Page 10 of The Shadows Beyond
If they’d arrived five minutes later, they might have lost him. He could only imagine the fury on Eleanor’s face if they’d let him slip through their fingers. Likely she would have tracemotes on the newcomer before the day was over, lest he go wandering.
She’d whirlwinded into his apartment the day before last to announce she was flying to England to collect someone she needed his help with. The details were vague: a man, a year or two younger than him. A criminal record. And most importantly:ashadowslipper.
“He’s… not exactly Auri material, is he?” Elliot whispered, his lips twitching into a snide smile. “What exactly is he wearing?”
Julien’s eyes raked over the guy’s baggy clothes that hid every inch of the smooth, olive skin he’d brushed up against during their fight. Thegrey woollen beanie that he wore, tugged down low on his head, was fraying slightly at the seams.
Non, this man was definitely not his type. But there was certainly something about him…
Probably just the adrenaline from the fight talking.
When they were brawling earlier, Julien’s eye kept magnetising to the small silver bar that adorned his right eyebrow. The temptation to pull it had been strong, but Julien didn’t want toreallypiss him off. Not when he needed him so badly.
“Maybe his style is all the rage in London these days,” he replied.
“Can you imagine what your father would say if you started dressing like that?” Elliot continued to snicker to himself, but Julien gave him no response. Elliot would often bring Julien’s father up, and Julien would shut down the conversation instantly, yet it never deterred Elliot.
Cinnamon’s head snapped back towards them at Elliot’s laughter, but they were saved by the distraction of Darcy announcing, “Home sweet home!” Good job, too—Julien did not want a repeat of the fight from earlier, in which his shorter opponent had certainly held his own.
The fire was down to its dying embers by the time they settled in the living room of Darcy’s small cottage, and Julien set to work reviving it—one long, hard breath, and the heatmote-infused grate did its job. He stared at the blazing inferno, half expecting immediate instructions to burst out of the now-present flames. Instead, the telephone rang.
Darcy was closest. After the caller had spoken for a moment, she replied smoothly, “Of course.” She placed the phone on the wall hook. “Eleanor is on her way.”
“I bet she is.” Elliot grinned and looked at Cinnamon like he was a rabbit about to be devoured by a wolf.
“How are you feeling, Cinnamon?” Darcy guided him to the seat closest to the fire—the cosy emerald armchair that Julien usually tookfor himself. “The heat should help with the last lingering effects of the Frostbite.”
“My name’s Cinn,” he replied, sitting on the very edge of the chair and fiddling with the lining of his beanie. “Nobody calls me Cinnamon.”
“Someone must have, at least once,” Elliot sniped, earning him a whack on the head from Darcy, which Julien approved of—they now needed ‘Cinn’ on side, if they were going to enlist his help.
“So Cinn,” he started, consciously using his most charming smile—the smile that nobody could say no to. This should have been his approach from the start, but he’d let the panic of almost losing access to him take hold. Julien sat down cross-legged in front of the fire, beaming up at Cinn, maintaining strong eye contact. The wary-looking man’s deep golden-brown eyes held a surprising amount of warmth, despite the scowl he wore on his face.How much prettier would he be with a smile?
“Yes?” Cinn snapped, glaring at him now. Julien had gotten distracted. Very distracted.
“We understand that this must be very confusing for you,” said Darcy, clearly deciding Julien wasn’t up to the task of placating their captive. “I’m sure Eleanor wasn’t the most forthcoming. But she’s coming here now, and we can go through everything else you want to know.”
The teapot whistled on Darcy’s stove and she left the room, beckoning Elliot with her.
Cinn eyed Julien warily, as if he expected a sudden attack now they were alone. “Are you Swiss? Or what?” he abruptly asked.
“French,” Julien said, deliberately rolling his‘r’. “My homeland is the City of Lights,” he continued, exaggerating his accent in that seductive way that often had people melting in front of him.
Cinn didn’t look impressed. Strange.
“Who the hell even is Madame Sinclair, anyway? Does she run this place? TheInstituteor whatever?”
Julien barked a laugh. Eleanor would have loved to hear that. “Not exactly. I suppose you could say she’s… middle management. I primarily know her as a friend of the family, but our paths cross here from time to time.”
“Does she often fly across the world to personally kidnap people?”
“Only the very special ones.” Julien used the opportunity to bat his eyelashes ever so subtly, but Cinn was unaffected, staring back with a deadpan expression.
With saucers clinking, Darcy and Elliot carried in two trays laden with teacups and dark chocolate cookies. Setting hers down on the round coffee table with a flourish, she announced, “Ma just sent me this new chai blend from India.” Darcy thrust a cup into Cinn’s hand before falling onto the sofa beside Elliot, turning on the bronze torchiere beside her. “They just spent a month there and stockpiled twelve different types of tea before returning to Scotland.”
Julien eyed Cinn discreetly as he lifted the mug to his lips. Cinn took the smallest ever sip, his face pinching when he swallowed. Then he leaned past Julien to swipe a biscuit, with a lunge so quick that it almost cracked a joke.
Cinn devoured most of the cookie with a single large bite. “Is there… black pepper in these?”
