The Light Within (Shadow and Light Duology #2)

4. Julien

four

Julien

J ulien didn’t bother to arrive at the meeting spot until fifteen minutes past midnight. It was a good thing too—it was pushing half past when Elliot rocked up on his Yamaha, the rumbling engine cutting through the peace of the night’s still air. He hopped off, his usually spotless navy-blue gendarmerie uniform covered in ashy grey. At least he hadn’t changed out of it—they may well need its authority.

Waiting outside, leaning on Maz, Julien said, “What time do you call this?”

“I call it ‘the time I should be sleeping rather than risking my career on some sort of crackpot plan my best friend has cooked up.’ Sound familiar?”

“I think I’ve heard of it once or twice before.”

Julien flashed Elliot a grin. Elliot would wait a moment, then flash one back, because Elliot loved these sorts of escapades too, even if he’d never admit it.

“Did Cinn not want to come?” Elliot asked, for the sole purpose of being an ass, because of course he knew Cinn had no idea Julien was here.

For a moment, it had been touch and go as to whether Cinn would fall asleep in time for Julien to sneak out. He’d cooked them dinner, wittering on about all the new equipment he’d bought and the rare spices he’d found at the market, while Julien pretended to listen rather than admire how cute he looked in the apron he wore. Trying not to daydream about taking it off him .

Then Cinn had gone and rendered him speechless by showing him his small stockpile of ‘French wine’ he’d gathered. Julien didn’t have the heart to tell him most of it wasn’t French, and would be considered battery acid by his father’s standards.

They’d cuddled together on the sofa again, and then, only one glass of red later—with Cinn pretending to enjoy it, and Julien relentlessly teasing him—the toll of the past couple of days caught up with him, and the arm that was holding Julien had gone limp, his breaths heavy.

Surviving an earthquake will do that to you.

With all the motetech Julien had installed in her, Maz could almost drive herself at this point, but he needed a clear head for the task ahead, regardless.

“He was too tired.”

Elliot snorted. “What if he wakes up and finds you gone?”

Unlikely. Cinn had appeared dead to the world even after Julien transferred him to his bed. He was a remarkably heavy sleeper—Julien’s previous attempts to gently rouse him with a suggestive stroking of limbs had sadly failed.

“In that unlikely event, you rang Cinn’s phone after your shift, begging me for a lift as your bike broke down.”

It was okay. He’d make all this up to Cinn in the morning. He could think of at least five ways to do so, none of which required Cinn to even leave his bed.

“Right. Incredibly kind of you to help me. Shall we? I do actually need to sleep at some point.”

Elliot gestured down the valley to where a quiet, darkened Auri lay waiting for them. Usually a sea of twinkling lights after sunset, not even the lumenmote lanterns cast their orange glow tonight. The only source of light came from the red glowing barrier, now fully intact .

As they half walked, half slipped down the hill, Elliot sighed before asking, “What’s the plan, then? Can I let you through the barrier and wait outside?”

“Now where would the fun be in that? But yes, part one involves you getting us through the barrier.”

“I figured that was why I’m here.”

“Hey! Breaking and entering should never be a solo expedition. If you weren’t here, I’d have nobody to send around the corner ahead of me.”

A firm shove from Elliot had Julien flying down the grassy bank, almost tripping on a rock as he laughed, the warmth of it combatting the chilled air. When they approached the red barrier, Julien sobered. He reached out his hand, allowing the light to cast dark crimson hues on his skin. It was so tempting to touch it, even knowing full well it would jolt his body with a burst of electricity, while repelling him backwards several metres to land on his ass. It had been one of the first projects Julien had worked on years ago as a MEET intern. His colleagues had taken it in turns to test its efficiency. Tech guys really know a good time when they see one.

From the chest pocket of his uniform, Elliot removed the small, golden coinesque object the gendarmerie carried in lieu of plastic badges. He pressed it against the nearest metal pole that created the framework for the fence. The shimmery red light that passed between it and the next pole flickered, then faded, allowing them to pass through.

Walking through a deserted Auri in the daytime had been strange, but wandering through it at nighttime was downright eerie. The lack of any light, bar fleeting glimpses of moonlight, put Julien on edge, and a palpable chill shot down his spine. Julien reached for Elliot’s arm to still him before rummaging in Elliot’s pocket.

Elliot cocked his head to one side. “What?”

Julien’s thumb passed over the cool metal of his lighter. He brought it out, flicking his thumb over the spark wheel to produce a small flame that danced gently in the mild breeze. Now he had the light source— lumenmotes source—that he needed. Slowly, so as to not extinguish the flame, he drew upon the motes. There weren’t many, as the flame was tiny, but Julien’s best talent—aside from the one he didn’t like to think about—back when he’d channelled, had always been amplifying the innate power of motes more than anyone else his age could.

Soon, a large glowing ball of light hovered a few centimetres above his palm. He raised it above their heads before walking on, its light casting upon Elliot’s face to reveal his slow grin.

“You little shit. Always were a show-off.” Elliot shoved his chest. “You’re going to constantly show me up again now, aren’t you, just like when we were kids?”

Julien brought one shoulder up in an exaggerated shrug. “You can’t fight pure talent, baby.”

The snort that Elliot produced echoed loudly off the tunnel created by the stone brick walls of Caelum Hall and the Echelon Quarters. Julien raised a finger to his lips. “Shh.”

“Where are we even going, anyway?”

“Eleanor’s office.”

Elliot stopped so abruptly, Julien banged into his shoulder.

“You’re joking,” Elliot snapped, but his calculating eyes made it clear that he knew Julien wasn’t. “You’re really buying AP’s bullshit? Why would Eleanor want to hurt Béatrice? And what do you think you’re going to find in there, some sort of evil-mastermind cork board with photos and maps and string?”

Julien marched ahead in reply.

“And besides, her office is in Ivory Tower. The other side of the crack!”

Spinning on his heels, Julien continued to walk backwards. “Good thing you bragged earlier about being able to ‘jump over it blindfolded’ then.”

If the look on his face was anything to go by, Elliot did not find him funny.

The fissure was hard to spot with limited light. If Julien hadn’t been there a handful of hours ago, he might have stumbled right into it, to his imminent death. As Elliot neared it, he reached out to slow him, approaching it with the reverence he felt it deserved, after his little moment with it earlier.

“We can definitely jump it,” insisted Elliot.

“With a little help, oui .”

Julien took a few steps back, sending the lumenmote ball floating high above the crack. After bouncing on his knees for a few beats, he sprinted forward, launching himself into the air while channelling the wisps of windmotes the breeze offered to create a tremendous current of air that propelled him across the gaping crevice, and then some.

Landing with a side roll, and a flourish mainly for Elliot’s amusement, a smile spread across Julien’s face as he looked up at the night sky. It was as close as you could get to flying, using windmotes in that way. It had been so long since he’d done it. His current adrenaline-fuelled rush was accentuated by the elation his muscles tingled with, relishing the pleasure of channelling again.

A thud sounded, followed by a hand reaching for his. “Having fun?” Elliot asked, as he stood straight and smoothed his clothes.

A handful of twists and turns down cobblestone paths later, they stood facing the Nexus Towers, two symmetrical structures built using deep obsidian stone, silver threads of marble slithering through them like veins.

The grand glass entrance to Ebony Tower reflected their images back to them as they approached, a judgemental warning against their intrusion.

One slide of Elliot’s authentication coin against the metal strip of the door later, the entrance quietly opened, allowing them into the uncannily empty lobby. Every step they made on the tiled floor resonated like a thunderclap. Julien took a half step towards the elevators that obviously weren’t turned on before sighing and heading for the staircase. Many floors later, they finally reached Eleanor’s.

“You know my badge won’t get you through her office door, right?” Elliot whispered when they arrived. “We’re lucky MEET hasn’t installed any sort of tracking in these yet.” He spun the coin in his fingers. “Right? Right? ”

Julien raised one deliberate eyebrow. “Do you take me for an idiot?” He allowed his rucksack to slide onto the floor before his hand sank into it, fingers quickly grasping a smooth, cold, tube-shaped object.

“You and your bag of tricks,” Elliot muttered.

Julien brought the floating ball of light close to the barrel lock on Eleanor’s door. He pressed the palm-sized cylinder over the keyhole. He’d tinkered around with this design himself, initially just for fun, or perhaps to break into the kitchen cupboard Darcy sometimes locked her good snacks behind. Its maiden voyage into the real world of crime took place earlier this year, when Julien broke into the morgue to steal Béatrice’s necklace back.

The weight of the metal in his hand vibrated as the motetech device activated, sending malleable metal through the keyhole to work its magic.

He’d forgotten the horrendously loud noise it made.

CLACK CLACK CLICK CLACK CLACK

“Turn it off!”

“There’s nobody here, pipe down. You’re making more noise than it!”

After several more clicks and even more clacks, the device sibilated a hiss.

Julien tried the door handle. It allowed itself to be pressed firmly down, opening the door. He crept into Eleanor’s office. “Mission accomplished. ”

“Alright, James Bond. Five minutes, then we’re out.”

Moonlight shone through the large glass window, illuminating the wall. Alongside Eleanor’s small collection of Rothko paintings hung a portrait of a girl, by an expressionist artist Julien had never heard of. The young blonde child stared at him suspiciously as he opened drawer after drawer, cupboard after cupboard. Boring administration paperwork and broken staplers were his only prizes.

If Julien were Eleanor, where would he keep the fun stuff?

“Time’s up.”

Julien almost got up from crawling underneath her desk, but then the memory of L’s voice snarling, ‘Eleanor Sinclair’ ricocheted through him.

“Non, not yet. ” If they’d been betrayed by the woman Julien had grown up respecting, had grown up trusting —

He needed to know.

Think, Julien, think!

Something was niggling at the back of Julien’s brain. Itching it. Tickling it.

Hold on… that girl in the portrait… an expressionist artist Julien had never heard of? Impossible! He tore across the room to gape up at the canvas of the child.

Girl, Concealed by Céleste Margaux Leclerc.

Who ?

Julien studied the portrait, which depicted a young girl with large, haunting eyes, her form partially obscured by swirling, shadowy brushstrokes and a veil-like pattern. If Darcy were here, they’d dissect how the artist was trying to convey both a physical and metaphorical hidden depth, but Elliot wouldn’t appreciate his insight.

Julien whistled. He ran his fingers across the painting’s ornate golden frame.

“We’re not here to steal Madame Sinclair’s art!” Elliot scowled, tearing an exasperated hand through his curls .

“Why did your mind jump to that?”

Julien’s hands travelled across to grip both corners. Instinctively, he squeezed, pressing the metal inwards. When the painting crumpled like tissue paper, he had to hold back a gasp of surprise.

A subtle hum filled the room as the thin canvas warped into a piece of flimsy cloth.

“What sort of motetech is this?” hissed Elliot.

Somewhat taken aback, Julien stared between the pile of material on the floor and the large metal safe installed within Eleanor’s wall. “I’m… not sure.”

A safe, yet no visible lock.

It was likely that it had some sort of detection system that would register anyone attempting to access it. Possibly, it could be traced right back to him.

Fuck it.

Julien yanked on the handle with some force.

“Yay, more files.”

“Files hidden behind a secret painting, Elliot. You think they’re going to be grocery lists? Or maybe her Christmas cards?”

Numerous folders were stuffed inside the safe, a plethora of coloured tabs and chunky paperclips poking out of many of them. With Elliot’s patience wearing thin, Julien had to adopt the most efficient search strategy possible. Without further ado, he yanked on the bottom folder, hard, sending the entire contents scattering onto the floor by their feet.

Julien awaited a verbal reprimand from Elliot, but he simply threw up his hands before dropping to the floor.

What Eleanor actually did all day had never been entirely clear, her job title vaguely linked to HR and foreign relations. As Julien poured through the files, helped by the light of his lumenmote ball, he became no more enlightened, as the files were meaningless to him. A fair few of them were in languages Julien had no knowledge of— Arabic? Japanese? Others appeared to be invoices, rows and columns of senseless numerals. His attention was briefly caught by a document listing a series of coordinates. He studied them, anticipating his brain magically inferring some meaning. Nothing.

Julien tossed the folder back on the pile, a sobering sensation of failure curling up in his stomach. This was useless. He didn’t even know what he was looking for. Elliot was exhausted and Cinn was back at home, expecting to find Julien in his bed if he woke.

“Let’s—”

A low hiss from Elliot. “This one is personnel files!” He withdrew a pile of paper from the fat manilla folder, flapping it in the air. A photograph of a man’s face was clipped to the front of a bunch of papers.

Julien snatched it. “This isn’t Béatrice,” he muttered, scanning the lines of handwritten information about the German man.

“No, but this one is.”

Julien’s head shot up. Elliot held up a similar file, this time with his sister’s pale face filling the frame. Her Auri intake ID photograph. “Let me see.” Julien reached towards it.

Elliot stilled, cocking his head. “Shh… Do you hear that?”

“What?” Julien snapped, trying to tug Béatrice’s file from his grip.

Elliot’s wide eyes and shushing sound forced him to pay attention. Footsteps. Heavy ones, coming from the floor below them. Whoever else was in the building with them in the middle of the night, it couldn’t be good news.

“Let’s just take it and get out of here,” hissed Elliot, jumping to his feet and stuffing the rest of the files back into the safe at random.

“ Non , we have to photocopy it. Else she might spot it missing. Though, I think your reorganisation of her secret filing cabinet might have given the game away anyway,” snapped Julien, glaring at the pigsty Elliot had made of the safe’s interior .

“And which one of us tipped them all on the floor, you twat?” A thud below them, followed by a creak. Elliot sighed. “Fine, give me her file, quick. I saw a photocopier back near the bathroom.”

Julien stared down at the manilla folder Béatrice’s file had come out of, tossed to the floor with its innards spilling out. If Eleanor had a file on Béatrice… “Wait a second.”

“ What ? Give it to me! ”

Ignoring him, Julien wedged Béatrice under his armpit and flicked through the rest of the files at the speed of light.

Which was not fast enough for Elliot.

“Julien!”

“Just one second !”

His eyes cast over men and women of all ages, some of their files thick, others a single sheet of paper. He’d have loved to take them all home with him, to unravel the mystery of why each was important enough for Eleanor—and therefore the consortium—to have a file on them, but he only had time for one in particular.

There.

A wave of shock pulsed through Julien at finding what he was seeking, as Cinn’s unsmiling face glowered at him. A police photograph from his arrest. Cinn appeared so pissed off Julien almost laughed. He turned it around to flash it to Elliot.

“How did you… never mind, stay here and tidy up.”

Elliot grabbed the two files, and Julien set about making the safe’s interior look less like a bomb had exploded in it. The loud whirring of the photocopier drifted down the hall. Was the sound audible to their friend downstairs?

After an eternity of anxiety-inducing noises, Elliot returned with the originals to put back in the safe .

For a moment Julien feared Girl, Concealed would remain Girl, Crumpled Mess on the Floor , but the canvas thickened when he stretched it, and easily slotted back into its golden frame.

It really was an impressive work of motetech. One he planned on thoroughly investigating at a later time.

Hovering by the door, Elliot stage-whispered Julien’s name. They slipped out into the quiet corridor but Elliot stopped them, placing a finger on his lips and pointing towards the staircase at the far end.

Those damned footsteps, getting increasingly louder, were rhythmically marching up the tiled steps, not making any attempt to be quiet.

Which meant, whoever they were, they were supposed to be here.

Unlike them.

“ Putain ,” hissed Julien, glancing down the other end of the corridor, which offered no escape.

“You don’t say.” Elliot grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the bathroom, sending the door crashing into the wall with a bang. They both groaned at the noise. “And this is how my career goes down the toilet,” he said, voice deadpan, opening a stall door so they could both squeeze inside.

The humour did nothing to help the guilt quickly rising in Julien. Perhaps he could claim Elliot was there under duress? He could even rough Elliot up a little—a black eye might do the trick.

At the same time as Julien slid the stall lock shut, the bathroom door opened with another bang. Elliot pulled Julien up to stand with him on the toilet, wobbling with him on the small space.

“Who’s in there?” a voice demanded. Young, female. “Only gendarmerie have access to the Institute this evening. Identify yourself.”

They offered no reply, and for a stretching moment, the only sound was Julien’s blood rushing through his temple.

The woman rattled the stall door .

Julien shrugged off his long black coat. “Use this to cover your uniform. Pull the hood up and get ready to run,” he said in his quietest whisper.

“I can hear you!”

Elliot’s mouth formed a grim line. “What’s our plan?”

“I’m sorry if she’s your friend.” Julien squatted lower, holding on to Elliot to steady himself.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Julien lifted the lid off the top of the cistern and sent it clattering to the ground, the heavy ceramic creating the most almighty of crashes.

As predicted, the female gendarme dropped to the floor, the cuff of her navy uniform poking under the door.

All they had now was the element of surprise.

Before her face could follow, Julien reached for the watermotes between the molecules of the modest amount of water in the cistern. Without pausing to second-guess his plan, he channelled a forceful stream of—not entirely clean-looking—water directly into the woman’s face just as it popped under the crack.

She shrieked in surprise.

Before she had time to react, Julien grabbed Elliot’s sleeve, then flung them at the stall door, flicking the lock open, jumping over the lady being pummelled in the face by the relentless jet stream of toilet water.

They pounded down the narrow corridor. Julien was dripping wet himself from the splash back, but he couldn’t really complain, he supposed.

Down the stairs.

They took them two at a time, then three. Then, out into the cool night. In their absence, the air had swollen with drizzle, light yet instantly drenching. At least it would wash the toilet off him.

“That was Kayla. We’re lucky she’s a cocky bastard who never bothers calling for backup.” Elliot threw Julien’s coat back to him .

“Cocky Kayla. Got it. Let’s get out of here before she recovers from her drowning.”

By the time they’d reached the Verdant Conservatory, the light rain had rapidly transformed into large droplets pelting down on them.

“Are the files okay?” Devastation would be the word if they risked so much to be left with a soggy, illegible mess.

“Depends how waterproof this jacket is.”

A sudden flash of light. Flashlights, in fact, two of them, over near the barrier.

Elliot cursed as Julien pressed himself against the wall, then nodded towards the entrance to the conservatory.

Surprisingly, his device wasn’t required to open the door this time—apparently the perceived risk of people stealing mote-enhanced plants and flowers was very low.

A few footsteps inside, and the patter of drizzle on the crystal-clear domed glass of the conservatory came to a trickling halt. A few stars revealed themselves. Julien meandered up the chunky cobblestone path, brushing his fingers across the soft petals of bioluminescent orchids, glowing softly in shades of gold.

Well, while they were here…

“Where are you off to?” hissed Elliot, hot on his trail.

“To find mistletoe.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s Christmas.”

“You hate Christmas.”

Christmas . It had been a November, when Mère had died. They’d spent that holiday season in silent grief, with Béatrice refusing to come out of her room on Christmas Day. Julien passed the day spending his time picking out pine needles from the tree, arranging the spiky leaves in abstract patterns across the floor and meeting any interaction from his father with silence. Each year since, Julien worked to ignore the jovial festivities. Hard, when people erected giant inflatable eyesores of creepy looking Santas on every other road, but he did his best.

They finally located the mistletoe, growing in the far right of the maze-like conservatory, high in the branches of a lone tree.

Instead of only white berries, it boasted waxy clusters of crimson-red and dark green fruit. The leaves had a slight shimmer to them, promising the plant was infused with everglaze, and would appear as fresh as the day they were picked for months.

Standing on tiptoes, Julien ripped a bunch from the tree.

“I don’t think you need mistletoe to get Cinn to kiss you.”

Julien studied Elliot’s expression. He wore a light, amused smile that seemed held in place for Julien’s scrutiny. Whether it was all a facade or not, he’d take it. The two of them avoided the topic of Julien’s dating life like the plague, since Elliot had bravely made his feelings clear many years ago. Julien was lucky Cinn was so instantly likeable, as it would have been hard for Elliot to hold on to any animosity.

“So, are you together now?” Elliot asked, further surprising Julien with the probing questioning.

Together . Julien marvelled at the word—it had never before applied to him. He hesitated for a moment, slanting another look at Elliot. “We haven’t said as much, but, oui ?”

“Don’t worry. He’s clearly smitten.” Elliot rolled and unrolled an elliptical black leaf into a tube, eyes firmly glued to it. “But I suggest you stop pissing him off. You can’t count on flowers to save you every time he catches you out in your web of lies.”

Web of lies seemed a little extreme, but Julien let it slide, lest he spoil Elliot’s remarkably happy acceptance of his relationship.

They walked in silence back to the entrance of the conservatory, opening the door a tentative crack. There was no sign of the gendarmerie, so they resumed their creeping journey through Auri, making it past the barrier and back to their vehicles without issue .

Elliot handed Julien the now tragically damp files before grabbing his motorcycle helmet from the saddlebag. He paused. “Are you going to show him this?”

“Of course!” It was true. Well, after he’d looked over it himself, alone, first. In case there were any nasty surprises.

“Why is it so important, anyway?”

“To see what she has on him. And to see if Eleanor has any information about his mother in there. Cinn said he was sad he’d lost contact with her.”

Did he say that? Sort of?

“I was going to hire a PI, check her out a bit. Decide if Cinn seeing her again would be good for him. But this”—he wiggled the file in the air—“could make it far quicker and easier.”

Elliot groaned. “You’re not listening to me. Dude, he’s barely forgiven you for the last ridiculous thing you did.”

“What? How is this ridiculous?” What would be ridiculous was allowing Cinn to get hurt by his mother again.

With a single shake of his head, Elliot tugged on his helmet and sped away from Julien before he had a chance to defend himself, leaving him alone with a cloud of exhaust fumes and a bitter taste in his mouth.

Julien slipped into Maz’s interior, wondering how quiet he’d have to be when he snuck back inside Cinn’s house. A cool chill seeped through him that had nothing to do with the frigid air. Was Elliot right? Was he one step away from fucking it up again? Had he just tumbled the house of cards down? Well, it was too late now. He’d have to beg forgiveness. He was getting far too practised at that.