The Overture of Fear & Passion (The Daemonica Symphony Series Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2021 Eloisa Clark

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ADVANCE READER COPY

  THANK YOU FOR READING

  I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. While I have taken significant steps to ensure my completed manuscript is free from mistakes, I have found that even after my sixth proofread, there are still one or two errors that have slipped through the cracks. To help make this book even better, please contact me directly to notify me of any mistakes you find or to suggest corrections that should be made, and I will do my best to make the necessary changes before moving on to the final copy. All other publishing and publicity related questions can also be sent directly to the below email address or you can find me on facebook.

  With love, Eloisa Clark,

  [email protected]

  www.eloisaclark.com

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  Contents

  Copyright © 2021 Eloisa Clark

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Ninteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The rumble of applause sent tiny vibrations through Juliet’s skin from the tips of her toes to her quivering fingers and her raised elbow paused as she completed the musical phrase. Some people believed that performing on stage was frightening, but not Juliet. She was a slave to her audience and needed to play like she needed air to breathe.

  As she lowered her instrument to her side, her eyes began to flutter open. She smiled to herself as the magic of Rossini’s overture from the ‘Barber of Saville’ began to fade and reality crept back in.

  The solitary spectator smiled and dropped a crisp note in the violin case by Juliet’s feet, his round nose and white beard reminding her of Santa Claus. She smiled and bowed her head as she brought her instrument back into position and began to play the opening solo from ‘Fiddler on the Roof’, watching as he slowly headed for the exit, humming to himself along the way.

  The rumble of the next train to arrive momentarily drowned out the sound of her playing and the disturbance of air fluttered the loose blonde strands around her face, but still she played on; knowing that the hiss of breaks and the whir of the engine would be gone soon enough. Performing, even to no one, transported her away from the stench of the metro tunnel. The familiar odours of burning rubber and the artificial floral scent of cleaning agents were sometimes difficult for Juliet to ignore. The more challenging the piece she played, the better she was able to focus on her music and everything else would fade away.

  A sudden vibration brought Juliet back to earth, distracting her enough to make her scan the tunnel, which confirmed that no one was listening, so she stopped playing and reached for her phone. As she read a text message that reminded her of an overdue water bill, she closed her eyes to fend off a wave of melancholia, but a gust of wind shot them open again as a hooded figure dashed passed her, speeding off towards the exit. Puzzled, she looked down and noticed that the few notes she’d earned were now gone. She considered running after the culprit but hesitated; running would mean having to abandon the small amount of money she still had in her case as well as the valuable case itself and a highspeed pursuit whilst carrying a priceless violin was not likely to end favourably. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and sighed, wondering what she had done to piss off the universe.

  RIDING THE TRAIN back home, Juliet stared at her reflection in the window and refused to be weighed down by a bad mood when she was still blessed in so many ways. All she had to do was look out and be reminded of how lucky she was. Even after three years of calling Paris home, the sight of the Eiffel Tower could still make her smile.

  As Juliet’s train approached her stop, she collected her case and made her way to the doors. She thought she heard someone call her name and she pulled out one of her headphones as she looked up. Her attention was drawn to a man on the other side of the doors. He was muscular and very tall, and he was definitely attractive but there was something sad about him, something about the way he watched Juliet.

  The air seemed to crackle with static electricity and as the doors opened, the movement created an illusion that Juliet had never experienced before. The man’s eyes flickered to black for the briefest of moments but by the time the doors were open they had returned to normal. Juliet hesitated before finally stepping out of the train, keeping her eyes fixed on the stranger as he made his way on board. His nostrils flared as they passed, and Juliet was sure she heard his sharp intake of breath as if he were inhaling her scent. How strange she thought to herself as she turned away and the train began its departure.

  THE CURIOUS ENCOUNTER was still playing on her mind when Juliet arrived home. A scratchy meow greeted her as a fat white cat dashed out of its hiding place and into the sunny courtyard.

  “Bonjour Pablo.” Juliet greeted, scooping up her neighbour’s cat and planting several kisses on his fluffy cheeks. His affectionate purr was a welcome distraction as she carried him up the spiral staircase. Setting him down so that she could unlock her apartment door, she nearly tripped over when he rushed between her legs and scampered inside.

  Music greeted her, as it usually did, and she dropped her belongings onto the entryway table and walked over to the piano where her father sat playing.

  For the past eighteen months Peter Vassilios only played when he was either drunk, missing his wife, or both. Juliet noticed the stack of bills and empty whiskey bottle that adorned the top of the Piano and let out a slow breath. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gently kissed his f
orehead in a silent greeting, wrinkling her nose at the smell of whiskey and cigarettes that clung to his skin. Even though he was only in his mid-forties, the loss of his wife had weathered his still handsome face with new lines and a touch of silver at his temples and stubbled jaw.

  Leaving him to his memories, she headed into the kitchen. Juliet usually loved to cook but their recent financial troubles had restricted her culinary pursuits. The piano fell silent while Juliet plated their meals.

  “Yassou, Julieta.” Peter said, as he made his way to the kitchen counter. His voice was scratchier than usual, causing Juliet to worry. As she speared a green bean, she began to tell him about her day. She hesitated before telling him about the incident at the train station, hating to be the bearer of bad news, but instead of getting upset or mad, he took her hand in his and patted it gently.

  “Juliet, you do too much.” He said with a frown and shook his head when she began to interrupt him.

  "No Juliet. You need to stop taking on so much responsibility. Maybe you should go out with your friends tonight. Have some fun for a change. You’re too young to spend so much time at home."

  Juliet put her fork down and bit her tongue as she let out a long breath and resisted the urge to argue. It would only upset him if she complained that his refusal to go back to work left her with few other choices and going out with her friends wasn’t about to ease their financial strain. However, she did have an idea of how she could have a little fun without spending any money. She smiled at her father as she ate her dinner with more enthusiasm than before.

  Chapter Two

  “Juliet, it’s been ages. Thank God you called me! What are you wearing? No, you can’t possibly go out with me wearing that, I’ll find you something to wear.” Beatriz’s thick Portuguese accent had mellowed in the years since she had left Brazil, but the speed with which she spoke had only increased. She would jump between French and English without warning which would often result in additional confusion. Juliet only managed to keep up because her first language was English, having spent her formative years in London, but she was also tri-lingual, having learned Greek and French from her parents. Their constant travelling had allowed Juliet to embrace foreign languages, but it had also come at a cost. Never living anywhere for long enough to form deep bonds meant that she had never been able to make any close friends. By the time they’d finally settled in Paris, Juliet was too focussed on her music to spend time socialising.

  She had met Beatriz less than a year earlier in a trendy little bar where Juliet had rescued Beatriz from the clutches of a creep who didn’t seem to understand the word ‘no’ and they had later found themselves sharing a particularly intense and lively conversation on the floor of the ladies' bathroom. The pair, while enormously different, had a lot in common; an appreciation for all things Parisian, good music and strong drinks were the three touchstones of their friendship.

  After dinner, she’d made a quick phone call and showered before landing on Beatriz’s apartment doorstep, two blocks from her own. Beatriz pulled Juliet into both her home and an enthusiastic embrace despite only being wrapped in a towel. She planted several kisses on both of Juliet’s bemused cheeks as she pulled her towards the bedroom.

  She sat on the end of the bed and looked around the room to prevent accidently ogling Beatriz’s bronze curves as she dropped the towel and pulled on underwear before she sifting through the volumes of clothing in her large, over-flowing wardrobe.

  Juliet loved Beatriz’s apartment. It was often messy, with towers of books and papers topped with discarded coffee cups. The walls were covered in prints of Beatriz’s favourite pieces; Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Monet and other well-known artists. There were a few pieces that Juliet suspected were by Beatriz herself, but she’d always been too shy to ask.

  Despite the apartment’s apparent chaos, it was also undeniably chic. Beatriz had never bothered to paint or make improvements and the landlord likely hadn’t either for several decades, so many of the pre-war features combined with Beatriz’s exquisitely selected furniture and tasteful decor resulted in a kind of art-deco/retro-chic look that felt both charming and contemporary.

  Beatriz turned and faced Juliet, holding up a blue bandeau dress with strategically positioned cut-outs.

  “Try this on.” She demanded and then laughed at Juliet’s sceptical reaction.

  “I don’t think that dress is quite right for me.” She chose her words carefully, unconvinced that she had the curves or the confidence to get away with such a daring dress.

  “Juliet, do you trust me?” Beatriz asked with a slight pout. Juliet looked from Beatriz to the dress and back again before sighing. She knew there was no point; Beatriz had a way of convincing anyone to do anything and Juliet was no exception. She stood and took the dress from Beatriz who immediately clapped her hands like an excited cheerleader as she headed for the bathroom to change. Less than thirty minutes later the pair were climbing into their ride and Juliet couldn’t help but become infected with Beatriz’s good mood; smiling and taking selfies, surprised by the barely recognisable reflection on the phone screen. Beatriz herself looked stunning as always, her long brown hair fell in perfect waves which she’d miraculously managed to replicate with Juliet’s own blonde locks. And Beatriz’s expertise with make-up had brought out the green in Juliet’s blue eyes and made her pale complexion glow.

  They bar hopped for hours, dancing and drinking until getting bored and moving on. Beatriz had a knack for knowing exactly when to leave one trendy bar for the next to keep men buying drinks without getting too handsy. By the early hours of the morning, Juliet was exhausted, and Beatriz submitted to her plea that they find somewhere to eat.

  Making their way arm-in-arm to a nearby late-night food truck, Juliet caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. She smiled at the structure as a nearby street performer began to sing. She pulled Beatriz towards a bench and sat down and sighed as the sound of the tourist crowd pleaser ‘Habanera’ was carried to them on the warm summer breeze.

  “What’s the matter?” Beatriz asked, her eyes searching over Juliet’s face.

  “Nothing.” She lied, wiping away the tears that had traitorously escaped from her eyes. Beatriz persisted, “This is not like you bela, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Before waiting for an answer, “Is it...” but didn’t finish her question, instead turning her attention to the soprano. Juliet sighed again and took her friend’s hand.

  “‘Carmen’ was her favourite Opera. My father or I would sometimes accompany her, but mostly we just did it because we wanted to hear her sing.”

  Beatriz pursed her lips but said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

  “I feel like having a laugh and a good time means that I’m forgetting her. That if I forget to be sad, I’m being a bad daughter.” Beatriz sighed and tightened her arms around her as she kissed her head.

  After a few moments Juliet asked, “Do you think it will ever go away?”

  “No, Juliet.” She paused as if deciding on the right words, “The pain never goes away. You just learn how to live your life while you carry it inside of you. And at some point, if you are lucky, your heart grows bigger, allowing space for happiness as well as sadness.”

  Juliet looked up into her friend’s face, “You don’t usually talk about your past.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You can talk to me, you know.”

  “You and I have lived very different lives Juliet. Some things are best forgotten. That’s why I am here in Paris, I left my old life in the past where it belongs. For me, I don’t want to dwell on the past or worry about the future, what matters is the life I have now.”

  Juliet smiled, “Beatriz, I love your joie de vivre, it’s contagious. You live your life exactly the way you want to. Sometimes I feel trapped. I feel like my past is holding me back from the life I want. I spent my whole life dreaming about becoming a soloist and now that dream is like sand falling through my fingers.”

&nb
sp; Beatriz frowned and pursed her lips.

  “Juliet, you have had a rough time lately. But I worry that you are becoming an old woman.”

  Juliet almost laughed at her friend’s words echoing those of her father.

  She considered it a moment and felt a sudden crushing sense of dread. They were right. Juliet was not living the life of a twenty-year-old. She was spending too much time looking after her father and she was doing nothing to pursue her musical career. The short deferment of her studies should have been a few months but had instead been over a year. She’d already lost her place at the Conservatoire for next year and hadn’t even noticed how far she'd strayed from the path to achieving her goals. She needed a plan, some way to get back on track. But that could wait until tomorrow, for now she just wanted to listen to a song about the tug-of-war of love.

  Chapter Three

  After being treated to a breakfast of buttered French rolls and hot tea, Juliet thanked Beatriz for the lend of her dress and for letting her crash on the couch and made her way home.

  A vibration in her pocket distracted her and as she looked down at her phone screen, she bumped into someone making their way out of a café. The stranger reached out his arm to steady her and apologised in French, she barely looked up as she mumbled her own apology before opening the message from her father. It was no surprise that he was only now responding to her late-night text telling him that she was spending the night at Beatriz’s.

  Sliding the phone back into her pocket, she was startled by a yank on her arm, followed by a large hand covering her mouth as she was lifted off the ground and carried into the lane between two buildings. She instinctively tried to kick out, to lurch herself free of the attacker, but they were far stronger, and she found herself staring at the white shirt and black tie of a man much taller than herself.