Julian The Arcana Novels & Stories

I ask. I’m afraid this is some kind of trick or another lesson or punishment. “I don’t say things I don’t mean. I’m a Lycan of my word. I swear it by the moon.” He looked up towards the sky, though the moon is mostly hidden by the trees, and places a closed fist to his chest. I’ve been around him long enough to know he thinks of the moon as some sort of God, and it holds some sort of power over him. He is crazy for sure, but he holds the moon in high regard, and I believe he will honor anything he swears upon it. At least I hope, but he can’t really be trusted.

The seventh night required no transformation of the master bedroom. There were no borrowed bookshelves, no storm-lashed windows, no surgical trays or velvet thrones. The room was exactly as it had been when they first claimed it: the centered bedframe, the linen drapes filtering soft moonlight, the quiet hum of a house that had finally learned to breathe. This was the most terrifying stage of all. Tonight, there were no roles to hide behind, no scripts to recite, no archetypes to embody. Julian stood by the window, dressed in the same simple clothes he wore each morning, his face bare of performance, his eyes holding the raw, unvarnished weight of everything they had traversed. He was no lon

"From the tropics of Singapore to a damp basement on the river. Our life is truly a travel brochure for the damned." Julian didn't smile. He was standing by the small porthole, his silhouette a jagged line against the murky light of the river. He was cleaning his weapon—a rhythmic, metallic click-clack that had become the heartbeat of our transit. "London is where the Obsidian Circle keeps its secrets," Julian said, his voice a low rasp. "The woman in the vault—the one who called herself 'The Matriarch'—she’s not just a voice. She’s Lady Genevieve Thorne. My father’s eldest sister. The one who supposedly died in a hunting accident forty years ago."

"I’m not letting you go off on your own again. Now, finish your breakfast. Elaria’s waiting for you in her study, isn’t she?" Elaria’s study felt like a posh dungeon. The stench of sulphur and pungent herbs hit us the moment we walked in. Elaria was already there, flanked by a young bloke in glasses with his black hair tied back neatly. "This is Julian, my brother. He’s an alchemist," Elaria said, her voice as cold as ever. Julian didn't say much. He just started prepping his medical gear. I stood in the corner, my eyes locked on his every move as he began to draw Lulu’s blood.

Julian whispered. "You found her," Aurora said. "I knew that on the seventh night," Julian admitted. "The night of the pastry dough," Aurora noted. "The night the kitchen finally made sense," Julian said. He took a slow breath, his dark eyes unshielded. "GKG is a corporate structure," Julian continued. "But the archive is personal," Aurora realized. "It is the story of us," Julian confirmed. "Encoded in flavor," she added. "I was deciding how to tell you for months," Julian said.

“I’m getting him out.” Her eyes narrowed. “Without Luca’s approval?” “He doesn’t see clearly right now,” I replied. “You know that. He’s blinded by what Julian used to be. Not what he is now.” Aria took another step closer, her arms folding across her chest. “And what is he now?” Julian stood, finally. Quiet. Watching us both. “A man who tried to fix what he broke,” I answered. “He warned us. He told us what Victor planned. If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t have been ready.”

To think. She has to confront Julian. She sees that now. She can't keep dismissing her doubts, her fears. If there's even a chance that Ethan is right, that Julian is dangerous... Aria's eyes fall on Julian's laptop, abandoned on the table. Before she can second guess herself, she crosses the room and opens it. The screen blinks to life, the password screen appearing. Aria hesitates, her heart in her throat. Then she types in the password she saw Julian use once. Her birthday. The screen unlocks and Aria starts searching, her pulse pounding.

It depends honestly. Everything about him screamed “gentle soul” or “possible sword-wielding oracle.” He wore the company intern lanyard like a joke, because he was not, in any universe, a regular intern. Yin tilted his head slightly, his smile curling like he’d just read a plot twist before the rest of the audience. “Hmm… so the wind god was right,” he said quietly, mostly to himself. His eyes flicked to Selena, specifically to the faint glowing yellow sigil blooming on her chest.

Back beneath Rome, Vivian slowly walked toward Julian's body. Her flashlight illuminated his face. Something caught her attention. His left hand. She frowned. "Arthur..." He turned. Julian's fingers were stained with fresh blood. Not unusual. Except... He hadn't died with a clenched fist. He had deliberately drawn something on the stone floor. A symbol. Vivian knelt beside it. A circle. Inside it— Two wolves facing one another. Arthur's expression hardened. "I've seen that before." "Where?" He hesitated.

I didn’t pick up the phone. I changed into running clothes, tied my shoes, and left the laptop open on the table with the email waiting. The hallway was empty and the stairwell was empty and outside the air was cool enough to bite, so I started down the block at a pace that was faster than a jog and told myself I’d slow down after the first corner. I didn’t slow down. Dante Romano. Lila Kingsley. Julian’s name on papers he never wrote. I’d sent Julian to Charlotte’s suite so he could laugh for a few hours while I sat at home and learned that the mail that started this had come from his own aunt.