Page 95 of The Light Within

Reaching deep within his well of patience, Julien waited.

“No,” Father Gérard stated firmly. “I did not encourage her away from the Arcane Purifiers. Our cause is too great. The Lord’s plan unfolds beyond our grasp, and we must not falter in our duty.”

If this priest dared to suggest that it was Béatrice’s path to die, Julien wouldn’t be able to control his actions, he knew that for sure.

Then, Father Gérard’s words snagged in Julien’s mind.Our cause.

Julien studied the old man. “What do you mean, Father? Areyoua member of AP?”

A heavy silence settled over the church, the kind that stretched and thickened.

The priest smoothed a hand over his vestments, his fingers trembling slightly as he sought to compose himself. “I am.”

Again, Cinn tugged at Julien’s sleeve. Again, he brushed him off.

“You?” Julien spluttered out. This was the last thing he’d expected to learn today.

“Hey! Listen! I feel really weird, like,” Cinn hissed into his ear.

Julien spun to face Cinn, who slowly lowered himself down onto another pew. Was he feeling faint? Had this morning’s blood loss caught up with him? “What do you mean, weird?”

Cinn stared down at his ever-present gold warding band. Then, after squeezing it tightly, he started to take it off.What on earth?

“Non! What are you doing?” Julien said, exasperated and oh-so tired.Not now.The last thing he needed right now was Cinn disappearing on him.

The priest coughed again. He seemed to have more to say, eyeing Julien with an oddly urgent expression, like he had to get his next words out quickly. “I am. And sowas she.”

“Béatrice?Oui, I’ve gotthatby now,” Julien replied sharply.

Abruptly, Father Gérard stood up, on shaking legs. “No, Julien,” the priest said. “I meant, your mother.”

What?A cold dread crawled up Julien’s spine, louder than any alarm.

Was the priest suggesting…

Non.Impossible.

Julien opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

A hand closed around his wrist. Cinn’s. He tugged Julien towards him, but his face looked vacant, slipping out of usual expressive form. “She’s… calling me,” he said. “She needs to talk to me.”

twenty-two

Cinn

Cinn had become so familiar with the red city greeting him in the shadowrealm that its absence caught him off guard.

He’d long since given up deciphering the rules for this place, choosing at this point to simply go with the flow. In contrast, Noir was endlessly fascinated by Cinn’s experiences—he’d probably go nuts if he ever heard that, for the first time, Cinn had felt summoned, slipping voluntarily rather than landing here as a product of a panic attack.

Cinn was still in the church, with several key differences. A plain window had become stained glass, gleaming with vibrant colours. On the far wall, an old fresco had materialised, depicting the figure of Saint Michael the Archangel, sword raised, triumphing over a twisted, shadowy serpent. The pews had also changed—each one aged and scarred.

It didn’t take a genius to work out—Cinn was in the church pre-accident.

He was in a memory.

A light touch on his shoulder had Cinn spinning. Standing before him was a woman with blonde hair and those piercing grey eyes he knew intimately. Julien’s mother. He’d seen her in the shadowrealm before, briefly. Now, up close, the resemblance to Béatrice was startling. Her delicate features, the soft curve of her lips, the intensity in her gaze…

“Hello,” she said.

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