as he never discussed his sex life with even his best friends, or defending himself. In the end, the latter won—he couldn’t handle the idea of Cinn thinking he was some sort of narcissistic playboy who used and discarded others for fun.
He leaned back in his chair. Folded his arms. “Thanks for presuming it was entirely my fault that things ended badly, Darcy. It was actually slightly more nuanced than that, you’ll be shocked to hear. If you want the full story, he started sleeping with his ex again, and only told me about it weeks later. Then I got… rather cross with him.” Okay, that part was a slight understatement.
Darcy’s mouth twisted slightly. “I didn’t realise you were together , together with Eric, though.”
“I wasn’t.” Julien never was, with anyone. “But I thought I’d made it exceedingly clear that while we were casually fucking”—Darcy cringed at the harsh language—“we were exclusively casually fucking.” His voice rose near the end, and Darcy glared at him.
In order to further paint himself as the mature, mentally sane guy he would never really be, Julien said, “Anyway, you should call him, Cinn. It would be good for you to make more connections here,” in his smoothest possible voice, fighting back roiling acid in his gut.
“What did I miss?” Elliot pulled out the empty chair with a scrape, throwing himself into it. “Have we ordered?”
Darcy’s gaze pierced Julien’s, a silent communication that the Eric conversation was over, lest they drag Elliot into it. Which certainly wasn’t a good idea.
“I was just asking them what’s good here,” Cinn said, picking up a paper menu.
Elliot narrowed his eyes.
Julien pretended to also look at the menu, while side-eyeing Cinn. What on earth had he made of all that? Even without the Eric situation, Darcy’s ridiculous exaggeration about how many people he’d slept with wouldn’t be something he’d forget. Why do you care so much about his opinion? He clenched his jaw. It’s not like you want to date him or anything. Because you don’t do that, do you?
Although, when Cinn ordered the r?sti upon his recommendation, and then proceeded to witter on about how much the head chef at his old workplace would have loved it, which somehow launched him into speaking about different types of English potato and their different uses for a full five minutes, Julien couldn’t help but openly stare at him, his icy heart thawing ever so slightly.
When Cinn had finished every last scrap of his dish, Julien placed his own plate in front of him, offering him the last few bites, pretending he was done. He’d skipped breakfast earlier, so wasn’t exactly full, but watching Cinn’s face light up was worth it.
It had him calculating other ways to get that smile back. The smile that showed the slightest hint of teeth and crinkled the corner of his eyes. The smile that made something swell in Julien’s chest at the sight of it, especially when Julien had been the cause of it.
Of course, the more Cinn liked him, the more assistance he’d be in contacting Béatrice.
Yes, solving his sister’s murder was his only agenda here.
Well, and having a little fun. But one could certainly kill two birds with one stone, as the ridiculous English idiom went.
Which reminded him…
“The weekend after next is my father’s birthday,” Julien announced. “You know, that ridiculously over-the-top affair that is my annual torture. Darcy, you’re actually invited to the party because my father thinks you’re la crème de la crème .”
Darcy smirked. “Well, I am, to be fair.”
“Elliot, you’re definitely not invited after last time, but you’ll be gatecrashing.”
With a laugh, Elliot ran his hand through his outrageously plush hair that Julien was frequently jealous of; it looked like a portable pillow. “Are you sure I won’t be evicted from the premises the second he lays eyes on me?”
“And Cinn, you’re my guest of honour,” Julien said, trying to keep the twinkle out of his eye, and avoiding thinking too hard about the hint of displeasure that flashed across Elliot’s face.
“Oh. I-I’m fine staying here,” Cinn rushed to say. “Really, I’m sure he doesn’t want me there. I don’t even know him.”
“He doesn’t know half the people he invites to his birthday each year,” said Darcy. “It’s all a big facade to show off how important he is.”
“You’re coming,” Julien said, nudging his leg into Cinn’s. “It’s decided.”
Cinn bit his lip again. He bit it so frequently, Julien was already starting to predict the moments where his teeth would scrape across the plump flesh.
“Besides, you need to come. The primary purpose of our trip is to locate our next magnet item, for when you try again, Cinn. If you’re there, you might be able to help decide which item will be best.”
Julien had already decided what item they would leave with, but there was no need for Cinn to know that.
“And where exactly will your father’s birthday take place?” asked Cinn, but the way he tensed expectantly told Julien he knew the answer.
“Paris,” Julien said, with a flourish of his hands. “The most beautiful city in the world. According to delusional tourists. Don’t say I never spoil you.”