Page 97 of The Light Within

“No. Not yet, anyway. I’ve told Julien to hide it from everyone for now, including his father. He didn’t need to be told twice there. But—” Another fearful glance towards her children. “There’s been a couple of times where he’s almost revealed himself in front of Lucien. Usually, when Lucien has upset him. Or me.”

Guilt splashed across Isabelle’s face before it crumpled. She threw her arm over her eyes to hide tears. Father Gérard embraced her, patting her back.

Were Julien and Béatrice paying attention to all this?

Yes. Yes, they were.

Julien’s gaze latched onto his crying mother, nudging Béatrice with hiselbow.

The lull in conversation allowed Cinn to turn to his Isabelle. “Machina Tenebrisproject? I think the umbraphage mentioned that to us. Did Julien’s father make it? What is it?”

“Yes. Lucien and his friends.” Isabelle’s face soured as she ran her fingers through Béatrice’s shadowy fur. “It’s everything he ever wanted. Unlimited motepower, on tap, controlled by him.”

Cinn opened his mouth to ambush her with a dozen more questions, but Isabelle held up her hand. “I’m sorry for what you’re about to see,” she said softly, nodding towards the church’s door.

In all the revelations, Cinn had briefly forgotten Isabelle was going to die today, in this very church.

His stomach tightened with a grim sense of inevitability. The weight of what was about to happen crashed over him, settling into a deep, sorrowful sadness for the woman whom Julien loved.

The heavy oak flew open with a bang. Around six armed officers rushed into the church. Navy blue uniforms, strange weapons that looked familiar… It took Cinn’s reeling brain a second to realise who they were—Auri’s gendarmerie.

They’re all in his pocket, Julien often said.Everyone is.

One man stepped forward from the group. “Isabelle Montaigne.”

Julien’s mother stood, eyes wide and hands trembling, as she instinctively reached for the pew in front of her to steady herself. “No. Not here.”

Father Gérard stepped forward, raising a hand as if to ward off the intruders. “This is a house of God,” he said, voice steady with conviction. “You cannot bring violence into this sacred place.”

“There will be no violence,” the officer said, “if Isabelle Montaigne respects our arrest warrant and comes with us.”

“On what grounds do you dare to arrest her in this holy place? Isabelle is a good woman, and this is a sanctuary. What charges could possibly justify such a breach of peace?”

The officer’s lips curled into a sneer. “That isn’t your concern, old man. Step aside before you find yourself in more trouble than you can pray your way out of. Isabelle Montaigne knows exactly why we’re here.”

A soft noise from the corner of the church. Béatrice held her hand over her mouth, as if muffling herself. Julien stood behind her, fists clenched, face a tornado of anger.

Cinn battled an overwhelming urge to look away, to shield himself from the pain and fury twisting across Julien’s face, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.

In unison, the gendarmerie marched down the aisle. Several of them had the motetech batons Cinn had seen around Auri, which doubled as a taser.

Father Gérard rose to place himself in front of Isabelle. She pushed him aside, murmuring something into his ear. He nodded, then swiftly headed towards the door he’d entered through earlier. Was this escape how he survived whatever happened next?

“I will willingly do whatever you wish as soon as I’ve delivered my children to safety,” Isabelle said, clear and calm.

“We’ll get them back to Paris, ma’am,” a female officer said. “Don’t worry about that.”

Julien had left the corner to stride down the aisle.

“Julien! Stay back with Béatrice,” Isabelle ordered.

Footsteps faltering, Julien paused.

“They’re not going back to Paris.” Isabelle burrowed her gaze into the female officer’s, like she was entrusting her with a secret. “Please, let me get my children to safety.”

A wave of confliction passed over the officer’s face, and she glanced between her colleagues. Cinn held his breath.

“Our orders are clear,” said the man, glowering at the women’s exchange. Stepping forward, he grabbed Isabelle’s wrists, handcuffs swinging from his other hand. These weren’t your average handcuffs that Cinnhimself had experienced first-hand—these bulkier cuffs emitted a faint, ominous glow.

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