The Light Within (Shadow and Light Duology #2)

7. Julien

seven

Julien

I t was the morning of the twenty-third, otherwise known as Christmas Eve Eve, according to Cinn. But his childish obsession with Christmas was not going to rub off on Julien.

Their flights—business class, naturally—were booked for late that evening.

But first, Julien had lunch plans.

Lunch plans with his father.

When he had informed his father of his holiday plans, the telephone line had fallen deathly silent. Julien had almost felt a shred of remorse for abandoning his only living relative at such late notice—he usually dropped in to his father’s estate in Paris around Christmas for a couple of hours at least—but the tone of his father’s ‘ I see ’ knocked those feelings right out of his mind.

Then the tragedy occurred—his father announced that he was ‘making a flying visit’ to Auri for business purposes and would have to ‘somehow slot Julien in’ to his busy schedule. How inconvenient for him . When Julien questioned why on earth he was having meetings during the holiday, his father laughed, and said, “Holidays are for those who can afford to take time off, not for those who run the world, my son.”

Julien had covered the mouthpiece with his hand to hide his exasperated sigh.

His father wanted to go to any of the fine dining restaurants in Talwacht. Julien insisted that Auri’s Curio Café Collective would do nicely. Not only were many businesses still repairing structural damage since the quake, he wanted to make the lunch as short as possible. Perhaps it would turn into simply coffee. Perhaps he could throw back a double espresso at the bar then immediately call it a day.

The image put a smile on his face, one that was snuffed out like a candle flame when he saw his father in the distance, hovering outside the Solstice Atrium. He was wearing his standard—a tailored dark suit with a crisp white shirt, and a hideous silk paisley cravat. Since marrying his second wife Carrie, his fashion sense had steadily worsened.

Standing with him were two other grey-haired men, and the probable candidates for his business meeting: Jonathan Steele, Julien’s boss who’d still not accepted his application for a promotion, and the Auri bigwig himself, Viktor Sturmhart.

Julien slowed his footsteps as he approached the trio of decrepit relics. He was supposed to meet his father at the café—was it too late to change paths?

The decision was removed from his hands as soon as his father clocked him.

“Julien!” he called out. With an internal eye roll, Julien made an elaborate show of pretending he’d just noticed them.

He dragged himself over to the three men. Jonathan gave him a friendly nod, whereas Viktor looked right through him, before checking his watch.

“We’ll have to call it a day, Lucien.” Viktor’s thick German accent rumbled through the air. At events, Viktor usually insisted on talking to Julien and his father in butchered French. Today he spoke English, perhaps for Jonathan’s benefit. “But we must meet again right after Christmas. Time is very important.”

Without waiting for a reply, Viktor pressed stern lips together, turned away, and marched off.

What had put a bee in his beret that morning ?

Jonathan Steele clapped Julien on the back, then said some waffle about what the following year had in store for MEET. Julien politely smiled along until Jonathan left him and his father to walk to the café. Julien resisted asking what their meeting was about—he didn’t want to give his father the satisfaction of his curiosity. So instead, they discussed how busy the Displacement Baths were, and of course, the cold weather. Riveting stuff.

The café was quiet, like Auri in general—every sane person was home for the holiday. Scanning the space, Julien lamented his choice. The staff had done exactly the same as last year—that silly gimmick where they’d dusted each table with never-melting snow. Did they not understand that people came into their establishment to get away from ice?

After ordering sandwiches, they sat down with drinks, Julien holding his so the snow didn’t immediately cool it.

“I had expected young Cinnamon Saunders to join us today, as I had proposed.”

Here we go. Off to a stellar start.

“Contrary to your belief, father, you do not run the world.”

There was no way in hell Julien could put Cinn through another round of their tense exchanges and live to tell the tale. So Julien had deposited him en route, safe and snug in their library study room, to be collected when the coast was clear.

His father’s cool grimace tightened with restrained irritation.

Play nice, Julien. One lunch, then you’ve got three days in London with Cinn, and no Père for at least half a year, he promised himself.

“He had some errands to run,” Julien said. “Apparently, one pack of ten Christmas cards wasn’t enough.” He shuddered.

“How is he? I heard he was hospitalised after the attack, unconscious for nearly a week.”

“Mmmm.” Julien sipped the heavenly coffee. He was restricted to instant at Cinn’s house and was barely functioning because of it .

“He was reportedly seen suspended in mid-air, enveloped almost entirely by an umbraphage.”

“Yes.”

“But he had no visible wounds, no lacerations to speak of. He wasn’t infected with any contaminant? Am I correct?”

Julien studied his father.

This was a lot of questions about Cinn’s health, coming from a man who barely cared when Béatrice broke her arm.

“The team surrounding him, including Albert Noir, were prepared for him never to awaken. Yet, miraculously, he did. His vitals made a full recovery mere hours later.” His father seemed more animated than usual, leaning forward as if Julien were on the precipice of revealing some great secret.

“How did you get access to his confidential medical records?”

His father blinked and took a moment, running a hand through his neatly trimmed grey beard. “No, no, this is all mere gossip, of course,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just hearsay, circulating through the grapevine and such.”

“Right.”

“But you two are still quite close, aren’t you? You certainly seemed so during my birthday weekend.”

Julien suppressed a smirk. If only you knew.

His father appeared to choose his words carefully, maintaining eye contact as he inquired, “Would he be interested in assisting with a little project of mine? Of course, we would highly compensate him for his time.”

“What? What project? Why Cinn ?” The words came out sharp, laced with obvious suspicion.

“Something that Jonathan Steele is personally overseeing.”

Julien shook his head. “I work for MEET. I have a broad overview of each and every project and product. ”

“Not this one.”

They locked eyes in a silent battle.

The sandwiches arrived, giving Julien precious seconds to measure his words. Something was afoot, and he needed the information. “How could Cinn possibly be of assistance?”

Every muscle in his body tensed as his father’s eyes crinkled in a calculated smile.

“I would be delighted to share all the details with you. However, I do require some assurances first.”

Julien’s stomach clenched into a ball of ice, chilling him to the core. “What sort of assurances?”

“Assurances that we’re aligned in our understanding, you and I. While you may be my son, I harbour no illusions that we share the same perspective. We haven’t enjoyed a traditional familial bond in many years, and I’m not always convinced we see eye to eye.”

There was no love lost between the pair of them, from Julien’s perspective, but it still oddly stung to hear it laid out like that. For as long as Julien could remember, he’d detested his father. His cruel, abusive tendencies hadn’t stopped when his mother died, and he and Béatrice had escaped from their family home without looking back. Julien’s policy of bare minimum contact with him had allowed him to distance himself from the man without causing trouble for himself.

With effort, Julien schooled his face into a neutral expression. He refused to give his father any satisfaction.

“You don’t only look like your mother, Julien, but you have her sensibilities, much like your sister did.”

Julien drained the last of his coffee. The bitter residue clung to his tongue.

“Your mother had a good heart, Julien. Sometimes, I wonder if you’ve inherited too much of it. Whether you’ll be prepared to do what must be done. ”

His father’s gaze bore into him, so intense Julien found himself speechless.

“I wonder where your loyalty will lie when the scales tip,” he mused, his voice filled with contemplation. He stirred a teaspoon around his empty mug, causing a grating, metallic scrape. “Whether it will be with us… or them.”

His father nodded to the floor, where a scrunched up piece of paper lay. Julien didn’t need to pick it up to know what it was—it was one of the thousands of posters the Arcane Purifiers had bombed Auri with after the umbraphage attack. Their logo, and the words, ‘Ignorance will lead to certain peril’ . The propaganda had been cleaned up, for the most part, leaving just a few scattered here and there. For a group concerned about saving the planet, they certainly didn’t mind wasting paper.

“Like Béatrice was?” Julien said, taking a gamble. But there was no way Béatrice was on record as an AP member and Père didn’t know about it.

Surprise coloured his father’s face. It was rare Julien caught him off-guard.

“Have you stopped to consider that they might have a point? People are dying. Not just from the umbraphages. Cities are being destroyed. Half of Talwacht is under rubble! I almost died in the earthquake!” Sort of. It had been close for half a second. “If AP is right, then we can’t bury our heads in the sand and keep using motes while the world burns around us.”

His father leaned forward. “Lower your volume!” he hissed. “Other solutions must be explored. We depend on motetech now. Not just us moteblessed, but you’d be hard pressed to find a single person alive who doesn’t benefit from it in some small way.”

Julien brushed his hand across the table, scooping up the icy-cold snow. He sprinkled it onto the floor. “Yes, we’re really doing great things with it. ”

“You’re not considering the lives saved, Julien . The fire-resistant materials being supplied to developing countries? The work our Asian cousins have been doing to develop motetech water purification systems? Not to mention the teams of gendarmerie dispatched worldwide to help in times of crisis.”

Julien shook his head. It was always the same with his father—making out he was the saviour of the masses when really it was all about financial gain. Power. Control.

“I know we’ve grown further and further apart over the years. I shoulder some of the blame for that. And I know you haven’t been the same since Béatrice died. Losing her, and your mother—it must be lonely for you. But I am still here.”

Julien’s breath caught in his throat, his father’s rare sentimentality knocking him off kilter.

“You and I could be an unstoppable team. Jonathan Steele and I were discussing how we could accelerate your path to senior executive of MEET within five years. With your ideas, alongside your fresh perspective, HorizonTech will have a brighter future.” The building excitement in his voice was palpable.

Julien could see it now—the roadmap of his life, as laid out by Lord Lucien Montaigne. Free rein of MEET, numerous development teams at his disposal. All those designs in his sketchbook could finally be materialised. He’d have a seat at the table. Maybe he’d even be in the consortium himself one day, if he played his cards right.

“Your mother would be so proud of you.”

There. That was it. The thing that brought Julien firmly back down to earth.

His father was a fool. A fool who clearly had no concept of what the woman he abused would have thought.

His mother would not be proud to see him as his father’s pawn.

He may have been able to manipulate her into staying with him through his monstrous behaviour, but Julien wouldn’t let history repeat itself.

“She would be proud of me.” Julien even almost believed it. “She would be proud that everything I achieve has been from my own merit. She’d be proud I know my own mind, and stick to it. So, thank you, but I have no plans to join HorizonTech. You can keep your empire, and I’ll build my own.”

His father leaned back in his chair, blinking at him like he was patiently waiting for a toddler to cease their tantrum. It was infuriating.

“And as for your little secret project , you and Jonathan Steele can do what you like, but there’s no way Cinn is going anywhere near it.”

Something behind Julien caught his father’s attention.

“Why don’t we ask him that himself, hmm?”

Julien twisted in his chair.

Putain .

There was a figure fumbling about at the café’s cash register. One wearing a grey hoodie and green beanie. Holding up the line by counting out dozens of small coins to pay for his order.

Cinn eventually cleared the counter, then headed towards them with a takeaway cup and paper bag in hand. Seeing Julien shooting daggers at him only enticed him over to their table rather than repelling him out the door.

“What are you doing here?” fell out of Julien’s mouth before he could stop it. “You were supposed to wait at the library.”

Cinn shrugged. “I got bored. They do good cakes here.” He held up his brownie before taking a large bite, covering his top lip with chocolate. Cinn shot a courtesy, artificial smile at Julien’s father before asking, “You almost done? ”

“ Oui. ” Julien sent his chair flying backwards. “ Père. I hope you and Carrie have a wonderful Christmas, ” he said, allowing sarcasm to ooze through.

His father only looked amused.

Julien pushed Cinn towards the exit while his father relayed his festive good wishes.

“What’s your deal?” hissed Cinn.

Leading the way back to Maz, Julien checked over his shoulder that they were out of earshot. “I had the most intense conversation with him. About you. Him and the director of MEET apparently need your help on some sort of ‘project’.”

“ Me ?”

“He wouldn’t tell me what it was. But I don’t have a good feeling about it. I told him you weren’t interested.”

“I could play along for a bit, to see what’s what?”

Julien’s steps faltered. “ Non ! Are you mad? If necessary, once the office reopens in January, I can dig around. But you’re not going anywhere near either of them.”

Cinn’s attention was diverted by a tiny robin perching on a branch. He reached his hand out.

“Cinn, listen to me. Promise me you’ll keep your guard up. If he or Jonathan tries to talk to you… fuck it, if anyone tries to talk to you—”

“Yeaph shurre shurre,” Cinn mumbled, mouth full of brownie.

“ Excusez-moi? ”

Cinn swallowed. “I’ll be careful. Don’t worry so much.”

“I’m sorry. But I can’t take you seriously right now. You’ve got chocolate literally all over your face.”

“Kiss it off then.” Cinn stepped towards him, puckering his lips.

Don’t tempt me .

Julien pushed him away. “You’re not treating this situation with the gravity it deserves! ”

Cinn held up the last chunk of brownie to Julien’s lips. Julien opened his mouth, allowing him to feed it to him. He only chewed the overly rich dessert once before Cinn followed it up with his lips.

They exchanged chocolate kisses until the taste of cocoa was a distant memory, replaced with a lingering warm sweetness that made Julien wrap his arms around Cinn’s waist, lest he have any notion of moving away.

“I’ve got the message,” Cinn said, nuzzling into the hair near his ear. “If your dad comes near me, I’ll drop-kick him.”

“And if he kicks you back?”

“I’ll spit in his face. It worked for me once before, remember?”

“Apparently so. But refrain from reminding me I’m dating a feral animal.”

Cinn pulled back, his eyebrows furrowed. “Oh? I didn’t know we were dating. Don’t remember being taken on any dates.”

“What about all those times you’ve cooked food for me and I’ve showered you in compliments?”

“Sounds pretty much like working in a restaurant.”

“You feed all your customers by hand?”

Cinn shot Julien a wicked smile. “Only if I know where their tongues have been.”

They walked in companionable silence. When they were sitting in Maz, Cinn turned to him, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He seemed even more awkward than he usually was about asking something.

“Hey, you know tomorrow? Christmas Eve?”

“Hmm? I’ve heard of no such thing.”

Cinn scratched the back of his neck, gaze flicking between Julien and the windscreen. “Well, my mum and I used to have this tradition. We’d use the leftover wrapping paper, and make Christmas hats with them. You know, the crown ones.” He mimed a zig-zag pattern in the air. “It’s not like we didn’t have crackers,” he added quickly. “But the wrapping paper hats were cool. I thought we could do it this year.”

Hats out of wrapping paper?! Did Cinn’s obsession with Christmas have no limits? What was next, making snowmen out of mashed potatoes?

Julien opened his mouth, preparing several retorts like, “You really expect me to wear a Christmas hat?” and, “You want to ruin perfectly good wrapping paper?” but swiftly pressed his lips together.

How could he possibly dampen that adorable sparkle of childish excitement, clear as day, on Cinn’s face? The puppy-dog eyes that seemed prepared for him to say no, while desperately longing for him to say yes?

Julien had hated every holiday season since his mother died. Cinn likely had equally terrible memories of Christmases past—who knew what they were like with his mother, and Julien couldn’t imagine them being a joyful affair in foster care, either.

So if Cinn wanted to make up for all those shitty, lost years? He’d let him.

In fact, if he’d allow him to, Julien would give Cinn the best Christmas ever, every year from now on.

If he wanted that disturbingly dry fruit pudding, he’d get it. If he wanted a tree, Julien would find the biggest one that would fit in his living room. If he wanted their own sickeningly cute Christmas traditions, he’d have them, ten times over. Julien would even go as far as allowing him to put a spot of tinsel over the mantelpiece. As long as it was silver. Definitely not red, or green.

Realising he’d left Cinn hanging in silence, he lurched forward, grabbing the nape of Cinn’s neck with one hand and holding his face with the other.

“We’ll make a hundred crowns,” Julien said, pressing his lips to Cinn’s. “A thousand.” He pulled Cinn against his chest, ignoring the bite of the gear box digging into his flesh .

Cinn rumbled a laugh against his chest. “I mean, I was thinking more like ten max, but whatever.”