10. Julien
ten
Julien
T he discord sown by the Arcane Purifiers attack on the Institute didn’t last long.
Life swiftly settled back into its usual pattern, with the added feature of heightened security around the Institute. This included extra guards on patrol around the campus, as well as the requirement to ‘sign in’ with a team of clipboard-wielding officers once you’d parked or arrived by bus.
As November trudged along, Julien’s daylight hours shrank but his workload grew. His team at work had been assigned the task of designing and manufacturing a simple register device that would allow the user to press their palm onto a salt-rock disk as they passed through a checkpoint.
Eleanor sent Julien regular fire notes, thinly veiled reminders for him to keep tabs on Cinn—but this particular task required very little effort or hardship. Cinn drove to Auri with them every day, and more often than not spent time with them whenever someone was free to be with him. Noir had set him an extensive library list, so Darcy would often march them all there for a couple of hours—although Cinn tended to listen to music and doodle rather than actually read the books they’d located for him.
However, Julien’s favourite times were when the four of them would end up back at Darcy’s for dinner, where the conversation often turned to finalising their Paris plans .
“Why can’t we at least try to get access to the Displacement Baths? Then we wouldn’t have to travel at all,” Elliot whined one evening.
“A weekend break in Paris isn’t going to get us the documentation to access them,” retorted Darcy. “You know that. Also, we couldn’t take our stuff with us.”
“We could ship the stuff and it could meet us there.”
“Like that’s a sensible and practical idea!”
Cinn tapped a foot against the floorboards. “Is this that… transdimensional travel thing? Because I’m not sure I trust the concept of that, anyway.”
“Julien, weren’t you flirting with one of the staff who manages the Baths the other day?” A scowl flashed across Elliot’s face. “Surely they’ll let us in.”
Julien winced. “I… I think I burned that bridge when I didn’t return their call.”
With that method of travel out of the question, they debated the merits of driving—which Julien was primarily in favour of, as he’d enjoy driving Maz all the way there, and then they’d have her with them in Paris.
“The journey took over twelve hours when we drove there last year. Remember that hold up at the border? And then that massive traffic jam?” Darcy said.
“Plus, we can just use one of your father’s gazillion fancy sports cars,” added Elliot.
“It’s literally ninety minutes to fly there.”
And so Julien agreed to fly to Paris, which resulted in Cinn declaring he wasn’t coming, as there wasn’t ‘a chance in hell’ he was flying again. Apparently, he hadn’t enjoyed his one experience of air travel, but then again he had just been kidnapped…
After Cinn refused all of her offers of various drugs to help with the flight, Darcy pointed out if he ever wanted to go home to England again, flying would be much cheaper than the numerous train tickets he’d need to buy, including the astronomically expensive Eurotunnel. It was at this point Cinn had stormed out of her living room to bang around in her kitchen.
After ten minutes, Darcy went to check on him, coming back to inform them that Cinn was stress-baking.
“You’re actually letting Cinn use your kitchen?” asked Julien. “I’m impressed.”
“He wants to make cookies. How could I say no? Don’t worry. He’ll come to Paris. He’d miss us too much not to.”
Although it was true that Cinn had spent a lot of time with them since his arrival, weeks ago now, Julien suspected he’d be perfectly fine alone for a weekend. He’d probably end up hanging out with Eric, who he’d met up with at least twice. Not that Julien was keeping track, or anything.
Cinn burst back into the living room fifteen minutes later, covered in flour. “I don’t have a passport,” he announced proudly, with a grin.
“Eleanor is already sorting that,” Julien said cheerfully, which sent Cinn storming back into the kitchen. “You’ll get it way before next Thursday evening!”
Thursday evening came around quickly, and soon they were driving to the airport in Zurich to catch their eleven p.m. flight.
After locking Maz up, Julien stroked her bonnet. “Sorry I’m not allowed to bring you, girl.”
Darcy hooked her arm around his and dragged him away.
At the very last moment at the check-in booth, Julien realised a slight oversight of his, and reached out to snatch Cinn’s ticket off the counter before Cinn did. Three days ago, Cinn insisted he pay Julien for his flight tickets, so Julien made up some random figure that probably wouldn’t even cover an economy seat, let alone the business-class seat he’d purchased for him. When he’d lied to Cinn about the price, he’d forgotten it would be printed on his boarding pass.
But hell would freeze over before they travelled economy.
“I’ll keep hold of it for you,” he told Cinn who, understandably, shot him a confused look.
As they battled their way through throngs of passengers, Cinn became more and more miserable, looking up at the numerous signposts for various gates with wide eyes.
Julien supposed he’d bypassed the many necessary airport steps when he’d flown on Viktor Sturmhart’s private jet with Eleanor. “They’re going to X-ray our bags now,” he explained to Cinn as they entered the security section.
“I’m not a fucking idiot,” Cinn snarled. “I know how airports work.”
Darcy and Elliot snickered and nudged Julien with their elbows.
“I can’t wait for the live demonstration of how to fasten a seatbelt in a minute,” Elliot said.
“Well this serves me right for making a conscious effort to be nice,” Julien mumbled.
Elliot had somehow brought with him three different carry-on bags, each containing a different illicit item that had to be confiscated. He waved goodbye to his pocket knife, a box of straight razors, and, curiously, an aerosol can of spray paint.
“Honestly, I can’t take you lot anywhere,” huffed Darcy.
Once they reached their gate, Darcy and Elliot beelined straight for the business-class funnel, bypassing the large crowds. Cinn slowed, gawking at all the hundred-odd economy passengers queueing miserably until Julien pressed the small of his back to hurry him along .
Cinn looked between the busy queue and Darcy and Elliot, who were already through the barrier, frowning. “I need my ticket now,” he said. His clenched jaw spelled trouble.
“Don’t be mad,” Julien said, throwing the ticket at him, then sprinted towards the inspection desk before Cinn could explode at him. He turned to find Cinn’s mouth slightly ajar as he studied the ticket.
“You absolute—” Cinn stumbled with his words, turning bright red, which made Julien laugh, which made Cinn even angrier.
“You’ll thank me when strangers aren’t coughing on you and babies aren’t screaming in your ear,” he shouted, slipping past the barrier to join Darcy and Elliot.
After literally dragging Cinn up the boarding stairs, they followed a friendly attendant to their seats, two pairs of seats opposite each other. Julien gestured for Cinn to take the window seat before throwing himself down next to him. Cinn pulled the blinds down on the two nearest windows.
“Those need to stay open for take-off and landing,” Elliot said, taking the seat facing Cinn. “It’s going to be pitch black, anyway.”
Cinn reopened them miserably.
Darcy patted her hand luggage. “Are you sure you don’t want anything, Cinn? To help you relax? Completely medicinal, I swear.”
“No. I’ve told you before, I don’t take anything .” He squirmed, before adding in a low voice, eyes downcast, “I used to self-medicate using whatever I could to try to stop my… episodes. “I’ve seen first hand what a slippery path that could be. I’ll be fine. I’ll just try to sleep throughout the entire flight.”
A shred of guilt pierced Julien at his discomfort. He’d basically forced Cinn onto this plane. Although, Cinn had suggested he would love to visit Paris on the night they’d met… Hadn’t he? Sort of?
“What?” said Cinn, staring at Elliot, who did have a peculiar, distant look on his face .
“Sorry. It’s just… Béatrice always sat there when we used this airline. She was always opposite me, next to Julien.”
“Should I swap with one of you?” Cinn asked.
Sarcasm or genuine question?
That line of enquiry quickly disintegrated, however, with Cinn’s growing panic. Evidently, he hadn’t exaggerated his fear of flying. As his eyes darted between the window and the growing number of passengers taking their seats, Cinn’s leg tapped out morse code for SOS loudly against the floor. He pressed his fists to his head.
“Calm down.” Julien reached for his arm, tugging it away from his head. To Julien’s surprise, Cinn grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight, before quickly releasing it, horror on his face. “You can hold my hand anytime.” Julien winked, offering it back to him.
“Why did you make me do this?” Cinn hissed. “This will be the end of all of us. Have you seen how flimsy those wings are? They’re shaking in the wind!”
Julien waved a flight attendant over. “Five double whiskeys please. Preferably Irish.” To his surprise, she went to fetch them with only the slightest shake of her head.
When the shots came, five glasses of amber liquid, Cinn didn’t hesitate before knocking one back, then slamming the glass onto the metal table. Then another, another, another, and another. Julien had intended for the rest of them to have one each, but clearly Cinn had other plans.
“Does alcohol not count as self-medication, then?” Elliot flashed Cinn a snarky grin.
“Let me have my one vice.”
“What’s your smoking habit then, a pastime?”
Julien stifled a laugh.
Ignoring Elliot, Cinn glanced back to the table laden with empty shot glasses, eyes widening. He shot Julien a panicked look. “I can’t actually pay for those. ”
Chuckling, Elliot leaned back in his chair. “The entertainment you’re about to provide us with should cover it.”
“When does it take off again?” Cinn rocked his whole body forward and back.
“Probably not for another thirty minutes or so. Preflight checks and such,” said Darcy.
Cinn moaned, pressing his hand to his face. From his rucksack, he whipped out his Walkman, then violently shoved his headphones over his head. “Goodbye,” he announced, squeezing his eyes shut and slamming his head back against the headrest.
The three of them burst into laughter.
The sound of Cinn’s godawful music could just be heard over the ruckus of other boarding passengers; he’d turned it up to maximum volume.
When the plane finally started to manoeuvre across to the runway, an attendant looked poised to reach over to Cinn, and Julien’s arm shot out to block her.
“Sir, he really should listen to the safety briefing.”
“He’s a frequent flyer,” Julien said, shooting her his most charming smile, and she scampered off to bother someone else.
The take-off was uneventfully smooth, and their cabin became quiet as the captain dimmed the lights, passengers talking in hushed whispers. Cinn continued to squeeze his eyes shut and jiggle his leg, all the way through it, until his movements became slower and slower.
Darcy nodded her chin at Cinn. “I think he’s asleep.”
Indeed, his head now lay slumped against the side. The combination of the adrenaline crash with the alcohol must have knocked him out. He wouldn’t be their delightfully drunk entertainment after all. Julien would far rather he slept through it, however, and his mouth couldn’t help but twitch into a smile at his peaceful face—his expression carrying none of its usual tension—as he leaned over to close the window blinds .
Julien gestured towards Elliot’s similarly slumped form. “So is he. He was up at four a.m. though, with an early training session to make up for missing tomorrow’s.”
“Do you ever miss it?” Darcy said quietly, referring to the period of time where Julien had studied the practice of physically channelling motes alongside Elliot. The period of time forever known as ‘before’ in his head.
“Not the intense physical regime of it all, no.” But… there was something about the feeling of channelling that he’d never forget, never completely get away from. A feeling of invulnerability. Of power. Of security.
Eleanor’s words from their last meeting resurfaced. Had she spoken to Darcy? “Why do you ask?”
She nudged her leg against his. “Only because it’s my job to look out for you. Sometimes, when Elliot is talking about his day, you get this faraway look in your eye.”
“Motetech is what I’m good at.”
“Sure. We all know you’re on track to become some sort of tech prodigy. However, Elliot always says how insanely good you were at channelling.”
A tiny dash of turbulence rocked the aeroplane, and Julien’s gaze flashed straight to Cinn, bracing for him to wake up in terror. Still fast asleep, he only shifted from leaning against the window to landing his head on Julien’s shoulder, mumbling something incomprehensible.
Julien became very still.
Cinn’s breath ghosted across his bare neck, sending a chill down his spine. Beneath the smell of smoky whiskey, Julien could faintly detect vanilla, from the specific cookie recipe he was now making routinely at Darcy’s house, trying to nail the formula. He was certainly giving Darcy a run for her money.
If Julien moved his mouth an inch, he could kiss the top of Cinn’s head. Well, his beanie anyway .
Not that he’d be doing that, of course. That would be wildly inappropriate.
However…
Julien slid Cinn’s headphones off—the tape had finished—and carefully wrapped the wire around them like he’d seen Cinn do a thousand times. Then, he reclined their seats slightly.
“What are you doing?” Disapproval flashed across Darcy’s face.
“Making him more comfortable so the turbulence doesn’t wake him.” Julien arranged Cinn’s head gently against his chest. A crop of thick brown curls poked out of his beanie. Julien tucked them back under. They were just as soft as they looked.
He looked up to find Darcy seething. He could practically see smoke coming out of her ears. “Julien, you absolute psychopath . Stop touching him right now or I’ll wake him up.”
“You wouldn’t do that to him,” he said, but moved his hands away.
Instead, he snaked his arm around Cinn’s body to pull him even closer towards him, enjoying the warmth of his head and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed heavily.
Why did this feel so abstract, so unusual?
It hit him with a visceral punch—he’d never wanted this much body contact with anyone before, ever—well, not while clothed at least.
But every rise and fall of Cinn’s sleeping body only compounded Julien’s desire to never let go of him, to keep him trapped under his arm forever.
What was wrong with him? How had he been so easily bewitched by Cinn’s big brown eyes and his heart made of gold?
Julien’s fingers found their way over to play with the drawstrings of Cinn’s dark hoodie. The garment hid a body that Julien knew all too well now, after he’d drawn on him with the aethraven ink. Toned muscles blessed with a surprising amount of gorgeous tattoos that Julien wouldn’t mind investigating further. With his tongue .
Darcy’s eyes widened further. “Jul— wait. I thought I saw that look in your eye the other day. No, Julien. Absolutely not. This ”—she gestured wildly between him and Cinn’s slumped form—“is not a good idea.”
A pinprick of annoyance threaded through Julien. Who was Darcy to police his actions? Or Cinn’s for that matter. Cinn wiggled under him, pressing in even closer, his left hand moving up to latch onto a handful Julien’s shirt.
“Seems like he disagrees with you.”
“Julien, this isn’t funny!”
“Christ, woman, calm down,” Julien snapped. Surprised by the heat in his tone, he flinched, then blinked at Darcy’s stunned face. “Where did that come from?” he wondered quietly.
“I think I know,” she replied.
At once, he was transported to a fractured memory of his childhood. His father had said the exact same words to his mother. Béatrice and he had been huddled together in the corner of an adjacent room, joined by an archway. Too scared to interfere, but too scared to go upstairs and leave their mother completely alone with him. A wine glass was smashed against the floor, some of the little pieces landing under the arch, littering the dark wood like stars.
The next day, a purple bruise encircled his mother’s forearm.
“Can I take that back?” he whispered to Darcy, revulsion at the dark shadow of his father’s language surging within him.
“Well, you’ve still got your one daily take-back left,” she said, referring to the ongoing system from their university days, when the four of them would fight all the time. She smiled, and just like that, Julien knew all was forgiven, and she’d never mention it again. “Seriously, Julien, Cinn’s not a shiny new toy for you to play with and break.”
“And what if he’s a broken toy I want to fix?” Julien replied, knowing full well what she’d say back .
“You’re too fucked up yourself for that, and you know it. This one is already too delicate for you to fuck with, Julien. I’m not joking. Stay away . He deserves better than that.”
“Ouch. You wound me.” Julien clutched his heart. “I’d say he’s a lot stronger than you think.”
“Yes, he is. He’s going to be absolutely fine as long as you don’t mess with his mind. He acts like a tough nut, but I can sense he’s crumbling inside. I, for one, really like him, and I’ll be pissed at you if you scare him off from us. In fact, I’ll disown you as a friend and take his side in the divorce.”
“Mess with his mind? What do you take me for?”
Darcy pursed her lips. “Seriously, Julien, please don’t go there. We’re the only stability he has in his crazy new life.”
“Okay, okay. I was just messing with you. He’s not my type, anyway.”
“Not your type? You mean he doesn’t have a pulse?”
“Your humour just goes from strength to strength tonight, Darce.”
Across the aisle, out of a window, Julien could see the glittering lights of Paris in the far distance. Almost there.
Darcy tracked his gaze. “There’s something so special about coming back here, isn’t there?”
Julien blinked. For her, Paris was only fond memories of them all attending La Sorbonne and living together in their inner-city apartment. Of late nights, bright lights, and one or two too many glasses of red wine. For him though, it was where he grew up. Where his mother died. And now, where Béatrice was buried, next to her.
“It certainly has some charms.”
“Where shall we take Cinn?” she asked, all excitement—so much so that he caught a fraction of it himself.
Julien glanced down at Cinn’s sleeping head, still resting on his chest. Likely he’d want to do all the usual tourist rubbish. Joy .
Becoming lost in thoughts of how he could avoid the particularly tragic ones, Julien zoned out until Darcy said carefully, “Maybe it would be best for Cinn to stay with us at the hotel. Elliot, my parents, and I are all on the same floor. We can try and get another room for him.”
At the thought of dealing with the experience of his family home solo, of being left alone for hours and evenings and mornings when the others were at their hotel, liquid ice shot through his veins and his heart lurched into freefall. Having Cinn accompanying him throughout the weekend was the only reason he wasn’t in a depressed spiral about the whole thing.
“No need.”
“But Julien, your father—”
He groaned. “Will be perfectly polite towards him. He’s going to be thrilled to meet our infamous new shadowslipper. Give me two more hours of not thinking about him, please.”
The lights flickered on in the cabin as the crew prepared for landing, but Cinn remained blissfully asleep on his chest, his warm head and his steady breathing soothing Julien’s now-anxious mind.
He even remained unbothered when Elliot woke up with a yawn, took one glance at them, then scowled before composing his expression into one of nonchalance.
“I didn’t want to wake him by moving him.” It was the truth. Mostly.
Elliot’s leg shot out, in an arguably accidental stretch, to jab Cinn’s own. He jolted awake, instantly pushing himself up from Julien’s chest.
“Sorry,” Cinn mumbled, a dash of mortification breaking through his sleep-drunk, hazy expression. He leaned back against the headrest.
Julien gritted his teeth, purposefully avoiding looking at Elliot.
He never could have anything nice, even for a moment, apparently.