Page 126 of The Shadows Beyond
“Yes, well, we live and we learn.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.
“Julien, my love, you deserve the world. You’ve just never believed it, and that is why you occasionally act like a total psychopath.”
Julien reached for his tea, the warm liquid calming him with each sip. “What’s my plan then? A boombox over my head outside his window? A thousand red roses? A flock of white doves that spell out ‘I’m an idiot for almost killing your ex-boyfriend’?”
“No, no, and even more no,” Darcy replied, punctuating each word with a slap to Julien’s thigh. “You calm the fuck down and give him space.”
“What?” Julien cried. “How’s that meant to help? He’ll just ruminate on how awful I am.”
“Probably. Maybe you could start with a letter.”
Julien groaned. “I’m not good with words in that way.”
“That’s why you’re in this mess!”
“Fine!” he snapped. “Have it your way.”
Darcy smiled that sickening winning smile of hers. “I always do.”
thirty-one
Julien
Julien 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 progressresearching 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, freezingmoisture 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.
