21. Cinn
twenty-one
Cinn
“ N o, it wasn’t like that.” Cinn fought to keep the impatience out of his voice. He’d been trying to explain his latest trip to the shadowrealm for at least half an hour, and the exhaustion of the day was getting the better of him.
As soon as they’d returned to Auri, they’d driven straight back to Darcy’s cottage together, all piling onto the rug on her living room floor, jostling to be closest to her fireplace. Darcy had lost the battle, so went to make tea. Upon her return, the recount had began.
“What I’m still trying to figure out,” said Julien, wrinkling his nose. “Is what version of the so-called ‘shadowrealm’ you went to if there were no spirits there to shape its form? I know Béatrice was there last time, but it can’t have been an imprint of her memory, or a projection of her reality , or however Noir phrases it to you.” Julien took a noisy slurp of his tea, and Darcy shot him a dirty look.
“I’ve no idea,” Cinn replied, facing the fire. He’d pointedly avoided any level of eye contact with Julien since their return. Already he was plotting how to delay the inevitable conversation they’d now have to have, following their… entanglement earlier. He could only hope by the time it occurred, he would have found a more eloquent way of phrasing ‘that was the hottest kiss of my life, but please don’t kiss me again because my stupid brain can’t handle it’.
“Could it be…” Darcy started .
“Spit it out.” Elliot leaned forward to take another cookie. They were Darcy’s pistachio nut creations, sadly not the vanilla ones with dark chocolate chips Cinn was determined to perfect.
Darcy dragged out the pause before declaring, “What if… it’s the umbraphage’s projected reality?”
A charged silence as everyone considered her words.
“That… makes a lot of sense,” said Cinn.
It also raised a lot of questions, which Julien soon voiced. “But why did he go there that first time when there wasn’t an umbraphage about? And why do they live in that nightmarish version of London?”
Elliot rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders that surely ached after his earlier efforts. “I’m going to head off. We still on for Béatrice attempt number two tomorrow afternoon? I have the day off.”
Julien’s eyes shot to Cinn. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea anymore.”
“What?” Elliot snapped. “You mean we ripped a rib off her dead body for nothing?”
Julien winced. “But the umbraphages—”
“Can’t hurt me in the shadowrealm,” Cinn said, with conviction he didn’t truly feel. “Besides, I want to go back. The shadowmote had more to show me, I’m sure of it, before you made me return.”
“ Oui , I’m so sorry about that,” said Julien sulkily. “Next time I’ll just leave you to your precious version of London, where the fucking moon is fractured and red ivy has eaten everything. And stop touching that.” Julien leaned over to knock Cinn’s hand away from his now-bandaged wrist. The burns underneath the fabric itched like hell, despite the strange concoctions Darcy had smeared on it.
Elliot shot the pair of them a quick half smile. “See you tomorrow,” he said, before abruptly turning to leave. Darcy started stacking cups, and a few moments later, the muffled roar of Elliot’s motorcycle reverberated through the walls .
“It’s almost midnight,” said Julien to Darcy, a slight pleading tone seeping into his voice, before yawning dramatically.
“Oh, for God’s sake, fine, you two can stay. But use the spare toothbrush, not mine. And help me get the blankets out of the cupboard.”
Julien jumped up, beaming so wide Cinn almost laughed, to follow her out of the room. Shortly after, a hissed argument was faintly audible from the corridor. “I mean it, Julien!” Darcy’s voice warned, followed by a door closing.
Hovering just outside the bathroom, Cinn waited for Julien to be done brushing his teeth, accidentally locking eyes with him multiple times in the mirror. And fuck , did each time do something to him. Julien’s subtle smirk as he handed over the toothbrush told Cinn he knew exactly what he was doing.
Cinn rinsed it for a full ten seconds before putting it in his mouth.
When he re-entered the living room, Julien was dumping an armful of blankets onto the rug. “You’re on the sofa, I’m on the floor.”
Cinn was about to protest, but it was Julien’s choice not to drive them back to their own beds. If he wanted to wake up tomorrow with a bad back and a cricked neck, so be it. He did leave Julien the softest-looking blanket in exchange, though, choosing a patchwork quilt that looked rather handmade. A closer inspection revealed the initials BM stitched into the corner.
As Cinn settled into the admittedly comfortable sofa—no wonder Julien loved sleeping on it—a nicotine craving hit him, but entering the garden alone with Julien, out of the safety of Darcy’s earshot, seemed like risky territory.
He lay on his back, facing the ceiling with its rustic wooden beams, and traced with his eyes a route of tiny imperfections in the wood.
“Can I ask you something?” Julien said, and Cinn wanted to sink into the sofa’s shell .
“Yes,” he finally replied, every muscle held tense. He really didn’t have the energy to talk about the kiss tonight.
Julien paused, then said, “Earlier, when you stopped outside of the Displacement Baths. You were freaking out about being fully submerged in water.”
Cinn’s tired mind reeled from the unexpected direction of the conversation. “Is that a question?”
Julien laughed. “Fine. Why were you freaking out?”
“I have a very reasonable fear of drowning.”
“Yes, I inferred that part. I was just wondering why.”
Because I can’t fucking swim.
Cinn sighed and twisted around on his side to face Julien. “This is weird, because Noir tried to make me retell this exact story earlier today.”
“I didn’t realise the two of you were close enough to make swimming plans together.”
An involuntary smile tugged at the corner of Cinn’s lips. “Noir and I have the best time together. It mostly involves braiding each other’s hair.”
“Sounds like I’m missing out. So you didn’t tell Noir the story because…?”
Because I can’t stand people’s reactions to it, when I tell it truthfully, the way it actually happened.
“It’s not a very nice experience to relive.”
“Fair enough. Don’t worry then,” said Julien. He’d also rolled over, and now the two of them were doing the exact thing Cinn had wanted to avoid: staring into each other’s eyes.
Well, at least telling the story would keep Julien’s eyes from undressing him. Potentially.
Cinn sighed. “It was about two weeks before my thirteenth birthday—you know, that day I had my first slip. In fact, Noir told me today that this near death experience actually triggered my shadowslipping ability in the first place.” That was a whole other thing he hadn’t had time to process. “It was February, and freezing cold, but we’d been stuck inside all weekend and I really wanted my mum to take me to the park.”
This is where he had the choice of how much to sugarcoat, how much to change. He’d told a dozen different versions of this tale, each much more palatable than the truth.
However, something about Julien’s enraptured focus on him made him fight the impulse to lie.
“If I tell you the exactly accurate version of events, I don’t want any over the top reactions, okay?”
Julien frowned slightly. “Okay.”
Cinn exhaled. “So, it was Sunday afternoon, and I wanted to go to the park. Yes, I know I was twelve, but I still really loved feeding the ducks that lived on the river.”
“Adults can enjoy feeding ducks, too, you know,” Julien interjected, smirking.
“Well, on this occasion, my mum was not at all on board. She’d already made plans with the TV and the bottle of wine she’d drunk half of already that day. Though eventually, she agreed.” Cinn studied Julien’s face for a reaction, but none came. “I guess I shouldn’t have pressed so hard,” he said, almost to himself.
“You were her child. It was her job to take you!” Julien burst out, and Cinn gave him a warning look. “Sorry.”
“Well, we went to the park. But the wine came with us. My mum sat on the bench at the top of the riverbank, and I took down our dried up bread to feed them.”
His usual lies danced on the tip of his tongue.
Then, an old man had a heart attack, and my mum had to run over and give him CPR.
Then, a lost dog darted past her, and she had to chase it down to make sure it was okay.
Then, she turned around to sketch a picture of this really beautiful tree behind us.
“Then, she drank the rest of the wine, and fell asleep.”
“Cinn…” Julien started, but Cinn ignored him and pushed on.
“I looked back and saw her eyes were shut, and she was slumped across the bench. I should have woken her up.” Julien made a noise of protest. “But I was so angry at her for making me feed the ducks by myself, I just let her sleep. It was often best like that. I finished throwing all the bread to the ducks, then I sat down by the river to watch them. The ground was so damp. I remember thinking my mum was going to be angry about the mud on my trousers. So I thought I’d quickly splash some water on them, to get the worst off, at least.”
“Sounds very sensible,” said Julien, and he didn’t even sound sarcastic.
“Yes, well, my twelve-year-old brain thought so. I leaned forward to cup some water into my hand, but… somehow stumbled. It was quite windy, so that didn’t help. Anyway, I tumbled straight into the freezing cold river. I panicked and splashed around, of course, but not loud enough for my mum to wake up. The current wasn’t that strong, but the river was so deep I couldn’t stand.”
“And you didn’t know how to swim before this?” Julien said, clearly trying to keep his voice neutral.
“Do you know how expensive lessons are?” Cinn did. He’d saved up all his tiny scraps of pocket money to try to pay for them. Unsuccessfully, because his piggy bank was routinely raided. “We needed all our money to buy things like clothes and food.” And wine. And vodka.
“Fair enough,” Julien said, but the judgement was plainly written all over his face.
“Anyway, I ended up sinking under, even though I was kicking like mad, and in my panic I started to swallow water, then choke on it.”
Would he ever forget that horrible sensation? The burning in his lungs, the terror gripping his heart .
“Then I must have passed out. Next thing I knew, I was on my back on the riverbank, and this random man was giving me mouth-to-mouth. I think I threw up on him.”
“And your mother?”
“She was awake by that point. She was standing behind the man, crying.”
“I bet she was,” Julien said bitterly, then pursed his lips.
“Remember, you promised.”
“That wasn’t an overreaction. That was an under reaction, if anything.”
Cinn sighed. “She wasn’t a saint, but she wasn’t altogether a bad mother.” He could see Julien was about to disagree, so he jumped back in. “I never found out if I had actually died that day, but what Noir said earlier makes me think that I might have. Or was very close to dying, at least.”
Julien let out a breath. “Cinn, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise what that story entailed.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll drown on a holiday to the Bahamas next time, while swimming with dolphins.”
“That’s not what I meant!” An angry flush appeared on Julien’s cheeks. “I just meant, I feel terrible for you having to go through all that. It sounds awful.”
Cinn stared at Julien. “You realise this story is just the tip of the iceberg, right? The geezer who saved me reported my mum to child services. They already had tabs on her from my school, so that was the last straw. I was placed into foster care five months later. My childhood, hell, most of my adult life even, was pretty fucking traumatic. You know I ended up in jail, right?”
The lack of surprise in Julien’s eyes didn’t shock him. He’d predicted Eleanor had given Julien the full rundown on the English hooligan he was charged to babysit. “ Oui ,” Julien said. “I can only imagine how difficult that was.”
Yeah, imagine . The privileged princeling would never be able to empathise with Cinn’s lifelong battle against poverty. A very good reason to stay the fuck away from his dangerous dimples and his even more dangerous dick.
“But I want to hear more about it,” Julien quietly continued. “Your life, I mean. So I can properly understand.” His grey eyes had gone soft and sincere, rendering Cinn powerless against them.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off.”
Julien laughed. “I always find that phrase so ridiculous.”
Cinn joined in, finding a cathartic release of tension within the laughter.
“Thank you for trusting me with all of that,” Julien carefully said, in the quietest of voices. “That means a lot to me.”
Julien’s eyes bore into his until the electric charge between them returned, so Cinn rolled over to face the ceiling again, hearing Julien do the same, but with a tiny chuckle.
“Just so you know, I’m trying really hard not to climb up there with you right now,” Julien whispered.
Cinn closed his eyes. Now I’m trying really hard not to beg you to do just that.
And now Julien had said that, his mind was overrun with images.
Julien’s naked body, accentuated by the firelight, crawling on top of him.
That predatory dimpled smile he’d use, the one that would make Cinn melt.
The heavy, glorious weight of him as he pressed Cinn into the sofa.
The way his lips would surely go straight to the love bite on Cinn’s neck. The one that was almost healed, to Cinn’s slight regret.
And then his mouth would go lower and lower —
“Cinn?”
“What?”
“You just made a weird sound.”
Oops.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Then, the question blurted out of him before he could stop it.
“What if… what if they try to send me back to London? Once Eleanor realises I’m not the asset against the umbraphages everyone hoped I’d be.”
The creak of a floorboard as Julien twisted onto his side, with Cinn mirroring his action.
Julien’s grey eyes were deadly serious when he said, “Then I’ll have to fight them for you. I could knock Eleanor out, any day.”
Cinn had doubts about that, actually. That woman was terrifying .
“You’re not going anywhere,” Julien whispered, and held out his hand.
Cinn offered Julien his bandaged wrist, and Julien gently interlaced their fingers.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
The soft crackle of the fire, and the steady beat of Julien’s breath, lulled Cinn’s eyes into closing. He relaxed every other muscle, but he squeezed Julien’s hand firmly against his, as if he were a life raft, and Cinn was drowning all over again.