Page 17 of The Light Within

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 uncannilyempty 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 therealworld 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 uptrusting—

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, Concealedby 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.

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