The Fated Dance: Bound to the Shadow Dancer Read Online Free PDF Page B

my hot fluster, and Flick pops her head through. “Jen, are you going to call a roofer… I can see the sky in my room.”
    I sigh. My room is the same. Tiny shards of light flitting through the damage caused by the freak ice-storm last year. With the roof, the cracked plaster, and the damp peeling wall coverings. It won’t be long before we’ll have to walk around the house wearing hardhats.
    “Are you not working?” She notes my dress on the bed.
    “Yes.”
    “In that?” she lifts her brow. “Has the dump implemented some new fancy dress code,” she smirks.
    “No Flick.” I really haven’t got the energy to gossip with her.
    “Anyhow, I’m going out… but don’t worry,” she says, sarcastic. “I will be tucked up in bed before midnight.”
    “Fine,” I murmur.
    Her lips purse in the reflection of my mirror. Usually we would be arguing about this. But right now, I just want her to disappear.
    “Alrighty then… see you later.” With big eyes, she skulks away.
    I haven’t really much choice. I have to go and find out more. Otherwise, Flick and I will be living in a motel by winter. Maybe it’s an indication of something half-decent about to happen. I’m well overdue some luck.
    I slip the dress over my wavy hair and pull the zipper up at the side. Okay, my hair is fine, make-up at a minimum, and nude flats to match the dress are on my feet. I’m ready as I’ll ever be.
    A cab waits outside as I check out my image in my mom’s mirror by the front door. She made it herself before she died. She loved anything arts and crafts. While she was sick, it was therapeutic for her. I can remember her taking pride in it when she’d completed the last lilac ribbon stencil. I run my hand around the wood, swallow down the lump of anxiety, and head out through the door.
                                                 ***
    The journey has taken around fifteen minutes, to a part of town I’ve never been before. The cab driver leans over the headrest as I gaze at Grayson Crane’s home. It’s stunning, new, and way beyond what I’m used to.
    “Lady,” the cab driver barks. “Meters ticking.”
    I fumble in my clutch bag and take out my precious money. Fifteen bucks. Perhaps I should have walked.
    I get out and stand on the pavement as cab pulls away, leaving me stood nervously still. My mind is spiraling with unease, making me feel ill. I’m regretting wearing this dress; it says I’m trying too hard. God, this is so stupid. What am I doing here? I must have lost some of my brain cells working in that joint. This is about as braindead and low as you can get.
    A light suddenly emits from the huge double doors over a beautiful landscaped rockery. Grayson stands waiting, as I hold my bag timidly before my waist, chomping on my cheek. I look down at my shoes, fill my lungs, and follow the winding path.
    My eyes take in everything other than Grayson, until I have no option but to look at him standing right before me. He’s wearing gray trousers and a pale blue shirt, with the sleeves casually rolled to the crease of his elbow. And now I’m standing only a foot away from him, I can see how handsome he really is. I heat up from my core. I feel ridiculous.
    His lips display a warm polite beam as he moves aside to allow me through. With a side step I slip by him. Thankfully, he keeps a good distance.
    Wow . My jaw falls open a little. This place is wonderful. It’s contemporary with subtle hints of old, like the large bookshelf to my left, and the warm wood flooring throughout. And with the contrast of the industrial white kitchen, and huge glass windows, it all blends so perfectly. Then I notice the paintings sparsely spaced out on the cream walls. Another dream of mine taken away by circumstance. I gape in complete awe at a framed photo of Grayson, holding the one of the most stunning paintings ever produced (in my opinion) Starry Night.
    “You like art?” Grayson moves