Page 133 of The Shadows Beyond
Prior preparations complete, Julien began the final steps. He gently manoeuvred Cinn upright to tug down his hospital gown. His heavy body didn’t stir, and his head lolled lifelessly to one side. With the utmost care, Julien placed him back down onto the pillow, brushing his brown curls from his forehead. Next, he whipped off his own shirt, throwing it down onto the floor.
In a different setting, either he or Elliot would have made some sort of joke, but the sombre atmosphere didn’t allow for it.
Julien settled back into the armchair and Elliot groaned as he knelt on the floor with the ink. His body was still recovering from the umbraphage attack, where he’d become moteblown in his efforts to dissipate the monster that had grabbed Cinn. Julien tortured himself for thethousandth time with the memory of the umbraphage going directly for Cinn, as if it had a personal vendetta against him. If only Julien had moved that little bit quicker…
Elliot’s face was expressionless as he propped open the book to copy from, before using the aethraven ink to decorate Julien’s stomach and chest with the circle of now-familiar runes.
“Cover as much of my body with it as possible,” Julien said to Darcy, who was busy making the paste that would bind him to Cinn, their magnet item. “Every inch of skin that isn’t inked.”
The paste felt odd against his skin, the texture rough. “That’ll have to do.” Darcy finished off with one long swipe of the stuff against his ribcage. “We’re out.”
The three of them paused for a few beats, frozen with the knowledge they were at the edge of the precipice, and not wanting to jump. Julien fractured the tableau by moving to Cinn’s bedside and pulling back the blankets with one quick flourish.
Ever so carefully, he climbed in beside Cinn. His body was pleasantly warm. It should be, for the amount of extra blankets Julien had put on him. As his arm slid around him, a shred of guilt gnawed at him. If Cinn could see him now, he’d likely shake with fury at Julien manhandling his semi-naked body, pressing it to his own. “Sorry,” he whispered into Cinn’s ear. “I have to.”
Inhaling deeply, he savoured the citrusy scent of Cinn’s hair, as it tickled his face. After all, this could be the last time he ever held Cinn. Evenifhe succeeded in bringing Cinn’s consciousness back, he’d still have broken the fragile thing they’d had blooming between them. He’d still look into Cinn’s eyes and see the anger, the hurt, the betrayal.
But at least his eyes would be open. At least he’d be alive.
And maybe, after a long time, Julien could earn Cinn’s trust again. They could be friends at least, surely.
Yes, this could be the very last time he held Cinn, so Julien clutched him so tightly that there wasn’t a fraction of an inch between Julien’s chest and Cinn’s back, the paste sticking and sealing them together. Binding them.
“Remember what we agreed?” Julien’s gaze darted between Darcy and Elliot.
Elliot snorted, then ran an exasperated hand through his wild curls. “We didn’t agree to your stupid plan where we pretend we found you like this and had nothing to do with it.”
“Well, your funeral then, when Eleanor comes for you. At least if I do die, she’ll have to be at least partially nice to you.”
“Julien!” Darcy glared at him. “We definitely agreed we’d stop with the dying jokes.”
Julien flashed her a sheepish smile. “Let’s have the poison, then.”
Face a controlled mask, Darcy slowly brought out the small vial of Mortalisfade from her satchel. Inside the flask, the thick indigo liquid subtly swirled, even though Darcy held it still. Wiggling the stopper free, she pulled out of her pocket an oral syringe.
“We went for ten millilitres last time, with Elliot. The most I’m willing to give you today, factoring in your reduced body mass, is eight,” she announced, voice authoritative, holding the vial and syringe close to her chest.
“Whatever you say, boss,” Julien said, causing Elliot to cackle.
Darcy scowled as she stepped towards him, inserting the syringe into the liquid and drawing up the precise amount.
Wrapping his arms tightly around Cinn, Julien pressed a palm against his chest, wishing he could rip the heart monitor off to feel the beat of his pulse against his fingers. He settled for tracing his fingers over the lyric Cinn had inked against a rib—go your own way—in artful calligraphy.
Elliot slid into the armchair. “See you on the other side,” he said, as Darcy’s hand hovered an inch from Julien’s open mouth. His expressionwas light, but Elliot’s steady voice held the slightest edge of fear. “Go get him.”
Once Julien had squeezed his eyes shut, Darcy squirted the dose right into the back of his mouth. He tasted the deep, earthy bitterness regardless. He swallowed.
Every attempt he or Elliot had ever made to shadowslip using Darcy’s home-brewed Mortalisfade had failed.
Too low doses had done nothing but send them drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Too high doses had abruptly knocked them out cold, then stopped their hearts, forcing Darcy to revive them with her box of tricks.
“Come on,” Julien whispered into Cinn’s hair. This time would be different. This timehad tobe different. “I can’t lose you,mon chéri. Iwon’tlose you.”
As his thoughts lost form, slipping out of his reach with increasing fluidity, Julien focused only on the steady beat of Cinn’s breath, and the feel of his warm skin on his.
thirty-six
