Page 5 of The Shadows Beyond
It was five minutes past midnight when Julien reached the campus.Witching hour.
Shadows cast by the branches of centuries-old trees stretched like ghostly fingers across the cobblestone paths, while the ancient spires of St. Caelum’s pierced the starlit sky. The downpour had reduced to a heavy drizzle now, and so the hush of the night was broken only by Julien’s footsteps as he crossed the lamplit courtyard to reach his destination.
As arranged, Julien found Darcy and Elliot waiting for him beneath the majestic portico of Aurelia Library, its towering columns framing the entrance.Three cloaked figures meeting under moonlight. Fitting.
He nodded to them both, impressed that Elliot wasn’t late. Although he did look like he’d just rolled out of bed—his dark blond curls looked particularly untamed as he waved at Julien. Darcy, however, seemed as fresh and as sprightly as when he’d seen her that morning.
“Midnight dreary.” Darcy pulled down her damp hood. “Ready?” She gestured to the closed, very much locked, door.
Upon Darcy’s delicate touch, the ornate, heavy oak swung open with a grandeur befitting the secrets and knowledge held within.
Julien wolf-whistled. “You weren’t lying then. And you’re sure our presence won’t be detected? Because if we’re caught…” He shuddered. That would be an awkward conversation indeed.
“Positive. Grace assured me she tripped all the security systems at the end of her shift. We’re safe.”
The library looked markedly different, being vacant and unlit. Some light seeped in from the oversized windows, and feeble rays of moonlight glinted off elaborate chandeliers. Treading lightly on the polished wooden floor, Julien trailed after Darcy, who led them through the labyrinthine expanse of towering mahogany shelves to their destination—the room they favoured most out of the library’s collection of small study spaces.
Elliot clicked the door behind them while Julien headed straight for the unlit fireplace, its mantle adorned with the faces of two stone lions, jaws wide. Bending down, Julien blew hard on the stone-cold coal, once. Flames burst into life.
Warm orange tones lit up the cramped, cosy space—walls lined with rich, aged, leather-bound tomes, and plush armchairs beckoning them into their embrace. Julien’s gaze lingered on an especially ancient-looking Morris chair in the corner. If he tried hard enough, he could almost see past echoes of Béatrice sitting in it, her feet tucked up as she turned the pages of her current read at lightning speed.
There was no time for Julien to linger with his sad thoughts tonight—they were on a mission.
“We’re lucky I could make it today. Did you hear about the latest umbraphage attack in Toronto?” Elliot asked. “Half of the gendarmerie were dispatched. I’m surprised I wasn’t sent too.”
“How could we not have heard? It was all Auri could talk about today.” Darcy sighed, tucking one long auburn lock behind her ear. “An umbraphage attack following the worst hurricane in decades. It’s certainly given the Arcane Purifiers some fuel for their fire.”
Elliot’s face twisted at the mention of the AP, and so Julien cleared his throat, not wanting the distraction of the controversial topic. “Well Darcy? Did you get it?”
She flashed that smile she reserved for moments of superiority. “Darling, does a star twinkle in the midnight sky? Do Hamlet’s soliloquies contain a hint of introspection? Is Bordeaux not the most superior wine—”
Elliot threw a plump cushion at her, something Julien would have done himself if he’d been closer to one.
From her shoulder bag, Darcy removed a planchette: a small, heart-shaped wooden piece, worn by time and use. Its smooth, curved side featured a raised pattern resembling a compass, while on the reverse, two wheels lay opposite a hole to hold a pen.
Julien stared down at the nineteenth-century automatic writing device, not bothering to hide his scepticism. It looked simply antediluvian.
“Are you joking, Darce?” Elliot picked it up. “This piece of plankwood?”
Darcy smacked his arm and grabbed the instrument off him. “Stop that! I had toborrowit from Old Figgins’s personal collection, and it needs to return in one piece.”
“You really think we’ll have more success with this than a ouija board?” Elliot inserted his finger into the hole and whizzed it along the table, laughing. “It looks more like a skateboard for mice.”
“Let’s get on with it,” Julien hissed, and carefully removed a piece of blank paper from his satchel. He placed it on the wooden table alongside a blue ballpoint pen.
“You have to be joking.” Elliot, aghast, glared at the pen as if it had personally offended him. “She’s hardly going to use that to communicate with us. She’d rather die. It’sbluefor one.”
“Well, it’s lucky for her that she’s already dead then,” Darcy snapped, before catching herself and glancing at Julien. “Sorry, Julien. I wasn’t thinking.”
Julien waved his hand. “Elliot’s right.” Rummaging around in his bag, he procured a sketching pencil. “This will have to do.” He placed it in the hole near the edge of the planchette.
Darcy began to prepare the space in earnest: candles lit, lavender burnt, clear quartz placed. All a load of meaningless nonsense, of course, but Julien indulged her. As she chanted undecipherable phrases under her breath, Elliot brought out his pot of aethraven ink and drew a repeated pattern of runes on the floor, encircling the table: Lumistel, Quertarum, Eldraith, Lumistel, Quertarum, Eldraith. Béatrice would have been proud of the handiwork.
From its place under his shirt, Julien slipped Béatrice’s locket over his head, to lay it on the table reverently. The locket, adorned with a celestial array of moons and stars, was once her most cherished item, and now it was his. Even more so as he’d had to steal it back from the authorities after her death.
The trio each placed their fingers upon the planchette. The other two had as much confidence in this working as he did, but their expressions still bore traces of apprehension. And of hope.
“Béatrice Eléonore Montaigne,éclaire notre chemin. We’re here for you. We’re ready to listen. Come to us. Talk to us,ma soeur adorée.” Julien cringed at himself. “We need you,” he added, his traitorous voice cracking ever so slightly.
