Page 142 of The Light Within

Julien’s head slowly turned, his glare locking onto his father, eyes blazing with a cold, terrifying intensity that chilled Cinn to the bone. His body shook harder, as though every muscle was straining to hold back an eruption. His lips curled back slightly, and his breath came in ragged bursts, barely controlled, a storm ready to break.

There was no denying it—Julien was no longer entirely in control of himself.

“Adieu, Père.”

A jolt of fear shot through Cinn’s veins, sharp and electric. He stepped in front of Julien. “Wait!”

Julien made to push him out of the way; Cinn placed his hand on Julien’s chest, imploring him with his eyes.

“He’s a murderous, abusive cunt,” Julien stated coolly, eyes looking straight through Cinn. “Move out of the way.”

Vibration pulsed through Cinn. Julien, still shaking with fury? No, it was the very ground he was standing on. The ground trembled beneath them, a low, rumbling that echoed Julien’s anger, growing stronger with each second, the catacombs themselves responding to the storm building within him.

“Julien!” Cinn’s voice wavered with fear, but Julien didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge it. His eyes remained locked on his father, the silence between them far more menacing than any words. A horrible chill ran through Cinn—Julien’s indifference was terrifying, as if nothing and no one, not even him, could reach the man standing there, holding the weight of his rage like a loaded weapon. Lucien, thankfully, had the sense to stay silent.

The surrounding stones rattled. Dust fell from the ceiling.

Cinn’s sense of dread grew as the shaking intensified, small rocks cascading from the ceiling.

“He deserves to die. Heneedsto die.” Julien delivered the words in a monotone, the air around them thickening with the force of his fury.

“Listen to me, please.” Cinn placed two hands on Julien’s face, bracing to be shoved away. “Don’t do this to yourself. Let’s walk away. Darcy and Elliot are down here somewhere.” Hopefully. “And Eleanor. Let her deal with him.”

Julien’s mouth twisted.

“Please,” Cinn pleaded. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me.”

The rumble beneath their feet grew stronger and the dust raining down upon them grew thicker, some of it being inhaled into Cinn’s lungs, making him cough.

“You’re scaring me!” Cinn cried, desperately clutching at straws, though it was the truth. He fisted the material of Julien’s shirt. “You’re going to bring the whole place down on us!”

Lucien staggered slightly, bringing a hand to his mouth as a harsh cough erupted from his chest. “Yes, listen to him. You love him, yes? You’ll kill him. You’ll kill us all!”

“How about you shut the fuck up,” Cinn snarled at him, before turning back to Julien. He slapped his cheek lightly. “I know how angry you are right now. But don’t be like him. You’re so much better than that.”

“I love you.” It wasn’t enough to make up for Julien’s disaster of a father, but it would have to be a start. “I love you so much. Now stop shaking the fucking catacombs before you raise the dead.”

Julien’s face softened slightly, a crack of light piercing through the dark cloud that loomed above him. He made a loud, defeated sound, pressing his hands to his temple, then he slipped to his knees. Something heavy hit Cinn’s head before tumbling off, and he glanced down to see something suspiciously bone-coloured on the floor. The ceiling still trembled, small fragments of stone still falling. A horrible cracking sound from somewhere deep in the catacombs boomed through a tunnel. What was happening? Why wasn’t Julien stopping?

“I… can’t!” Julien croaked out, still pressing his fingers to his temple. He unleashed another horrible scream. “I don’t want this! I’ve never wanted it!”

Cinn joined Julien on the floor, grabbing both of his hands. “It’s okay.” If they were about to be buried alive, they would at least be foundtogether. In one hundred years, archaeologists would find their skeletons entwined around each other, and declare them roommates.

A sudden loss,as if something had been ripped out of Cinn, made him lurch forward. His shadow suddenly possessed only its usual darkness, its usual shape.

“Béatrice?”

The cat didn’t look Cinn’s way; her beady eye-sockets locked on Julien’s slumped form. Then Béatrice glided across the floor, her shadowy form moving with grace and purpose. She reached Julien, cocking her head. Slowly, her fur extended outwards and upwards, until she was no longer cat-shaped. Béatrice wrapped herself gently around him, as if offering an embrace. The dark wisps drew closer, and closer, enfolding Julien in a protective cocoon.

Julien’s tremors eased, his noises of frustration calming as Béatrice’s dark essence intertwined with him. She was, Cinn imagined, absorbing his anguish, her formless body melding with his own turmoil.

The shaking of the catacombs subsided slightly.

Yes! Keep going!

The shadows twisted around Julien, covering almost every inch of him. Eyes closed, his golden hair whipped around his face. Then the tremors lessened even more, becoming faint vibrations as Béatrice’s shadowy presence enveloped Julien entirely.

The shadows unraveled from Julien, slowly loosening their grip. They swirled gently, like a soft breeze stirring dark tendrils, hovering close before retreating. Julien’s eyes opened, locking onto Cinn’s. In them, Cinn saw a quiet steadiness, the wildness that had gripped him moments ago now replaced by something grounded, resolute.

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