The Light Within (Shadow and Light Duology #2)

16. Cinn

sixteen

Cinn

“ T hink that Noir will have another warding band lying around for you, then?”

“Who knows, mate, but I’ve told him I need one.”

Cinn and Elliot were two of the first to arrive at Auri that morning—the sound of their boots crunching through snow, the only interruption to serene silence. The sun had recently risen, casting a soft, golden light over the white-blanketed valley. Neither of them were here at this ungodly hour by choice—Elliot was on the first shift at work and Cinn had a meeting scheduled with Noir, who evidently hadn’t listened when Cinn had said afternoons were better for him.

Though most of Auri was yet to return, the holiday buzz was well and truly over. They’d all seen in the new year with Eric and his group of friends—Julien’s suggestion, surprisingly. Curio Café had hosted a party, a party involving many drinks, and the end result had Cinn swearing off tequila for life. At least he hadn’t embarrassed himself as much as Elliot—his attempt to chat up some guy had ended in him vomiting on the poor fellow’s shoes.

Now, the reality of January in Switzerland was in full swing—the sky was a pale grey, heavy with the promise of more snow to come, and the air was crisp, biting any tiny patch of skin that dared to be exposed. Winters in London had been cold, but this was a whole other level. The only upside was that Cinn didn’t pay his own energy bill any more. Instead of sitting around in coats and gloves indoors, he whacked the heating on around the clock, feeling smug every time he hit the button.

“So, apparently Tyler is going to go to some rehab facility now it’s the new year?”

“Julien told you that?” Cinn snorted. “Yeah, that’s true. What else did he say?” he asked, curious.

“Not much, but I could tell he was pleased. He still feels bad over that whole… money incident.”

“Yeah…” Julien needed to move past it now, though Cinn knew his initial reaction was partly to blame. But as Cinn had reassured him plenty of times now, although Julien had enabled Tyler to act like an idiot, it was Tyler’s choices that ultimately got him injured. Though Tyler had been in great spirits when Cinn met him—he’d almost fully physically recovered and seemed genuinely committed to his rehab plan.

“Psst,” Elliot said quietly, right into Cinn’s ear. “Don’t make it obvious, but we’re being watched.”

Cinn immediately darted his eyes across the landscape.

Elliot elbowed him in the ribs. “Stop that!”

Cinn glowered at him. Elliot was the one practically shouting in his loud American accent.

“Three o’clock. Sitting in the pavilion. They’re being careful, but they’re glancing through the gaps.”

Far more casually now, Cinn turned his head as if interested in a passing bird’s path. He caught the person Elliot meant. They didn’t look particularly suspicious, but he trusted Elliot’s judgement. And the more he observed the person, the more evident it became that Elliot was correct—the figure kept darting their head towards them. The angle made it hard to make them out, but they were tall, almost certainly male, with very dark hair.

“Hey!” shouted Elliot, abruptly shifting gears and heading towards the wooden structure. So much for being subtle. “You alright there? ”

The person’s head whipped away from the pavilion’s wall, their darkly dressed form slipping out the other side, where they could easily disappear out of sight down the side of a building.

Elliot came to a halt, grunting in annoyance. “I really didn’t like the feel of that.”

That felt a little extreme. The guy was only peeking through some wood. “Maybe they’re shy,” suggested Cinn.

They continued on, Cinn’s path soon diverging from Elliot’s, to take him to the Ebony Tower. He forwent the so-called elevators for the thigh-aching staircases. He fancied his breakfast should stay in his stomach, thank you very much. The tower was almost deserted—its usual traffic not having picked up yet from the holidays.

Noir had his silver pipe lit already as Cinn took a seat opposite him, taking one of the twin armchairs in the corner of his cluttered office. His wild grey hair and thick beard looked even more unkempt than usual, though the black cloak-like coat he wore was unwrinkled.

Usually the old codger initiated their conversations, but today Noir only nodded, taking a contemplative puff from his pipe.

“Umm… good Christmas?” asked Cinn at last.

“It was certainly a lot quieter than yours,” Noir said, then chuckled warmly. “I must say, I’ve never seen Eleanor Sinclair quite so fired up as when she was talking about Westminster Bridge the other day. I think you added a couple hundred more grey hairs.”

If only he could tell Noir about Béatrice. About her climbing into his shadow, about the raw power he’d felt on the bridge, holding his own against the umbraphage at last. He would bet Noir would have several thoughts on the matter.

But, alas, Noir had betrayed his trust, and it was a very different conversation that needed to happen today .

When Cinn had rehearsed this moment in his head last night, he’d imagined himself stony-faced, furious, giving Noir a good piece of his mind.

Instead, now he was sitting with the man, watching the smoke curl lazily from Noir’s pipe, he found he really didn’t have the energy or the inclination. He’d simply lay down his cards.

He cleared his throat. Looked Noir in the eye. Made his tone as level as possible.

“In London, I met up with my mum for the first time in a decade. We talked about my dad. She told me about some things that happened back then, stuff she put down to mental issues. Then she said she got a call after he died, from a foreign number. Was that Auri? Did my dad come here after he left her?”

Cinn could only hope he’d worded all that in a way where it wasn’t obvious they’d obtained Eleanor’s stash of secret files. What Cinn had failed to do, however, plain to his own ears, was keep the disappointment out of his voice. In a way, Cinn had grown quite fond of Noir during their sessions together. There was no denying it—to learn that Noir had kept this from him hurt.

Noir took a long, slow draw from his pipe, exhaling thoughtfully before he spoke. “Yes, your father came here.”

Cinn stared at him. Was that really all Noir was going to say? “And… you didn’t think I might have wanted to know that?”

“It wasn’t my decision to withhold that from you.”

Cinn didn’t bother to ask if it was Eleanor’s. Frankly, he didn’t care. “Why?” he shot back.

The man sighed, running wrinkled hands through his scraggly beard. “By the time your father came here, he’d gone quite mad. Some would say he was haunted by his frequent encounters with the shadowrealm, which were far more numerous than yours ever were. You described a visit a month perhaps, but his plight was a daily occurrence. ”

The way Noir was speaking about him…

“Did you meet him?”

Another sigh. “Ah, Nikolas Mavros. Yes, I met your father, Cinn. He was a kind man. But as I said, extremely troubled by the time we became aware of him.”

“So you’ve lied to me this whole time,” Cinn stated, flat-toned.

“I wouldn’t say that. You’ve never explicitly asked before.”

Cinn’s fingernails bit into his palm. He forced his jaw to unclench. “We did discuss him, though. You told me there was only one other shadowslipper that had brought spirits back from the shadowrealm. That was him, right?”

Noir pierced him with heavy, beady eyes. Likely, Cinn was revealing too much, but he needed answers.

“When you first arrived, Cinn, you spoke very negatively about your ‘affliction,’ as you put it. We talked at length about how challenging it made your life, even before the accident with the four deaths.”

Cinn flinched, blindsided by the reminder of the innocent lives he would never not feel responsible for taking.

“Imagine if I’d told you back then that the father you don’t even remember became so traumatised by his ability, that he became clinically insane, then eventually slipped and did not return. What would your reaction have been? Hmm?”

Not a very good one.

Cinn didn’t reply, looking past Noir to a spot of peeling wallpaper.

“Would that have improved your already low mood?”

Still avoiding Noir’s eye, Cinn snapped, “Can I just get the new band and go?” Then added, “Please,” because his mother raised him right.

“Between that and the pressure on you to assist in the fight against the umbraphage—withholding it made sense, Cinn. But I would have gotten to it, eventually.” Noir’s voice dropped softer. “You saw your mother? How was that? ”

Goddammit . What was it about Noir that made Cinn want to open up?

“It was nice,” he admitted, his eyes sliding over a stuffed bookcase to land back on Noir’s face. “It was really nice. She’s sorted herself out. Five years sober. I went to her house and everything. She has a dog. A beagle.” He swallowed to remove the crack in his voice. “We’re going to keep in touch from now on.”

“I’m so pleased to hear that, Cinn.”

Noir leaned over to squeeze his knee. Cinn didn’t completely hate it.

“And are you doing alright, since the bridge? Eleanor said you were mostly unharmed, physically, but it must have been terrifying, considering what happened last time.”

It had been terrifying. He’d lost control of his own body, watching from within himself as he marched onto the bridge…

Cinn nodded. “Just a few scratches.”

Noir wasn’t fooled. But he stood up, slow movements deliberate and measured, lines on his face deepening with the effort. It was only a short time ago Noir was sprinting across Auri with Cinn, rushing to the building that had been under attack, but now he paused for a moment to steady himself before crossing the small space to slide his desk drawer open.

He collapsed in his desk chair, then tossed Cinn a gold band identical to his old one.

“Hello old friend,” he murmured as he slipped it on. Relief surged through him like a tide, washing away days of tension from living without the warding band. Living like he did before he arrived at Auri, in constant fear of slipping.

The band wouldn’t slip off, but Cinn tested it anyway, flicking his wrist. He grinned at Noir. “Cheers. ”

Stuffing yet more of that unknown substance into his pipe, Noir said, “You know I’m here to talk about anything at any time, don’t you, Cinn? I hope this little bump in the road won’t set us back.”

Cinn really should hold his grudge for a tad longer, but…. “Sure,” he said, and meant it.

When he left Noir’s office a while later, it felt like a ten-tonne weight had been lifted. He navigated his way through the maze of corridors. He had ages until he was due to meet Julien. Perhaps he could—

A prickle of unease crept up his spine, the sensation of unseen eyes.

He glanced over his shoulder, but the empty hallway revealed nothing. Walking quicker, he reached the tower’s grand spiral staircase. The wrought-iron railing curled gracefully downwards, the steps winding like a coiled serpent. The soft light from above cast intricate shadows on the walls.

Just my shadow. My normal shadow.

As Cinn descended, the feeling persisted, each echoing footstep sounding like a phantom companion. It didn’t matter how many times he spun around, the sense of being followed down the staircase clung to him—someone was silently mirroring his descent, just out of sight.

It shouldn’t have bothered him, not with his trips to the shadowrealm and the defeat of an umbraphage under his belt. But it did.

With a surge of panic, Cinn pounded down the staircase, the sound of his footsteps thundering loudly in the empty tower. He reached the bottom, staring up at the winding staircase. Nobody was there.

You’re being stupid.

Cinn left the tower, the shock of the icy air a harsh slap in the face. He picked a direction at random, walking around the perimeter of the glass-domed Solstice Atrium. The skeletal branches of the bare trees were etched against the pale sky, creating a serene, fractured landscape mirrored in the Atrium’s smooth glass surface. The quiet beauty of the reflection finally calmed his beating heart .

See. You were being paranoid. It’s all good.

A sudden, sharp yelp cut through the stillness, followed by someone mumbling curses.

Lightning quick, Cinn spun, eyes finally catching something. Someone. Someone hovering back near the building’s entrance. Dark skin, long black coat, thick, ebony black hair…

That same guy from earlier, the one watching them from the courtyard pavilion.

His pursuer’s eyes opened saucer-wide, and for a moment the two of them remained stone-still, eyes locked.

Then he dove into the Solstice Atrium, a flash of black trench coat there one second, gone the next.

Cinn stared at the spot where he’d been.

This fancy building was only for consortium members to meet in. Cinn would potentially be risking trouble by following.

Now he’d seen the scrawny-looking guy, Cinn wasn’t the slightest bit scared of him. But he was curious as to why the stranger was following him. It hadn’t been his imagination earlier, in Noir’s tower. What if this prick had been listening at the door?

Without a second more hesitation, Cinn dove towards the Atrium’s entrance.