Page 46 of The Shadows Beyond
“I meant the homeless Parisians would steal your clothes, but yes, I’m sure they’d find you irresistible. Especially in that hat.”
Their eyes locked, and Cinn’s breath caught in his throat.
Julien passed him the end of the cigarette, which he finished in two long drags, all the while continuing their intense staring match.
Just when he was going to flick the butt on the ground, Julien snatched it carefully from his hand. “It’s bad to litter,” he said, tutting. Julien threw it into one of the fiery torches with impressive aim.
Was it bad that Cinn wanted to be punished?
That’s enough.
Cinn shook his head violently to clear it. It was decided: he was never touching whiskey again.
Julien turned to the gate, but instead of locating an intercom system, he stepped on a shiny part of the ground Cinn had presumed was a drain cover.
Incorrect.
Two flashes of brightness lit the night sky as a fervent energy surged through the fire torches. A strange glow seeped up from the ground, curling around the iron bars.
Slowly, the gates opened with a slight screech, dragged by swirling flecks of light.
“Are those… motes? Did they recognise you and open the gate? Oh, also, are motes ‘alive?’ Like, can they see and hear us?”
Julien laughed. “I think there are a few chapters debating that, within that book from Noir that you’re currently meant to be reading.”
“I brought it with me,” Cinn muttered. “No need to be the homework police.”
“Definitely not. That sounds awfully dull.”
Increasingly awestruck as they approached the house, Cinn couldn’t shake off a sense of severe dissociation—not for the first time since he left London. He was about to sleep in this ‘house’, meet Julien’s prestigious family. He was inParis, of all places!
The ghost of a palm against his cheek.“One day, you’ll escape this fucking cycle, Cinn. You’re too good for this rat race. You deserve the world.”
At the time, Cinn had shaken his head at Tyler, who was high as a kite on whatever he’d been able to buy that day. Now, approaching the mansion, he found himself echoing that action.
Tyler. He hadn’t been able to reach him this morning. Tomorrow, he’d try again.
“Excited to be home?” Cinn asked Julien, as the double doors somehow sensed their presence and flung open for them.
After a moment’s pause, Julien cast a sad smile toward him. “This place,” he remarked softly. “Hasn’t felt like home in quite some time.”
Exhaustion weighed Cinn down with every step as he followed Julien down a maze of corridors, their shoes against the marble the only sound.
Up two flights of stairs, to the guest wing—honestly, who needed a guestwing?—and finally he was delivered to his room.
“How will I, uh… find you tomorrow?” said Cinn, not bothering to hide his panic.
“I’ll come get you. Unless you’d rather come sleep in my bed?” A wide, gleaming white predatory smile.
Cinn rolled his eyes and closed the door on Julien’s face.
“Thatis for making coffee? I have one of those in my new house.”
“How do you not know what acafetièreis?”
“Heard of a little thing called Nescafé?”
“Ah, that granulated disappointment, the mud-like residue of regret? Yes, I’ve heard of it.”
