Page 54 of Iridescent
I came to The Ninth Bell because of Dominic Karras. Because of the deal. Because of the first credible path to wealth I had ever been close enough to touch.
But now, with Yara Markakis looking at me while rain needles against themoonlit glass above us, I understand with quiet, inconvenient clarity that Karras is no longer the only reason I will return.
Chapter 10
The shrill ring of my phone drags me out of a shallow sleep. For one disoriented second, I lie there, not knowing where I am or why my whole body feels battered. Then last night slams back in jagged fragments, and all the hurt comes with it.
A dull throb pulses behind my eyes. My chest is tight. My throat burns. My arms ache from hours of pounding my fists into the mattress. I can’t tell what hurts more—the lies, the betrayal, or the images that keep replaying in my head no matter how hard I try to shut them out.
The phone buzzes against the nightstand again, yanking me back to the present. I fumble for it, nearly knocking it to the floor before I finally catch it. Wincing, I drag it to my ear and pry one eye open.
“Mm… hello?”
“Panayía mou!” a familiar voice blasts through the line, loud enough to split my skull. “What in Hades’ name am I looking at?”
I wince and squint at the screen, confused by the sudden brightness. Ittakes me a second to realize the front camera is on, aimed at a badly framed close-up of my ear, a sliver of cheek, and the wild tangle of my hair.
“Yiayia?” I croak.
A pulse of alarm cuts through the fog in my head. Yiayia never calls this early, much less on video. Not unless something’s wrong, or she thinks it is. Did Xavier tell her? No. That’s impossible. He wouldn’t admit to Yiayia that he’d screwed up, not after how long it took for her to trust him. Some of the panic recedes.
“Don’t you ‘Yiayia’ me right now,” my grandmother snaps.
Her face dominates the screen, enormous square sunglasses perched on her nose, pink rollers trembling in her silver hair, a lit cigarette hanging from her lip. Over one shoulder, I catch a half-eaten plate of olives and feta, a steaming briki of coffee, and—naturally—a pistol gleaming on the counter.
She jerks her phone back so abruptly her sunglasses skid down her nose. The alarm on her face eases into exasperation.
“I thought I was looking at something indecent, but it’s just your gigantic face shoved into my screen.”
“Good morning to you too, Yiayia,” I mumble. “Sorry. I just woke up.”
“At this hour?” She stubs out her cigarette in an ashtray. “The sun has been up for ages.”
I glance blearily at the clock in the corner of my phone. A little after six here in France, which makes it just past seven in Greece. So no, not exactly noon—but I know better than to argue when Yiayia is on a roll.
“Could you please put the gun away?” I mutter hoarsely, tipping my chin toward it.
She follows my stare and snorts. “Oh, stop fussing. It’s not even loaded.” With a careless flick of her wrist, she sets the pistol aside. Her mouth tightens. “I had it out in case some pervert tried to break in. A woman can’t be too careful.”
Despite everything, a choked laugh slips out of me. “Any pervert stupid enough to break into your house has a death wish.”
“That’s exactly my point.” Yiayia smirks, the lines in her striking face deepening. “Now turn on a light. You look like you crawled out of a tomb.”
I sigh and push myself upright against the headboard, clutching the sheet around me. Thin bars of early light slip through the blinds, but they do little to brighten the room. I reach over and switch on the bedside lamp.
Yiayia’s expression sours in an instant. The humor drains from her face, replaced by a wariness that sends my own pulse skittering. She opens her mouth, already poised to question me, but I cut her off before she can.
“I’m fine, Yiayia,” I lie, trying to force conviction into the words. The last thing I want is for her to sniff the truth before I’m ready to let it out. I tug the sheet higher, covering every mark I’d rather not look at. “It’s just early.”
“Fine?” Disbelief laces her voice. “Don’t lie to me, koritsi.” She peers closer at the screen, her gaze narrowing. “Your eyes are swollen. What happened?”
The look on her face confirms what I’ve been too drained to admit: I need to get out of here.
“I had too much wine.”
She doesn’t even blink. “Nonsense. You think I can’t see the dark circles under your eyes? How thin you’ve gotten? If someone is giving you trouble, you tell me now. I still have friends who know how to make problems disappear.”
For all her flippant wording, I don’t doubt her for a second. “It’s nothing like that. I’ve just… not been sleeping or eating much lately.”
