Page 22 of A Wicked Dance of Obsidian and Light (Echoes of Darkness #1)

The meeting has been dragging on for almost two hours, and I can’t concentrate on a word coming out of Grayson’s mouth because I can’t shake the last encounter with the dark witch out of my head.

I went back to her trailer yesterday to give her the items she requested as payment. As I grabbed the book out of her hand, our fingers touched briefly. Her eyes widened almost comically, and all the color drained from her face.

“There is a shadow over your soul,” she whispered, voice trembling, abject fear marring her features.

“What do you mean?” I chuckled uncomfortably.

“There’s darkness inside you, girl.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared back, mouth agape, before she shouted, “Out!” and ushered me out of her trailer, slamming the door and locking it behind me with urgency.

A sharp pain in my ribs brings me into the present. “Ow,” I mutter under my breath and scowl at Raquelle, the hellseeker sitting on my right, who nudged me with her elbow.

“Glad to know I’m not boring you, Iris,” Grayson drawls while giving me a death stare. I wilt under his disapproving glare as everyone in the room turns to look at me. I feel like the kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Shit.

“Sorry, I was reminding myself to go to the armory and sharpen my daggers,” I blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. Erik lets out a derisive snort from his seat at Grayson’s right. His stare has been sending icy shivers down my spine the whole meeting. He’s always been creepy as fuck, but now it somehow feels ten times worse. Someone is going to make a documentary about him one day, mark my words. And it definitely won’t be the good kind.

Grayson arches an eyebrow at my response before announcing, “The meeting is over.”

All the other hellseekers collectively stand up and start filing out of the room. Just as I’m about to push back my chair, Grayson’s voice makes me freeze. “Iris, a word?”

I remain seated, clenching my sweat-slicked palms into fists under the long table, and meet his hawk-like eyes.

“Doctor Corey said you’ve been having migraines since the strange demon attack, but there was nothing out of the ordinary with your exam. How are you feeling?” Grayson steeples his fingers on the table in front of him, waiting for my answer.

He’s wearing a dark navy suit with a button-down, and the way he holds himself demands attention and respect—his training as one of the best hellseekers in the Order never forgotten.

“I’m good; I haven’t had a migraine in a few days.”

He tilts his head. “Noah told me you took him to where you were attacked in the national park. I saw the footage. I’m surprised you don’t have any burn marks.”

I gulp as my stomach twists into painful knots. “Yeah…me too—”

“Any other strange demon encounters since then?”

“If that were the case, I would have come to report it. But as all other hellseekers and I already said earlier, the streets are strangely empty.”

He nods, seemingly pondering my words. “Fine. You’re dismissed.”

My forehead crinkles with a frown.

That easy?

Well, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Without a word, I stand on trembling legs and shuffle out of the room. As soon as I shut the door at my back, I let out a shaky breath.

“Iris, you okay?” Roman asks, startling me.

“Hey, yeah, sorry. I didn’t see you there. How are you?” I offer a brittle smile.

“Good, I just took my lunch break. I wanted to eat in the garden and get some fresh air, take advantage of the good weather, you know. I called Tim like a thousand times to ask him to join me, but I think he’s blasting music in those noise-canceling headphones again. I should have gotten him something else for his birthday. I swear he never answers his phone.” He rolls his eyes and flaps a hand in the air. “Anyway, sorry for the rant.”

“Do you want me to go tell him you’re waiting for him in the garden? I’m going that way anyway to see my aunt.” I’m not, but I’m not going to waste this opportunity to sneak a peak at the surveillance footage of the night the umbra came through the portal. Tim has been stuck like Velcro to those goddamn screens.

Roman’s kind cinnamon eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile. “Oh, that’s really thoughtful of you. Thanks.”

“Sure,” I tell him over my shoulder and make my way to the second floor.

The discussion with Grayson is at the forefront of my mind as I ascend the stairs. I’m grateful he let me off the hook so easily, but it left me with a sour taste and an unpleasant feeling crawling beneath my skin…so at odds with the Grayson I know. He’s acting weird. Or maybe I’m projecting my own insecurities on our every interaction because I was never in the position to lie to him before, and it’s eating at my insides like battery acid.

As expected, rock music is blasting from Tim’s headphones, but this time, he sees me walk into his office. He pauses the music and removes the headphones, tilting his chin in my direction. “Hey, what’s up? Do you need anything?”

Leaning my hips into the door frame and folding my arms in front of my chest, I say, “No, that’s not why I came. I bumped into Roman a few minutes ago. He said he’s waiting for you in the garden. He just took his lunch break. He was also kinda peeved you didn’t answer your phone.”

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath before he lifts his phone from the desk to check the screen. He slaps his forehead. “Ah, fuck, he called me five times, and I’m already in the doghouse for being almost an hour late on our last date.” He brushes a hand over his face and heaves out a breath. “I can’t leave; someone’s got to be here to watch the monitors, and Christopher is running late today,” he tells me, referring to the other guy in charge of surveillance. Tim is the only one with the brains to be in charge of both tech and surveillance.

I hike a shoulder nonchalantly. “I can watch the screens while you take your lunch break.”

A glimmer of hope shines in Tim’s eyes. “You don’t have training or anything?”

“I’m in no rush. I can spare twenty minutes.”

“You sure?” He chews on his bottom lip nervously. “If Grayson finds out about this, he’s not going to be hap—”

Rolling my eyes, I cut him off, “He’s not going to find out if we don’t tell him. Besides, it’s just twenty minutes in the middle of the day. What could happen?”

“Okay,” he relents, then quickly stands and shoves his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “Just take a seat in my place and watch out for anything out of the ordinary,” he says as he stops next to me.

I push off the door frame and amble toward the desk. “Just go already. I promise I won’t set anything on fire.”

He chuckles. “Thanks, Iris. I’ll owe you one,” he says before leaving the room.

Heart thumping loudly in my ears, I close the door before plopping down on the wheeled chair. My fingers drum on top of the desk as I wait a few minutes to make sure Tim didn’t forget anything or change his mind. After I feel enough time has passed, I grab the mouse and start browsing through the folders on Tim’s laptop. He left in such a hurry that he forgot to lock the screen.

It doesn’t take long to find the folder with the surveillance footage since everything is organized by dates. I double-click on the videos from that day and open them in different windows on the screen. Chewing on a hangnail, I fast forward the footage and watch Grayson pocket his phone around six p.m. and exit his office. He then gets in his car and leaves the compound immediately after that. It’s impossible to tell where he went, but he doesn’t come back until the next morning.

Well, this is…underwhelming.

Since Tim mentioned the glitch, I was hoping that someone interfered with the surveillance, and I could catch a glimpse of them getting into Grayson’s office and messing with his phone or something. That’s the movie I made in my head, and I am severely disappointed that it was just a glitch, nothing more. So far, everything points at Grayson. I still don’t know what happened from that time until nine thirty when I received his text, but what if he lied? What if he didn’t misplace his phone?

Ugh.

I close all open windows and slump in the chair, waiting for Tim to come back.

Ezekiel’s shrewd caramel-brown eyes analyze my every move as we circle each other, swords at the ready, our shadows caught in the same dance on the grass beneath our feet. We decided to take advantage of the cloudless sky today and train outside, near the garden.

He took off his T-shirt earlier, and the scars marring his tawny skin are fully on display alongside his bulky muscles and perfectly carved six-pack. His dirty-blond hair is cropped short in a military buzz cut, and the fine lines etched into the corner of his eyes and forehead deepen with concentration as he watches me. He is no longer my instructor since I graduated a few years ago, but we still enjoy training with each other and meet at least once a week at the compound.

A fine sheen of perspiration coats my entire body. The light breeze that rustles the leaves feels like heaven against my heated skin. As soon as I step into the sunlight, my sword gleams, blinding me momentarily. The bright light sends a stab of white-hot pain directly to my brain. I inhale a sharp breath and clench my teeth while willing the headache to go away.

Ezekiel takes advantage of the hesitation in my steps, lunging at me full force. Our swords clash with a loud metallic clang, and the impact reverberates through my entire body as I parry with precision.

“Ah, playing dirty, are we?” I cluck my tongue and curve my lips in a smile as I seamlessly transition into a riposte and launch my attack.

He blocks me swiftly and lets out a deep belly laugh at my jab while shifting effortlessly between low and high guards, forcing me to adapt to the changing dynamics. “Is this all you got, Iris?” His pearly white teeth catch the light.

“I didn’t want to startle you and cause you to pull a muscle or worse, break a bone at your old age,” I deadpan and twirl as I tap into the hellseeker speed, tracing a wide arc through the air before our swords meet again in a jarring impact. The high-pitched metallic sound rings loudly. The birds that just a second ago were chirping happily in the trees surrounding us scatter into the air with rapid flaps of wings.

“Brat.” Ezekiel arches an eyebrow at me. “Who’s playing dirty now?”

I shrug. “C’mon, old man. Stop coddling me.” He’s far from looking old, and we both know it; he’s about my aunt’s age, so he looks about thirty-five, but it’s my preferred jab when we spar. I call him old, and he calls me a brat.

A series of swings and slashes follow, the blades cutting through the air as we engage in a mesmerizing dance of gleaming steel and rapid footwork while we both use the hellseeker speed. Sweat dots my forehead and gathers at the nape of my neck, dripping down my spine. My breathing turns ragged, my muscles beginning to strain.

A tall silhouette approaching us catches my attention. My heart does a backflip at Noah coming into view, and my movements falter. He’s wearing low-slung gray sweats and a muscle shirt that stretches over his chest like second skin. Using the momentary distraction to his advantage, Ezekiel breaks off by raising the hilt of his sword. He traps my blade in between his upper arm and torso and disarms me with a blow to my wrist.

“I see you’re still the undefeated champion,” Noah chimes in from the sidelines as he reaches us, lifting his chin in greeting.

Ezekiel looks at me with a lopsided grin. “Iris disarms me without any problem most days, but I think she got a little distracted today.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing demons don’t use swords if Iris gets so easily distracted,” Noah jests with a smug smirk.

Heat crawls up my chest all the way to my cheeks. I roll my eyes at them and resist the urge to stick out my tongue like a toddler. “Hardy har har.” Making my way to my gym bag, I bend to unzip it and wipe the sweat off my face with a towel. Noah approaches us, giving Ezekiel one of those bro-hugs with a pat on the back. “How are you, Zeke?”

“I’m good. Iris didn’t mention you were back,” Ezekiel says while bending to place the swords on the grass.

Noah folds his arms in front of his chest. His muscles bulge with the movement, and his gaze flits to mine briefly at Ezekiel’s words. “Yeah, I’m planning to stay a while. How’s Christina?” he asks, referring to Ezekiel’s wife.

“She’s at home with the kids. They’re a handful,” Ezekiel responds, his whole face lighting up as it always does when he talks about his family.

Noah’s eyebrows rise, and he tilts his head. “You’ve got kids? Multiple?”

“Yeah. A boy and a girl.” Ezekiel takes out his phone from his bag and slides his finger on the screen to show Noah pictures of little Rhett and Alice.

“They’re beautiful. You’re lucky they take after their mother,” Noah chuckles out.

Ezekiel slugs him playfully in the shoulder. “What about you? Married? Kids? A special someone waiting for you?”

“Nah, too focused on the job for that. Besides, there is only one woman I wanted to do all that with, and I left her behind.”

I choke on the water I’m drinking, and my stomach does a somersault. I start coughing like I’m about to hack out a lung.

Smooth, Iris.

Real smooth.

“You good there?” Ezekiel raises a knowing eyebrow in my direction, his lips twisting up in amusement.

“Peachy,” I mumble and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand when the coughing finally subsides. I put the cap back on the bottle and throw it on top of my bag. “Are we doing hand-to-hand today, too?” I ask Ezekiel. “I’m having dinner tonight with my aunt, and I have to go in an hour.”

“Do you mind if I step in?” Noah juts in before Ezekiel can answer.

“No, actually. I promised Christina I’d go to the store and pick up some things before going home, so I’ll leave you guys to it,” Ezekiel says before bending to lift his bag alongside the swords. He looks at me over his shoulder. “Same time next week?”

“Yup,” I respond, popping the p .

Ezekiel nods and makes his way to the back of the mansion.

Noah’s gaze roves over my body as he comes closer, a glimmer of desire shining in his eyes. His sun-streaked hair is artfully mussed with that perfected, just-got-out-of-bed look, and the way his clothes cling to his body sends my pulse spiking through the roof. He cracks his neck from side to side and widens his stance. “Let’s see if you got any better, Harper. If I remember correctly, your footwork was always kind of sloppy,” he taunts.

I get my fists ready at the same time as Noah. “Ah, aren’t you cute, Pierce,” I say and move back as he initiates a series of feints, testing my defense. We fall in sync with the controlled rhythm of each other’s footwork, and soon it’s like Noah never left.

Noah launches a swift punch, aiming for my midsection. I respond with a precise block while inhaling a deep breath and countering with a low kick that he blocks easily. We continue in a fluid choreography of jabs and kicks, our chests moving rapidly with every breath. A sweat bead gets stuck in my eyelashes as I launch a flurry of rapid kicks. One catches Noah in the chin, and I manage to throw him off balance for a second.

He laughs, wipes the blood trickling down from the corner of his lips with his thumb, and comes at me. I subtly shift my weight, and the moment he’s within reach, my fingers find purchase in his T-shirt. Using his momentum, I pivot my hips and step inside his stance while disrupting his balance. Engaging my core muscles, I put his weight onto my hip as I rotate and throw him to the ground. He lands with a loud thud on his back.

“How’s that for sloppy foot—” I don’t get to finish my jab because Noah kicks my legs from under me, and I end up falling on top of him. All the air leaves my lungs in a huff as our bodies collide.

“I’ll say you still have to work on it,” Noah rasps, and with a swift move, he rolls us and comes on top, knee in between my legs. My heart drums a staccato rhythm in my ears as my blood rushes into my veins. His fingers come up and brush a sweaty strand of hair off my face.

Noah closes the space between us until we’re nose to nose. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as his quicksilver gaze zeros in on my lips. I suck in a jagged breath, and his crisp sandalwood cologne mixed with the musk of fresh sweat envelops me.

All the times we trained together like this flash through my mind, and the carefully placed stitches around my heart start to unravel one by one. They leave my heart an open wound as I remember the sleepless nights, the sadness that weighted my bones, and how I moved as if trapped in a foggy, murky mist for an entire year.

The worst part about the person you love ghosting you is that you’re trapped in the uncertainty of not knowing why; it leaves you suspended in doubt and prevents you from fully moving on. It’s a special kind of purgatory. It would have been better if he would have broken up with me before he left. That way, it would have been a clean cut, and even if it hurt like a bitch…at least I would have had the chance to heal. What Noah did to me was much worse.

Noah dips, but right at the last moment, I turn my head, and his lips make contact with my cheek instead of my lips. The air between us grows thick with awkwardness as I push him off me. We both stand.

Brows drawn, he runs his hand over the back of his neck. “Iris, I—”

I cut him off as I bend, take my bag, and sling it over my shoulder. “I meant what I said, Noah. I need time to figure out if I even want you as a friend. You suddenly barge into my life five years after ghosting me and want to pick up where we left off like nothing happened?” I huff and shake my head. “I can’t do this with you right now.” I turn on my heel and stalk to the mansion.

“Fuck! Iris! Wait!” Noah shouts after me and starts jogging, easily reaching me and matching my hurried steps. “I’m sorry, okay?”

A muscle thrums in my jaw, and I tighten my grip on the strap of my gym bag. I don’t look at him, though; I keep my gaze forward, pretending he’s not walking next to me.

“I’m sorry I ghosted you. I’m so unbelievably sorry for that. But I’m not going to apologize for trying to kiss you. When you’re near, I can’t control myself. All I want to do is kiss you, touch you. You make me crazy; you’re all I think about. Please tell me how to make this right. I’ll do anything.”

I stop as I reach the steps to the back entrance of the mansion and heave out a deep sigh. My gaze flicks to Noah’s stormy one and his disheveled appearance. His clothes are sweaty, glued to his muscles, and stained green from rolling in the grass. A golden lock falls over his forehead, and I resist the urge to brush it back, to feel his skin against mine. “Okay, paint this picture for me. Let’s say I forgive you, and that’s a big fucking if, and we get back together. You say you’re going to stay here for a while. What happens when the Kabal calls, and you have to leave? What about me then?”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “I would never ghost you again. There’s nothing I regret more than doing that to you. I will take you with me this time.”

A bitter laugh bubbles out of me. My lips draw in a thin line, and I suck on my teeth. “Quite presumptuous of you, don’t you think? To believe that I would leave everything to be with you. Believe it or not, I have a life here.” I shake my head and scoff. “The thing that you failed to realize five years ago is that, then, I would have followed you to the ends of the Earth. Now, I actually know my worth,” I say, my tone dripping with iciness as I climb the stairs and enter the mansion, not looking back.

“ So, Noah’s back , huh?” my aunt asks as she takes the lasagna out of the oven, the hot steam and the delicious smell wafting through the air.

“Yeah,” I say dryly, then start pouring red wine into the two glasses on the wooden counter in front of me.

Her gaze flicks to me while she places the hot pan on a trivet and starts cutting the lasagna into squares. “And, how do you feel about him being back?”

I put the cork back on the bottle and shrug. “It’s been a long time, Auntie. I’m fine,” I respond, taking two plates from the cupboard to my right and placing them next to the pan on the counter.

Aunt Josephine side-eyes me. “Uh-huh. And I was born yesterday.” She sighs. “You know you can tell me anything, right, dear?” She scoops two large portions of lasagna onto the plates I laid out and turns her body toward me, facing me fully. Her hair is in a messy bun, and she’s wearing jeans and the pink T-shirt I got her as a gift last Christmas. It says ‘I have no shelf control’ above a shelf of books. It already has a few holes from how often she wears it. I make a mental note to get her more bookish T-shirts.

“You didn’t leave your room for months, Iris, and your eyes were always puffy and bloodshot from crying. You thought I didn’t notice, but I did. I mean, I was living with a broken-hearted, moody teenager…it was kind of hard not to,” Aunt Josephine says with a pointed look my way.

“Gee, I thought I was being a bit more inconspicuous,” I grumble. Looking down, I inhale deeply. “I’m not fine,” I admit as I pick up the plates and take them to the kitchen table, placing them next to the cutlery. “I don’t know how I feel. I guess being confused is the best way to put it. Maybe angry, hurt…happy that he’s alive, but in an I-want-to-gouge-his-eyes-out-and-kiss-him-at-the-same-time kind of way.” I shrug and plop down on the chair. “I don’t know…”

Aunt Josephine brings the glasses of wine and sits down next to me with a pensive look on her face. “Have you spoken to him?”

Taking a hearty sip of wine, I look at her. “Yeah, actually, I did. A few times. I didn’t want to at first, but he was relentless.”

“So, did he at least explain why he phantomed you?”

I almost spit out the wine as a surprised laugh belts out of me. “I think you meant to say ghosted. You sure don’t look your age, but I swear to God, when you say things like this, you sound like an old lady,” I chuckle out. “How did you even think that phantomed is a word? You work in a library for God’s sake.”

She narrows her eyes at me and kicks my shin under the table with her foot. “Oh, come on, like ghosted is a better word choice. Stop being a brat.” She takes a sip of wine, making an impatient gesture with her hand in the air. “Well? I’m not getting any younger here.”

My lips curve up in amusement. “He did explain, and I guess it was a pretty good reason. I somewhat understand his point of view, but he still let five years pass and didn’t contact me at all.” I cut a piece of lasagna and stab it with the fork before bringing it to my mouth. It’s still pretty hot and burns my tongue, but it’s worth it just to feel the taste. I’m always hungry as hell after training.

“And, what was the reason?” she asks, blowing softly on the piece of lasagna before popping it into her mouth.

“It’s not really my place to say. It’s personal.” I also don’t know what parts of the story Noah told me are classified. She could mention something to someone from the Order by accident, so even if I trust her completely, I don’t want to risk it. Especially since Sam already knows everything.

“Oh, c’mon. Can’t you at least give me a hint or something?”

“Jeez, you’re nosier than Sam.” She gives me a dirty look, and I say, “Sorry, Auntie, but I really can’t tell you.”

“’Kay, well, you know I’m here for you if you want to talk or need my advice, right?”

“I know.” I smile softly and give her a peck on the cheek before digging back into the lasagna.

We finish the rest of our meal in silence after I help myself to a second portion and then top our wine glasses. “Did you have a chance to go over the Enochian text I gave you?” I ask.

“I did. It took me almost all day yesterday to translate it, but I finally finished it last night. Lemme go grab it.” She stands up and exits the kitchen. Her steps echo through the house as she goes up and down the stairs.

Nervous excitement bubbles in my veins, and I wait with bated breath as my aunt brings the leather-bound book alongside her own notebook. She sits down, rifling through the pages of her notebook. “Where is it?” she mumbles and stops on a page. “Ah, here it is.” She turns it toward me.

My eyebrows pinch in concentration as I read the translation.

“‘Beware of the shadow that lurks in the dead of the night. It whispers of forgotten souls and eclipses the light of life.

“‘Beware of the nocturnal wind that carries the mournful wails of those denied peaceful rest.

“‘Beware the dying breath, for the umbra seeks to ensnare those who linger between worlds, compelling them to a never-ending, soul-stealing twilight.

“‘No escape shall be granted, for the umbra’s grip tightens, and the stolen souls become eternally entwined in the ominous dance of celestial thievery.

“‘A cosmic cataclysm, foretold in the shadows and unleashed at the hands of the Harbinger of Death, the Daughter of Starlight and Shadows.”

As I finish reading the words, a sense of dread skitters down my spine. I fold my lower lip in between my teeth, trying to decipher the meaning, but come up empty. It all sounds like some weird foreboding premonition to me.

My gaze flicks to my aunt. “What do you think it means?”

“I’m not sure, honestly. The book is very old, though…”

I fish the phone out of my pocket and snap a photo of the translation.

She rips the page from the notebook and gives it to me. “Here, take it.”

“Thank you, Auntie,” I say before pocketing the page. “And thank you for dinner. It was delicious. You go rest, I’ll clean the kitchen, and then I’ll head out; I work tonight.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Do you mind if I go take a bath?”

“No worries; I’ll see myself out.” I hug her, and we say our goodbyes before she leaves the kitchen.

Drumming my fingers on the table, I debate if I should tell Kaiden about the translation. After staring at my phone screen for a few minutes, I send him the photo I took of the page.

Me: My aunt translated the Enochian text from the book I got from the dark witch.

The little verification mark appears, which means he read the text, but he still doesn’t reply.

Really, Kaiden? You’re going to leave me on read?

I huff out an annoyed breath and take the plates and wine glasses from the table, rinsing them in the sink before placing them in the dishwasher. After I clean the counters and the sink, I wipe my hands on a rag and look at my phone again.

Kaiden: Sorry, angel. I’m in a m eeting.

Me: Oh, we can talk later. I didn’t mean to distu rb you.

Kaiden: You didn’t. I always have time for you. You didn’t mention the text was in Enochian. I could have transla ted it.

Me: You know Enochian??? Well, it’s better I gave it to my aunt. Who knows what you would have asked in return for the translation. Anyway…what do you think it means?

Kaiden: I’m not sure. I’ll look i nto it.