“For now.” Noir moved closer to Cinn’s bedside to snatch up his charts, then began flicking through them. “What’s with the music?” he asked, one grey bushy eyebrow raised at the headphones over Cinn’s ears, plugged into his Walkman on the bedside table. The faintest sound leaked out of the headphones, a pulsating rhythm. “I doubt he can hear it.”
“It’s his favourite tape,” snapped Julien. He was rather proud of his idea of using Cinn’s songs to attempt to lure him back into his body. “He plays it all the time.”
Noir picked up the cassette tape case—Doolittleby the Pixies. Well worn, the plastic surface bore countless scratches. The intriguing artwork featured a bizarre monkey with a halo floating on his head, sitting on a concrete step.
Giving Julien a look you’d give to a child you were humouring, Noir said, “I don’t doubt. Any sign of movement yet?”
“Absolutely none.” Julien had never seen a human body so still; he often hovered his ear above Cinn’s mouth to see if he was actually breathing, even though his heart-rate monitor reassured him he was still alive. He spent most of his time in Cinn’s room, closely scrutinising him for the twitches they’d seen the two times they’d watched him shadowslip, to no avail. This time was different. Julien knew it in every bone in his body.
Noir made a humming noise.
Through gritted teeth, Julien said, “He’s been like this for five days now. There must be something else we can try. I know that records of shadowslippers are limited, but there must besomehelpful information out there!”
“Yes. There is some relevant information.” Noir’s solemn, lined face crinkled. “This is how a lot of them end, I’m afraid.”
“What?”
“How shadowslippers die,” Noir said, so matter-of-factly Julien’s hand itched to punch him. “A large majority of recorded cases end with their body entering this stasis.” Noir waved his hand toward Cinn’s body.“This coma-like state, with their consciousness remaining stuck in the shadowrealm. Often, their bodies eventually give up. One shadowslipper, after extensive electric-shock treatment, opened their eyes again, but had lost most of their brain function.”
Julien blinked at Noir as shock gripped him. Then he let his mouth gape open as icy fury shot through his veins. “Excusez-moi?Your plan is to wait for him to become a vegetable?”
Sighing, Noir removed a pipe and tin from his pocket, made to light it. Julien scowled it right back into his pocket again.
“I’m only preparing you for the worst-case scenario.”
“Well, if you’ve got nothing actually helpful to offer, you may as well leave,” Julien spat, throwing himself back down in the bedside armchair, pointedly staring at Cinn.
As Noir moved towards the door, it swung open. Darcy had finally arrived.
Once she’d clicked the door shut behind Noir, Julien snapped, “You’re late.” Then, after a wash of guilt, mumbled, “Sorry.”
Darcy ignored it, just like she’d done every other time Julien had let his stress colour his tone. “I had to pop home for some bits. I’ve brought you dinner.” She threw him something sandwich-shaped, wrapped in tinfoil.
Julien forced himself to smile at her. “Thanks. Still no sign of our cat?”
“Nope.”
They hadn’t seen the ‘cat’ again since its brief appearance at the attack. Although Julien was starting to think he may have imagined it, the result of adrenaline and heartbreak.
Darcy dropped her voice low and soft. “You know Elliot is right about it likely not being Béatrice, right?”
“Oui,”he snapped. “Of course.” A lie—as soon as his sister’s name had come out of Cinn’s mouth, his brain latched on to the idea, dug its claws in deep. After months of grief, worry and wondering about her death, he’d take demon-cat Béatrice over no Béatrice at all.
Hopefully she didn’t bite.
“In other news, Noir just told me that Cinn will likely waste away and die,” Julien announced, in a monotonous voice that he’d curated to not show any of the turbulent emotion threatening to spill out of him at the news.
Darcy’s lips pursed together in a thin line, seeming unsurprised. “So our limited literature maintains. He discussed this with me here the other day, when you and Elliot went to grab coffee. I did tell him not to share that information with you, though.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re already an absolute mess,” she snapped. “And it didn’t seem very helpful.”
“Actually, it’sveryhelpful.”
Darcy stilled.
“It’s very helpful, because it’s solidified our next plan of action.”
