Page 26 of Stroke of Shadows

“And that’s exactly why I’m interested. It seems my Wyatt was right.” He clicked his fingers, and the guard moved towards the door. “Now let’s see if you live up to my expectations. You have forty-eight hours to prove yourself. My son will give you the details.” With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them. “Let the Light guide you.”

Chapter 9

Harper

Harper sat cross-legged on the floor, the latest book she’d been studying open on her lap. She’d surrounded herself in all the journals and tomes she had access to, but still she couldn’t find much on the artefact Wyatt had asked her to find.

He’d provided her a single page torn from an unknown book, a drawing surrounded in worn away text. It was unintelligible and gave her nothing other than the name.

Calicem Animarum.

Latin, translated to ‘Cup of Souls.’

A chalice, one apparently made from solid gold and surrounded in black stones cool to the touch. Not much of a description, but it was something, she guessed. She’d found collectables with less information before, but the chalice seemed to be giving her a little trouble. Other than the torn page, she couldn’t find any knowledge of its existence.

She’d already gone through several scripts, and while there were plenty of cups, none that matched. Flipping through a few more pages of the large grimoire balanced on her knees, she hesitated on one of the notes.

‘Drink in absorption of one’s soul, there lies power within the tongue.’

She had no idea what the hell it meant, or whether it referenced to her chalice. The book was handwritten, with the pages ripped, and much of the ink smeared or damaged over the years. It made it hard to decipher, especially with the random odd ramblings by the author that seemed completely irrelevant to the page. Not much made sense, and after forty-eight hours, she still didn’t have a single lead.

Which meant she’d have Wyatt barking at her heels before long. Harper placed the book down, staring at them all in a row. This was the first time Wyatt had asked her directly to find something for him, and that terrified her. She purposely kept herself away from Wyatt as much as possible, her cousin someone who didn’t hide his disdain for her. He had a short fuse, and many times she’d been caught at the end of his temper.

So why did he ask her for help?

What did he want with a chalice?

A gentle buzz, one muffled beneath the blanket thrown on the floor beside her. Harper frowned, hesitant to reach for the phone. She rarely received messages or calls unless in relation to a sale, and she definitely wasn’t expecting anything. Unless it was…

Checking to make sure the door was closed, she raised the blanket, keeping the phone hidden from view beneath the thick fabric.

The car will pick you up in fifteen minutes. Not a single cry must be uttered. Silence in honour of the Gods.

Ice through her veins, the phone creaking with how hard she held it.

No. No. No.

It hadn’t been that long since the last time she’d been called.

The door to her bedroom swung open and Ivan, her uncle’s personal guard, stood there with a white robe in his meaty fist. For the briefest second, fear paralysed her, her stomach wanting to projectile vomit at the thought of him being in her room. But then, without a word, he threw the robe, the light fabric landing on her open books.

She stared at the robe, so white it made everything around it harsh in comparison. She wanted to ask Ivan to leave, to give her privacy, but she knew he wouldn’t. It wasn’t part of the ceremony to be watched, but it wasn’t like she could stop him. She’d tried and always failed.

With shaking hands, she pulled down her skirt, closing her eyes so she couldn’t see him. She hated him. Despised the way he looked at her. Watched her when he thought no one was looking. He saw her as nothing but an object to do with as he wished, even when she fought or cried.

He waited with trained patience, his attention never leaving her body as she quickly lifted her top to reveal her breasts, and then yanked the robe over her head. The fabric was soft, as it always was. A small comfort.

Moving towards the door, he stepped in front of her. “Take them off,” he said, his accent slight. When she didn’t immediately follow his command, he grabbed her arm.

She couldn’t stop him as he pulled up the robe and tugged down her underwear in a quick, mechanical movement.

She didn’t protest or even speak. If she did, she risked something far worse than what was about to happen.

Once he was satisfied, he pulled up her hood, big enough it covered her face to show only her bottom lip and jaw. She carefully followed him through the house, dread a heavy weight growing in her chest with each step.

“Come on, you know what he’s like if we’re late,” Wyatt muttered, already seated in the car. Anger seemed to vibrate beneath his skin, his movement agitated.

Ivan pushed against the centre of her back, forcing her into the seat beside her cousin. The door slammed, and Harper closed her eyes once more.

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