Page 131 of The Light Within

Cinn lay horizontally in the Displacement Bath, naked, breathing hard. Unlike the portable van-based tub he’d been displaced into last time, this time he arrived into Paris in a private pod, with a set of grey clothes hanging nearby.

He braced himself for vertigo as he slowly stood on shaky legs. The clothes—and trainers—fit him like a glove. Highly polished metal formed the four walls that surrounded him, reflecting Cinn’s pale, glaring image. The sight of the deep wound on his forehead from the car crash still startled him. He pressed a palm against the wall’s smooth surface, studying the deep frown lines etched into his forehead, the tight set to his jaw.

Cinn closed his tired eyes.

What if they didn’t find Julien? Or if they found his body in a lifeless heap on the ground?

The image his brain conjured was horrific, and a low groan slipped out of him.

A series of sharp knocks on the cubicle door. “Cinn?”

Cinn blinked. That wasn’t a voice he expected to hear, here in the Parisian Displacement Baths.

“Noir?” Cinn opened the narrow door to find the old man dressed in similar loose grey clothes. He looked so different out of his dark robes that Cinn snorted. “What are you doinghere?”

“I’m the backup, lad.” Noir flashed him a wide grin, revealing a silver tooth Cinn hadn’t noticed before. “Don’t look at me like that. I might be triple your age, but I can hold my own in a fistfight. Don’t you worry.”

Cinn rearranged the doubt on his face to something that could pass for gratitude. “Thank you for being here.”

Noir squeezed his arm, gaze soft. “Of course. We wouldn’t let you deal with this all by yourself.” He added, “I’m in your corner, Cinn. Always.”

An unexpected rush of affection hit Cinn square in the chest. He nodded at Noir. Cinn didn’t trust Eleanor as far as he could throw her, but somehow this old codger always had a way of making Cinn feel safe. Feel heard.

A bath attendant complained at them in French, ushering them out of the tiled, chlorine-filled chamber. Elliot, Darcy, Malik, Madame Sinclair, and two strangers they’d been briefly introduced to back at Auri, were waiting by the exit. The circle made space to accommodate Cinn and Noir. A fresh wave of anxiety struck Cinn. What if he was expected to lead this motley band? He hadn’t the faintest clue where to start, aside from storming Lucien’s mansion.

As the circle quietened, all eyes turned to Eleanor, and Cinn’s fear lessened, somewhat.

“Listen up.” Eleanor commanded attention without raising her voice. Everyone shuffled closer. “I’ve received word that Julien Montaigne was seen entering his father’s house at approximately six thirty p.m. today. Around thirty minutes later, Lucien and Julien left the estate in the back of a black Mercedes-Benz. Their current whereabouts are unknown.”

One of the new people—Tanya?—made an obvious show of yawning. “Ma’am, it’s late. If we have no active leads, may I suggest we tackle this at dawn?”

“No!” Cinn’s cheeks burned under the heat of everyone’s startled gaze. “I mean, you can go, if you want. But I’m not sleeping until I find him.” Something in Cinn told him there wasn’t time for that.

A pair of sympathetic green eyes found his. “To be fair to Tamara, we can hardly march up and down every street of Paris,” Darcy said. “But I was wondering”—she glanced between Cinn and the others—“if our cat friend fancies being of use again.”

“I can’t summon her like a dog.”

Noir hummed under his breath. He was going to be pissed off that Cinn hadn’t divulged his shadowrealm companion to him. The rest of the circle appeared either bemused or confused at the mention of Béatrice. Why had Darcy brought this up in front of them? Cinn glared at her.

“Have you tried?”

What?Had Darcy gone mad? Cinn spluttered slightly. “Of course not!”

“Well, then!”

Cinn turned to Elliot for support, but he only shrugged.

Malik stood close to Elliot. “Worth a try, no?”

Attention remaining entirely on him, Cinn’s face continued to flush. “Fine,” he mumbled. “Can you dim the lights?”

Elliot tipped his head back, studying the strips of overhead lighting. A moment later, they flickered before dropping to a soft, ambient glow, casting long shadows across the room.

“I’ll just… go try over there.” Turning swiftly, Cinn beelined straight for a dark corner of the lobby, feeling the back of his neck prickle.

God, what he would do for his Walkman back right now. Or a quick cigarette. How was he supposed to focus on manifesting a demon cat when he was on the edge of an anxiety attack, images of Lucien cackling over Julien’s dead body plaguing his brain?

To make matters worse, he had six pairs of eyes glued to him, like he was a circus show.

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