Page 20 of Stroke of Shadows
Harper froze, allowing him to pull the hair from her back. He liked everyone to see the scar that started in the centre of her shoulder blades, only to curl up towards her neck. She knew the skin was darker there, outlining what looked like a single flame. It meant nothing to the majority of the population, but it was a symbol of power to those who followed the Church of the Light.
A symbol of the Gods.
“Your hair’s below your shoulders. It needs to be cut again,” he demanded, going to the jewellery display in the corner and pulling the drawer open. Inside, he pulled out a comb, the teeth made from a shiny opal and as sharp as knives. He slid the delicate piece into her hair, pinning everything on top of her head.
It tingled against her scalp, but the magical echo was even more slight than the plate she’d touched earlier.
“You’ll wear this.” His words were edged with annoyance. “And don’t worry, I’ve made sure your dress is suitable. You’re to work the room tonight, so I need you to shine.”
“Actually,” she began. “I’m thinking about missing—”
“We’re not having this argument again,” he interrupted with a scowl. “You know exactly why you’re going.”
Harper bit her tongue, knowing it would be easier to just wait until he’d drunk enough before slipping out.
It wasn’t exactly a secret that she was a Beauchamp, but it wasn’t exactly common knowledge, either. Her uncle preferred to keep her private. She was purposely taught to be quiet and elusive unless asked. For display purposes only. She was never invited to events outside of the estate, and unless it involved hunting an artefact or securing a deal on something Angel wanted, she became nothing but a pretty bauble that roamed the halls. Much like one of his collectables.
A bauble that was taught how to charm, listen, and remember the secrets the elite spill when provided with bottomless champagne. Dirt Angel could use against them if needed.
“I’m not feeling—”
His head whipped back, eyes pinning her in place. “Did you have another episode?” At her silence, he stormed over, gripping her jaw in one hand and angling her face. “Answer me, Harper. Did you have another episode?”
“No,” she lied, knowing if she admitted it, he’d make her go through more tests. Angel loved her in his own way, but she couldn’t put herself through the tests that did nothing but degrade and humiliate her. The doctors had been useless, the best money could buy, and not one could help or explain. “It’s just a headache,” she explained instead. “I’ll take a painkiller when I get changed.”
He held her jaw for a moment longer before releasing. “Good. I need you to socialise with these fucking peacocks. See if you can figure out which one bought the Tanaka Kintsugi. Cunt outbid me at the last second.”
“Yes, uncle.”
“This is important, Harp. I want it for my collection.” He spun towards his desk, reaching into his top drawer. “I heard the pottery was originally broken by a Fae royalty, and it was them who’d commissioned the gold.”
“I’ll keep my ears open.”
“You do that.” He pulled out a cigar, cutting off the tip. “Fucking Fae.” His eyes scanned across his walls, settling on the golden plate she’d touched earlier. “London has become overrun with those disgusting monsters. They’ve taken over the city of my birth, of my father’s, and his father before that.” He lit the end of the cigar, taking a few puffs. “Their presence pollutes the good human folk who keep to the Light.”
Only years of etiquette training allowed Harper to keep her face still, to not portray her emotions. Taking another drag of his cigar, Angel reached over to brush his finger down the white strip in her fringe. It was something that had happened around the same time as her scar.
Harper hated the touch, the ring on his finger glinting. She’d felt it enough times over the years, the metal leaving welts. Angel was always careful not to mark her face.
“Charles informed me of the outcome of the grimoire,” he said. “You did well not to fall for the counterfeit.”
The praise washed over her, and she hated her need for validation. “I’ll keep a lookout for the original.”
“No, leave it for now. Wyatt’s asked for your help on a special project he needs you to work on. I’m hoping it keeps him distracted.”
“Special project?” The one thing she enjoyed was researching a new piece of art, relic, or artefact. The hunt, and then the adrenaline of finding it, the only thing she looked forward to. There were many things her uncle had asked her to find for him over the years, and not many had she failed. “What is it?”
“You’ll have to discuss it with him.” He smiled, making his face appear softer, warmer. “I’m sure he’ll provide you the details soon, but right now, you need to get ready. You’re a reflection of me, after all.”
With a gentle nod, she made her way towards the door, knowing he’d be timing exactly how long it took her to get changed.
“Wear the black,” he shouted after her. “And remember, don’t disappoint me.”
Chapter 7
Harper
Harper wore black, the dress found waiting for her once she’d returned to her room. The entire thing was held up by thin cords, crisscrossing her chest to leave the fabric open to her sternum. It displayed more breast than she cared to show in a room full of rich vultures looking for a younger wife. But that was what Angel wanted, for them to look. To want, but not touch.