31. Julien
thirty-one
Julien
J ulien stared over at Cinn, standing with Eric and his friends, amongst a busy crowd on the other side of the street. If Julien ducked under the tape that had cordoned off the road, where the festival procession would soon pass, he could reach him in ten seconds.
So near, so close, but for all Julien’s futile attempts to catch his eye, he may as well have been on the other side of the planet.
Two weeks. How could anyone possibly stay angry, without even the slightest hint of reprieve, for two whole weeks?
Julien delivered what he believed was a very heartfelt letter through the door ten days ago now, and still, nothing. At least he knew Cinn was okay—he met with Darcy for coffee almost daily, to Julien’s relief. And jealousy. At least she’d been able to find out that Tyler had left the hospital and was on his way to a full recovery.
Now, it was a waiting game, made more difficult when Julien found himself near him. The other day, Julien saw Cinn ahead of him, walking with Eric through Auri, and he’d had to walk in the opposite direction, lest he punch something.
“Stop staring at him,” hissed Darcy into his ear, and Elliot snorted in amusement. “He’s not going to look your way. He’s as stubborn as you.”
How much longer would this torture go on for? Aside from Julien’s pathetic pining, which the other two were both vocally sick of, it had been a quiet two weeks, with zero cat sightings and slow progress researching who could advise them regarding Béatrice’s tampered-with locket.
Julien had protested against attending the winter lantern parade this evening, but had eventually been dragged out of his apartment to witness the festivities, which marked the start of the holiday break for some Auri departments.
Later, there would be the spectacular display of mote-infused fireworks, where Darcy would likely monologue, for the tenth or so time, on how much effort they were to produce, and how wasteful it was of resources.
The procession began, saving Julien from the temptation of gawking at Cinn.
First there were the renowned lanterns, lots held by moteblessed children who were changing the soft, vibrant colours the animal-shaped paper creations emitted. Several lanterns, including an impressive penguin, floated gracefully through the air, travelling several metres above the child’s hand, controlled by skilful windmote manipulation.
Next came the elemental performers, some of the gendarmerie mixed in with professional entertainers. Dancers in vibrant colours wove fire into intricate forms as if thread, and water responded to their movements like liquid silk, swirling and dancing in harmony to the background music provided by a live band on a nearby stage. Elliot muttered something under his breath. Julien smirked to himself. Every year, Elliot not so subtly hoped to be invited to participate in the annual display of talent.
“Salvatore Gallo has fifty francs on AP making some sort of scene tonight. Crying around about gratuitous mote use, etcetera,” Elliot said, followed by a scoff.
A tut from Darcy. “I’m not convinced the chief of the gendarmerie should be lowering himself to such speculation.”
Their attention turned back to the parade, where they were treated to artisans crafting intricate giant snowflakes out of thin air, freezing moisture to create crystalline sculptures that sparkled with a celestial glow. Each delicate snowflake seemed alive as the artists held them in place, suspended like frozen dreams waiting to be released into the night.
Animated ice sculptures followed, in addition to teleporting illusionists.
The wind picked up, and light snow—genuine, natural snow—flurried down from a lone cloud, falling on Julien’s head. He shivered.
Despite his best efforts, Julien’s eyes once again magnetised straight to Cinn, who now had a salted pretzel from a food stand in his hand. Cinn glanced up at the sky, and then ran a hand over his brown curls, flicking off the dusting of snow that’d settled there. Julien’s heart leapt. He’d kept Cinn’s green beanie in his bag, carrying it around for the right moment to give it back to him. What did it mean that Cinn hadn’t gone back to wearing his grey beanie? Absolutely nothing, probably. However, if there was ever going to be an opportune time to attempt to give this one back, it was now.
Julien took a half step towards the barrier, then hesitated. If Cinn rejected the hat, or even simply pierced him with those icy-cold eyes like he’d done the day of their fight, that would be the final nail in the coffin for his poor broken heart.
But the more he studied Cinn—the light pink splotches on his cheeks, the subtle duck to his head, the slight distance he’d put between himself and the group he was with—the more his pull became irresistible.
“I’m going to go talk to him,” announced Julien. “This is ridiculous. He doesn’t even look like he’s enjoying hanging with those guys.”
Elliot chuckled. “He looks fine to me. But I’ll admit to missing the dude. So, go make up already.”
Turning to Darcy, Julien found her unsure. Her head flicked between Julien and across the street. “Why don’t all three of us go over, and then it will make it a bit more casual? ”
At the next lull in the performance procession, Julien ducked under the tape barrier and darted across the road, followed closely by Darcy and Elliot. Eric’s pointed glare at Julien as they approached did not inspire the casual aesthetic they were aiming for. He ignored Eric and focused entirely on reaching Cinn, who bit into his lip as soon as he noticed their appearance.
Julien rehearsed his opening lines: Hey, how have you been? Did you read my letter? Your head looks cold, and I just happen to have had your hat in my bag for the last two weeks.
However, when Julien stumbled to a stop a handful of steps away from him, every word in his vocabulary vanished as he was confronted with the intricate blend of emotions manifesting in Cinn’s expressive gaze.
Julien opened his mouth to say something, which was seeming highly likely to be a nonsensical babble of I’m an idiot mixed with I miss you so much, when the first scream sounded.
The sharp noise cut through the festive atmosphere, a discordant note against the enchanting melody the band was playing. The lanterns that were being held within the crowd flickered, as if nervous.
A ripple of apprehension shot through the parade watchers, and Julien’s stomach lurched. The previously joyful parade sounds curdled into a symphony of hurried footsteps and anguished whispers.
Something was wrong.
Lunging for Cinn, Julien gripped his arm tightly, which prompted a fierce scowl. “I think—”
The air itself seemed to constrict, as if a vacuum had formed, stealing away any shred of warmth to create an icy chill. Every lantern dimmed to a feeble flicker. Shadows elongated, contorting into grotesque shapes that danced eerily across the snow-covered ground.
An uncanny hush fell over the crowd. And then, emerging from the heart of the parade, an umbraphage materialised like a phantom from the shadows, its form twisting and pulsating with malevolent energy. Inky tendrils unfolded, reaching hungrily toward a gasping crowd that immediately fell backwards in a collective rush.
Elliot swore, pushing Darcy behind him as Julien did the same to Cinn.
“Your wristband, Cinn,” Darcy shouted. “Don’t let it burn you again.”
“It’s already off.”
Abruptly, a swarm of people stampeded in from their left, their faces etched with terror as they weaved through the panicking crowd. Julien caught a cry over the raucous noise. “There’s two more near St. Caelum’s!”
“You guys go,” said Elliot to the three of them. “Quickly.”
Julien clasped his shoulder and gave him a look that he hoped communicated volumes before Elliot launched himself into the fray of gendarmes that had already joined the fight.
Julien turned to usher Darcy and Cinn forward.
Or at least, he tried to.
“Wait.” Cinn held his ground, staring at the umbraphage, eyebrows drawn together in intense concentration. He pressed a finger to his temple. “I can… feel it . Feel them .”
Julien grabbed a fistful of Cinn’s coat, tugging him in the opposite direction. “What?” he snapped. “That doesn’t matter right now. We need to go.”
Darcy quite vocally agreed with him, her panicked voice reaching a shrill peak.
“Hold on,” spat Cinn, his tense body resisting Julien’s efforts to drag him away. “I feel like I could… I could…”
Julien didn’t hold back his noise of exasperation.
Darcy’s eyes shot saucer-wide. She pointed behind Julien. “Another!”
Everything happened in slow motion .
The additional umbraphage, surging towards them.
Elliot’s distinct shout from afar.
The rush of wind, undoubtedly motecraft in origin, knocking them out of the way of the monster’s path. Slamming them into the ground.
Cinn being torn from Julien’s grip.
The thud of his body landing some distance away from him, the sound reverberating through Julien in continuous echoing waves.
Julien’s blood freezing as the umbraphage headed straight for Cinn, lifting his limp body from the ground as if a doll.
A smaller being, similarly shadowy yet distinctively cat-shaped , suddenly emerged, circling the umbraphage and hissing wildly.
Darcy’s terror-laden scream could easily be heard over the commotion as the shadowy nightmare brought Cinn higher and higher, before lifting him to the part of the umbraphage’s body that could pass as its head.
No!
A sudden impact blindsided Julien, an unseen blow to the back of his head, followed by a searing burst of pain erupting across his skull. Darkness rushed in, his senses overwhelmed as the world dissolved into a void.
Every inch of his being fought to stay awake, stay awake for Cinn, stay awake to save him, even if it was the last thing he did—he’d claw his way over there if it killed him—but the battle was futile, and Julien drowned in the blackness that enveloped him in deafening silence.