Page 76 of The Shadows Beyond
You’d have only hurt him in the long run. It’s better this way.
Rare tears, hot and angry, threatened to burst out, so Juliensqueezed his eyes shut.
He’d give himself one more minute, then he’d drag himself out of the alley, plaster on his best smile, and go and pretend the last hour hadn’t happened.
Julien could do that.
He was the master of pretence.
seventeen
Cinn
“Today I want to explore the origins of your shadowslipping, Cinn.”
Noir leaned back into his chair, already puffing away on his silver pipe. Cinn still didn’t know what the old codger smoked, but it certainly wasn’t tobacco.
“Sure,” Cinn replied, like he had any say on the agenda, anyway.
“Specifically, I want us to go back to your childhood.”
“What is this, a therapy session?”
Noir exhaled a massive plume of smoke. “If you need it to be.”
Crossing his arms, Cinn pushed back slightly on the desk, wheeling his chair away from Noir. “I don’t.”
With an upward quirk of his moustache, Noir said, “Very well, then. You’ve previously shared with me your first ever experience of shadowslipping, where you had morning tea with that pleasant gentleman.”
Cinn nodded.
“I wondered if you were aware by now, perhaps enlightened by some of the literature I’ve prescribed, of the speculated origin of the shadowslipping ability, thecauseso to speak.”
God, Noir and his damned books. Didn’t he know there was music to be listened to, cookie recipes to master, troubled ex-boyfriends to call, beautiful yet complicated men to daydream about?
“I didn’t get to that part yet.”
A crinkled smile. “Well, allow me to spoil it for you. I want you to think back to the time shortly before your first trip.”
Cinn stared at him. “Okay…”
“Did anything happen to you, Cinn, in the weeks or months prior?”
Many things. Many, many things. Most of them bad.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Well, our limited research into the handful of shadowslippers ever recorded suggests that a near-death experience often triggers the ability. Specifically, where the person is medically, or at least very close to, dead for a short period of time.”
Noir allowed him time to process his words, rearranging items on his cluttered desk.
“Do you recall such an event, Cinn?”
He did.
He recalled the feeling of sinking ever deeper into the icy water, the frantic, uncoordinated kick of his legs to no avail, the lungfuls of river he inhaled, to choke on. He recalled the burning sensation in his legs, then chest, the sting of his eyes. He recalled the odd sense of relief that washed over him when the world had faded to black.
“Cinn?”
