Page 19 of A Wicked Dance of Obsidian and Light (Echoes of Darkness #1)

The bell chimes as I open the door of the Nostalgic Vault , and as soon as I step inside the vintage shop, a cloud of slightly dusty air, tinged with the scent of aged wood, leather, and old paper, transports me to a different era.

“Hi, Iris. Haven’t seen you in a while,” Barry, the owner, greets me from behind the counter.

“Hey, Barry, yeah…life’s been kind of crazy these past few weeks,” I shoot back, ambling toward him.

“Oh, did you like the dagger your friend got you for your birthday?” he asks as he wipes a crystal cup with a rag, his ruddy cheeks lifting in a genuine smile. He’s a stocky man with an impressive six-foot-seven frame. That, coupled with the thick mustache and bald head, gives him an uncanny resemblance to a walrus. Not at all what one would imagine someone who owns an antique store.

I nod. “I loved it. It’s gorgeous.”

“I knew you would,” he says, turning around and placing the cup back on the shelf behind him, displaying various teacups, candle holders, and rare sets of China with intricate flower designs. He spins on his heel, his gaze locking with mine. “Is there something I can do for you today, or would you just like to take a look around?”

I lean forward to rest my elbows on the counter. “Actually, I need information that can possibly be found in an old book or document, and I remembered you saying in passing once that you know someone who sells extremely rare, old religious books.” Another week has passed, and my aunt still hasn’t found anything about the umbra demons in the library, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.

His smile drops, and his eyebrows knit together in a deep frown. “Oh, I did, didn’t I? I must have had one too many glasses of Chianti during the day,” he mumbles and continues, “Well, you see…it’s more of an acquaintance. She’s my grandmama’s neighbor. She moved here a few years ago from New Orleans.” He clears his throat. “The woman is kind of…How do I say this? Eccentric, to put it mildly. She’s a bit cuckoo if you ask me.” He accentuates his last statement by rotating a finger on the side of his head, then leans forward, whispering, probably not wanting the other customers browsing the store to hear. “She’s always saying how demons and all these other evil creatures are all around us, hiding in plain sight.”

I choke on my own saliva as it goes down with my next swallow. Smoothing it out with a cough, I match Barry’s whispered tone, “Wow, she really sounds crazy.”

Barry hikes a shoulder. “Right?” He flops a hand in the air, his voice regaining his deep baritone. “I think it’s just an act to sell her image, though. She does palm readings at the carnival that’s taking place now until the end of summer. The one at the edge of Ashville. You can’t miss her trailer; it says ‘Madame La Flamme Palm Readings’ in big, flaming letters.”

“’Kay, thanks, Barry,” I tell him straightening.

“You’re leaving already?” he asks with a hint of disappointment in his tone. “I just got this Turkish rug that would go amazing with your couch, and I wanted to show it to you.”

“I’m in a bit of a rush, but I’ll swing back next week.”

“Don’t take too long because I’ll probably sell it.”

“I won’t. See you then,” I throw over my shoulder before stepping out of the store and hailing a cab to take me to the carnival.

“ Hey! Are you crazy?” the taxi driver bellows as I throw the bills at him with a mumbled “thank you” and open the door of the still-moving vehicle with a jerky movement, my fingers so clenched they refuse to let go of the handle.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

The tires screech loudly as he slams the brakes. I don’t waste a second, throwing myself out of the car into the carnival’s parking lot, shutting the door behind me with a loud bang. The driver opens his window and shouts some profanities my way before speeding off, but I don’t pay him any attention as I stagger forward, my lungs battling for air, folding in two inside my chest.

I grab the fence in front of me before pressing my cheek to the cold metal. I hold onto it for dear life as I snap my eyes shut and try to cram as much air as I can into my useless lungs. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes and stream down my face with the effort.

The entire ride, dread spiked my blood until I felt like I was going to pass out in the backseat. On top of that, the driver was a blabbermouth, and I could barely answer his string of annoying questions through the panic attack seizing my chest. Fuck . It hasn’t been this bad in years…not since I was a teenager. I thought I had it under control, but oh boy, was I wrong. The flashback I got from the car accident must have brought it all back with a vengeance.

Great.

Just great.

I really hope this is a once-in-blue-moon situation because if I’ll get like this every time I ride in a car again…fuck my life.

Heaving out a weighted sigh, I finally manage to shake off the mind-numbing terror. However, it still lingers in the back of my throat with the remnants of bile.

Ugh .

When I jumped from the cab like from a burning building, the carnival seemed almost abandoned, save for one or two people riding the Ferris wheel. Now, the parking lot is almost full, and I have to wait in line for more than twenty minutes before I finally manage to purchase a ticket.

The late evening air is thick with the smell of buttery popcorn and the sickly-sweet tang of cotton candy and taffy apples as I weave my way through the maze of booths. Raucous laughter, children screaming, blasting music from the carnival rides, and the occasional roar of excitement coming from the roller coaster at my right are grating on my already spread-too-thin nerves. The sounds are what one would normally expect at a carnival, but they still make the pounding in the back of my head feel like an ice pick spearing my brain. I’m always sensitive to sounds after a panic attack. Now, though, it feels intensified by a hundredfold as my temples throb fiercely.

I finally spot the trailer right next to the House of Mirrors and take my place in line behind two teenage girls giggling about their crushes and wanting to find out if they will end up together. Gritting my teeth, I try shoving the pain deep down but fail miserably. Then I remember Sam brewed me something specifically for these migraines, insisting I keep at least one vial on me, and I want to kiss her at this moment as I fish the vial out of my jean shorts front pocket and down it in one go. I feel its calming effects immediately.

When it’s my turn, I climb the stairs, and as I step through the threshold, I almost choke on the potent smell of incense burning my nostrils. The interior is strategically illuminated by candles, a hazy fog floating in the air, enhancing the mysterious atmosphere. It looks straight out of a movie with the rounded table in the middle, two purple velvet chairs, beaded curtain, and the cherry on top: the fake crystal ball, next to a set of Tarot cards.

Seriously? I honestly don’t know what I was expecting. I roll my eyes in annoyance at the thought that I wasted my time and want to kick myself for being so stupid, thinking that I could get information about the umbra from a con artist.

“Take a seat, s’il vous plait . I’ll be right with you,” a feminine voice with a strong French accent travels from behind the bead curtain.

“Yeah, no, thank you,” I mutter for my ears only, and just as I’m about to spin on my heel, the curtain parts.

“Let’s find out what le future ho—” The woman pauses when her shrewd citrine eyes fixate on my onyx choker. Her gaze flicks to my hair, back to my choker, and to my hair again before it snares mine, a deep frown etching into her already lined forehead, where the passing of years has left its mark. “ Putain !” she lets out sharply under her breath.

Interesting.

“I do not deal with your kind, hellseeker,” she snaps icily before fully stepping into the small space. Her deep ebony skin glows in the candlelight, which starts flickering as the temperature in the room drops a few degrees. The air thickens with the flow of dark magic as some of her power seeps into the room. Clearly, this is an attempt to intimidate me. I’m not fazed, though.

“I just need five minutes of your ti—”

The dark witch cuts me off, her eyes narrowing at me. “You have no right to be here. I haven’t broken the law, and I’m under the protection of the Obsidian Conclave.” She lifts the fabric of the deep plum, bell-shaped sleeve covering her arm. Then turns it to show me the Sigil of Baphomet tattooed on the inside of her wrist. “So leave.”

“I’m not looking—”

She tilts her head, interrupting me. “Why is your hair black? I thought all hellseekers had light hair,” she asks as curiosity gets the best of her.

“My father’s a human, that’s why,” I retort and take advantage of the silence that stretches between us. “I’m not looking to cause you any trouble,” I try again, pausing to gauge if she has the intention of cutting me off again, then continue when she simply folds her arms in front of her chest with a hard look in her eyes. “I’m a loyal customer of Barry’s, the owner of the Nostalgic Vault. He mentioned you sell very old and rare religious books. I am looking for information about a specific demon, and I thought that maybe if I’m lucky, I can find that in one of your books. That’s all.”

She pinches her lips together, taking a moment to absorb my words. “You’re lucky Barry’s grandmother is one of my dearest friends. What is the name of le démon you seek information about?”

“It’s an ancient demon called an umbra.”

The witch frames her chin with one hand and taps a finger over her lips, deep in thought. “Hmm, I think I heard that name once when I was a child. Wait here, and don’t touch anything,” she says pointedly, then throws me a scathing glare before disappearing through the beaded curtain.

I puff out a breath and shuffle on my feet as half an hour passes with no sign of the witch. At first, I thought that maybe she left through another door than the one at my back, but she soon starts making a ruckus as she rummages through things.

An unintelligible sound of victory travels through the trailer before the woman finally reappears through the curtain, holding a timeworn leather-bound book with a pentagram inside a circle filled with weird symbols on the cover. Her limp is evident as she bypasses the table to shuffle forward. She stops right in front of me, opening the book with gentle movements.

She flips the first two pages. “This is an Enochian book from the fifteenth century passed down through generations in my family after it was stolen from the Vatican’s secret vault along with other rare books. It’s a glossary of demons. My grandmother translated the table of contents,” she says while running her finger over the pencil scribblings that sit atop the Enochian symbols.

She passes a few demons I recognize until her finger stops on what clearly says umbra. My breath catches in my throat as excitement bubbles through my veins. The second I reach for the book to take a better look, the witch snatches it from my grasp, closes it, and tucks it between her arm and body. “Ah-ah. Not so fast, hellseeker. I will need my payment first before you can have the book,” she tells me, limping to the other side of the table and pulling the velvet chair out before sitting down.

“How much?”

She snorts a derisive laugh. “Money is not the currency I seek.”

I huff impatiently. “Fine, then what do you want?”

“Siren blood. It has been proven quite difficult in the past years to come across. Oh, and also one of your blessed daggers. I was also going to ask for an onyx stone, but given the fact that the book is in Enochian and you will have to find a translator, these will do.”

“Why would you need a blessed dagger? It can only be wielded by hellseekers. And where am I supposed to find siren blood?” I bite back. Well, I do know a sexy Elite demon with the face of a fallen angel and a body made for sin that I’m certain knows how to procure said siren blood, but I’m not keen on asking him for help.

She shrugs nonchalantly before cutting me a faux smile. “You want the book, non ?”

Fuck.

A muscle pops in my cheek as I take out my phone from my back pocket. “Just give me a minute,” I tell the witch and turn around, stepping outside for some privacy. My heart flip-flops inside my chest as I press Kaiden’s contact.

He answers on the first ring, surprising me. “Angel, to what do I owe this pleasure?” his velvety smooth voice wraps around me, making my pulse hiccup.

I swallow hard as a shiver skitters down my spine. Jesus. How can he have this effect on me and not even be present? Even if the next words pain me, I say them anyway. It’s the only solution I have. “I need your help. I have found someone with a book mentioning the umbra, but they want siren blood as payment. Do you know how I can get some?”

“Sirens are very hard to come by, but I can get you a vile of blood.”

I let out a relieved breath. “Great, then it’s sett—”

“I’ll need something in return, though,” he says, cutting me off.

Of course he does. I bite the inside of my cheek as I wait for his next words.

“Have dinner with me, and you can have the blood.”

A surprised guffaw slips out of me. My heart stalls. Then kicks off with such speed it feels like it’s trying to crawl its way out of my chest. Clearing my throat, I try to regain my composure. I fail. “I can’t do that, Kaiden,” I hiss and crook a finger in the collar of my T-shirt to pull on it. It feels as though the temperature has risen a few degrees in the span of a few seconds. Even while dark clouds gather on the sky, a clear sign of an impending storm. “As you very well know, it’s against the ru—”

“You want the siren blood. Yes or no?”

“Was I mistaken in thinking that you want the information about the umbra as much as I do?” I snap, indignation lacing my tone.

“Oh, I do want the information, but I want to take you out on a date more. So, what’s it going to be, Iris?”

I clench and unclench the fingers of my free hand, my other threatening to crush the phone to smithereens. “Fine. I’ll go out on a date with you,” I grit out through clenched teeth, then add hastily, “But it needs to be somewhere private with no one around.”

“Don’t worry. It’s only going to be us. I’ll send you the details tomorrow. And, angel?”

“What?”

“I told you I always get what I want.” With that, he ends the call.

That smug demon bastard. Letting out a breath through flared nostrils, I pocket my phone, snap my eyes shut, and pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m going to be breaking the rules for the second time since I joined the Order eight years ago in just a matter of weeks because of an Elite demon. And this time it’s going to be out of my own free will.

Dammit.

The worst part? My rage is a mere band-aid, a feeble attempt to mask the heady excitement and giddy anticipation that surges through my veins like lightning at the thought of seeing Kaiden Black again.