Cinn gave an uncomfortable squirm in the armchair, glancing between the pair of them.
With loud clinks, Darcy gathered three empty teacups onto a tray—Cinn had finished his chai after all. “You’re going home? Fantastic news. I figured you’d demand to crash on my sofa again. You’ve used it more than your own bed this month.”
Julien would often suffer through the occasional stab of a loose spring rather than face another night alone in his penthouse suite. Béatrice’s bedroom was opposite Darcy’s, but he couldn’t ever quite bring himself to sleep in her bed. Just being in her room was bad enough. He knew this well—they’d many times attempted to summon her to the space, figuring it to be a familiar, special place.
“Let’s go,” Julien said pointedly to Cinn, who finally jumped up, mumbled goodbyes to the other two, and followed him outside to where his car was parked, next to Elliot’s motorcycle.
He tried not to laugh when Cinn made to get into the driver’s side before muttering something about stupid European cars.
Once Cinn clicked his seatbelt, he ran his hand over the dashboard of Julien’s Mazda Eunos 800. He’d bought it on impulse last year after a particularly draining visit home. It was jet black, like his mood at the time.
“Nice ride,” Cinn said.
“Do you drive?”
“Nah. Never have. Don’t really need to in my part of London.”
Great. It looked like Cinn really would be reliant on them to ferry him around.
“Oui, your public transport really is… something,” said Julien, wrinkling his nose at the memory of the one time he’d attempted to board an overcrowded bus. Thank goodness for the black cabs.
“You’ve been to London?”
Julien glanced at him. “Oui, of course. I grew up in Paris. It’s just a stone’s throw away.”
“I’ve never been to Paris.” A wistful edge coloured Cinn’s voice. “It looks so nice in the movies.”
“Most of it’s a cesspool. My father and his wife live there though, so I go back, every now and again.”Not as little as I’d like.
“Are they…moteblessed? Your parents?”
A laugh bubbled out of him before he could contain it. Of course, Cinn would have no idea who his father was. “Oui. It usually tends to be genetic. It’s likely one of your parents was.”
Cinn fell quiet for a moment. Julien glanced at him. What had Eleanor said about his upbringing?Shit-show of a childhood. Foster system since age thirteen. School dropout.
“Is this you?” Julien asked, as he pulled up outside the address Eleanor had given him on the phone that afternoon. The institute owned twenty percent of the property around town, so why on earth had they stuck Cinn so far out? Wouldn’t it have been better to keep him close to the centre?
Cinn squinted through the darkness. “I guess it is.”
A small pause stretched. Cinn didn’t look delighted at being dropped off to be all alone in a strange new house, and Julien had a sudden urge to invite himself in. Then Julien reminded himself that Cinn was a normal, functioning adult, unlike himself. “I’m presuming Eleanor wants me to take you to Auri tomorrow. I’ve got a lecture to catch at midday, so I’ll pick you up at ten.”
Cinngrabbed the door handle, then froze, turning his head to look Julien directly in the eye. “You said you needed my help. Earlier, when you used that stuff on me.”
Oui, I did. Yes, I do. I really, really do.
“Did I?”
Cinn’s piercing gaze was unrelenting. Eleanor’s clear orders from earlier warred with the image of his dead sister’s body.
Naturally, it was an unfair contest.
“There is something I have in mind. But it can wait.”A day or two.
Cinn ran his fingers through the messy dark hair that poked out of the front of his hat, seeming poised to say more, but eventually, he just slid out of the car. “Cheers for the ride,” he mumbled, before walking up his path, head down.
Julien stared at Cinn’s door long after he’d closed it. Cinn was a puzzle. An intriguing puzzle. And there was nothing Julien liked more than a good puzzle.
five
