“Tempting.”
Cinn had positioned himself slightly apart from them, hovering back, eyes downcast. Sometimes Julien forgot Cinn had never met Béatrice. And yet he was here, standing in the middle of a cemetery, about to commit grave robbery for her. Forhim.
Even after Julien had been an absolute prick.
Julien briefly ran a hand over his mother’s headstone, far less grandiose than Béatrice’s.“Repose en paix.”Be at peace.
Then, one quick unzip of the bag, and the shovel was ready to go.
“Don’t tell me you actually want to spend five hours digging?” asked Elliot.
Julien balanced the shovel on his shoulder. Smiled. “Not particularly, but it seemed pretty important to bring it. For aesthetics, if nothing else.”
Elliot raised both hands out in front of him. It was good fortune that it was a blustery evening—the windmotes would offer him more power behind them to channel. Cinn’s eyes widened once again as the wind whipped up around them, creating a strong current of air that escalated into a small tempest.
When Elliot manipulated the wind with supreme precision to slice into the grass, creating a neat rectangle of turf, every molecule of Julien’s essence ached to join him, imagining the feel of the windmotes underneath his fingertips. How they’d bend for him so easily. The elation, thehighthat came with channelling.
And as Elliot manipulated the windmotes underneath the rectangle he’d so masterfully created, to lift it four feet in the air above him, it took all Julien’s energy to block out that tiny voice whispering in his ear:he’s better than you, now.
Some loose dirt still remained above the casket, and Elliot removed that in clumps, creating small earthy tornados that deposited the soil in a pile next to the gravestone.
Then it was done, and Béatrice’s silver casket shone in the feeble amount of moonlight the clouds let pass. And underneath it? By now, she’d have very little flesh left, if any. Her teeth may well have fallen out. All this he knew from his month-long obsession with researching corpses when his mother died.
“Right, Julien, what now?” Elliot asked.
Time suspended as three pairs of eyes sought his for instruction. This was his plan, but now that he was actually here, about to tear a bone from his sister’s skeleton, it didn’t seem like a very good idea at all.
“Umm…” he started.
Darcy said, “If you’ve changed your mind—”
“I haven’t. This is our best chance to get the strongest magnet item possible.”
“I guess I can do it,” said Elliot, but he looked less than enthusiastic, eyeing the casket warily. “I could even try to use the windmotes again.”
“Or me,” said Darcy, glancing at Elliot, face pinched with worry. “I think I’d handle it best of all.”
Julien looked between the pair of them. Now was the moment where he stepped forward, to insist there was no way he was letting either of them be the one to mutilate his sister’s corpse.
Then Cinn stepped forward, arms crossed in steadfast resolve. “I’ll do it. I’ve seen enough dead bodies to last a lifetime already. One more can’t hurt.” He shrugged. “At least this one will be stationary and won’t try to attack me.”
Julien waited for Darcy or Elliot to protest.
They didn’t.
Cinn moved towards the grave.
“So, what do we want? A finger? A toe? A kneecap or two?” Cinn’s attempt at humour was offset by the slight shake to his voice.
In a quiet voice, hesitant and unsure, Julien replied, “A rib.”
Something that her heart touched.
Cinn nodded, tossing his jacket to Elliot and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt before dropping to the ground next to their dirt pile.
Julien couldn’t watch.
He’d set this whole thing up, dragged them here, made them all do the dirty work, and now he couldn’t evenwatch.
