by A A Woods
“We’re here to see Joe Fagan,” Eliza said. “Eliza Mason and guest. He said we’re on the list.”
It was a mark of the man’s professionalism that he didn’t sweep his gaze disbelievingly down the van or curl his lip. The only sign of surprise was the slight raise of one eyebrow as he touched a radio on his lapel. He muttered something, nodded. Then gestured to a younger man waiting by the door.
“If you’ll take your things and leave the keys, we’ll park your vehicle in a secure location.”
“Thank you,” Eliza said with poise that was only a little bit mocking. Old habits die hard.
But now came the more difficult part.
Glancing over her shoulder at Aquila, who looked half mischievous, half braced for battle, she got out of the car. Walked around. Gripped the handle to the side-door.
And froze.
Eliza’s brain locked with terror. How would these strangers react? They worked in the same building as the people who owned Hermes News Network, one of the country’s biggest media conglomerates. Did they believe the lies and rumors? Did they think, like most of the nation, that the Vagabonds were nothing but a prank, a joke, some adolescent cry for attention? Eliza longed to go after Joe’s parents for the cruel way they’d spun the story, pretending that Aquila and his brothers didn’t exist. That they were just troublesome jokesters. If the Fagans hadn’t done that, if they hadn’t pushed the mocking, snide narrative, then maybe Moose wouldn’t have felt the urge to prove them wrong. Maybe he would have stayed.
Maybe she wouldn’t be so afraid to open a damn door.
Eliza tried to breathe, all too aware of the hot eyes on her back.
She and Aquila had decided. They weren’t going to hide. If people wanted to act like he didn’t exist, that was their problem. But it would be pretty hard to keep pretending when they saw Aquila walking down the street, winter sun sparkling on iridescent feathers.
Do it, she thought viciously.
Drawing on her well of rebelliousness, a source that had felt infinite not so long ago, Eliza grit her teeth, set her feet, and yanked the van door open.
She stepped aside to let Aquila out, every part of her taut enough to snap.
The gasp that rose around them almost did it.
Luckily, the street was pretty empty. It was just the doorman, his assistant, and a smattering of tourists. But every single one of those eyes swiveled toward them in a heartbeat, making Eliza shake. She knew, of course, that the attention wasn’t for her. It wasn’t her making people whip out their phones and call to their friends. No, it was tall, handsome, muscled, winged Aquila drawing their attention.
Even frazzled as she was, Eliza had to admit he was pretty hard to look away from.
“Hi there,” Aquila said sheepishly as a passerby stopped mid-stride. The doorman, composure forgotten, gaped at him, mouth wide open.
Compelling herself to move, Eliza snatched their overnight bags and nudged Aquila in the back. “Come on, before you cause a traffic jam.”
“If anyone’s going to cause a traffic jam, it’s you,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, taking his bag off her shoulder.
“Shut up,” she said, but he followed her inside, past the stupefied valet team, past a few milling tourists photographing the inside of the historic apartment building.
They approached the concierge, who watched them with naked, grating shock.
“We’re here to visit the Fagans,” Eliza said. “We should be on the list.”
It took a moment for the man to recover. In that moment, a nauseating, claustrophobic fear slid its fingers up her spine, around her ribs. The walls seemed to pulse, closing in. Locking her there. She imagined heavy doors slamming down, trapping them. She pictured guards pouring out of the elevators, guns raised.
No, no, no, not here. Not now.
But she couldn’t stop the drama from unfolding in her mind.
Eliza clenched her fists.
She wouldn’t cower. She was, had always been, strong. She wouldn’t fear the demons in her own mind.
Finally, the concierge cleared his throat. “Um, yes, it does appear the Fagans are expecting two visitors. Are you spending the night?”
“Is that your business?” Eliza snapped.
Aquila squeezed her shoulder again, this time in warning.
“If you plan to stay the night, miss, then you’ll need a guest pass. And we need to know how long you intend to park the car.”
Eliza closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “Yes, we’re spending the night. Maybe several.”
“This trip is a bit spontaneous,” Aquila added, offering the man a wry smile.
Aquila speaking made the man gape again, as if he’d let himself believe that the huge, winged boy in his lobby was an illusion or some mythical projection. Eliza knew how he felt. Sometimes it was surprising to hear that calm, sweet voice come out of such a sculpted body.
“Very well,” the man said, pressing a button on a machine. “You’ll need these,” he handed them two cards, similar to hotel keys. “If you need to enter or exit the building outside lobby hours, those will get you in through door.”
“And the car?”
“It’s parked approximately ten minutes away. Should you need it at any time, just call the number on the card and we’ll fetch it for you.”
“Thank you,” Eliza said, a little shamefaced. She hadn’t meant to be rude to him, but the adrenaline of the drive was still pounding through her, alive and hungry.
“Yes,” Aquila agreed, taking his card. “Thanks.”
“Are you…?” The man started, but then seemed to think better of it. He cleared his throat, pushed to his feet, and gestured at the turnstile. “Come through the one closest to the desk. Elevators are around that corner. The Fagans live on the top floor.”
“Fancy,” Aquila said, winking at the man.
He only stared.
“You’re going to give someone a heart attack,” Eliza hissed as they rounded the corner and summoned the elevator.
“Good,” he said, laughing. “Then they’ll have to admit I’m real.”
“Ghosts give people heart attacks. They aren’t real.”
“That you know of,” he said, making spooky motions with his fingers.
“Oh stop it,” Eliza said, giving him a shove. Pointless, of course. She might as well have shoved the building.
So small, so weak…
“Hey. You don’t look so great.”
“Gee thanks.”
“Eliza…”
She closed her eyes.
His voice usually grounded her, but not here. Not when she felt so overwhelmed. The city felt huge and claustrophobic, too noisy, too crowded. She should be fine, after spending the past four months with Aquila and his brothers and their chaotic noisiness. But that was different. That was comforting.
New York was anything but.
Without warning, Aquila wrapped his arms around her. She jerked back automatically, but when he held on, she settled against him, breathed in the calming masculine scent.
“It’s ok,” he said, the words a rumble in his chest. “Everything’s going to be ok. We’ll find Moose and convince him to come home with us. You’ll be out of here in no time. Faster than you can buy tickets for a Broadway show.”
“I’m fine,” Eliza said, but she didn’t pull away.
“I know,” he said, resting his chin on the top of her wild hair. “But still.”
“Yeah,” Eliza agreed.
The elevator dinged open. Gathering herself, Eliza straightened, inhaled. Aquila couldn’t know how very not fine she was right now. She couldn’t be weak, not when he needed her, not when the whole world was hell bent on smothering out the very existence of the Vagabonds.
She straightened her sweater, brushed off her jeans.
At last, she grinned at him, hoping she looked more like her old self. “Let’s go disrupt the lives of some rich people.”
Chapter Three: Disrupting the Liv
es of Some Rich People
Eliza was still shaking when the elevator dinged open, releasing the two of them on the top floor. She wasn't sure if it was the latent nerves of the drive or concern over seeing Joe again.
It had been almost three months since Joe's parents had all but dragged him to their city penthouse, three months since he'd sheepishly waved goodbye from the Eckelson estate's lawn, ducking his head to avoid the paparazzi that were perpetually camped beyond the gates. It was dumb, since the news wasn’t exactly buying their pictures. But she supposed the conspiracy theorists online needed something to slobber over. And the media oligarchs needed something to deny.
Now she had to deal with two of the biggest offenders while not upsetting her best friend, their son.
She gritted her teeth, fingers clenched.
Before she could stop him, Aquila was threading his big hand into hers, loosening her grip.
“We've got this,” he said, eyes liquid and warm.
Eliza jerked her head in a nod, feeling more like she was headed into battle than visiting a friend.
She knocked.
“Coming!” came a familiar voice from the other side of the door that was already luxurious enough to make Eliza nervous. She should be used to it by now, having basically lived with Aquila and his brothers for the last several months. The mansion they'd grown up in, the estate of their adopted father, was a sprawling, gilded, fantastical place, with secret lairs and hidden passageways. Eliza and Aquila had spent more than one romantic afternoon finding quiet, secluded nooks to privately relish the feel of feathers on skin… for a few precious minutes at least. But wealth, especially Joe's kind of wealth, still made Eliza uncomfortable. Joe was, or had been, her awkward, nerdy, sweet-tempered friend.
It was hard to associate him with this.
Finally, the door swung open and relief flooded through Eliza, taming her raw nerves. Joe was there, grinning at her with that same goofy smile, that same gangly frame, that same messy red hair. He was surprisingly well dressed (why was he wearing a tuxedo?), but that didn't matter. This was the Joe Eliza had hoped would be here to greet them.
This was who she’d needed to see.
“Hey,” Joe said, stepping aside to let them in, “you made it! How was the drive?”
“Hellish,” Eliza said, shaking her head as she shucked her coat.
“She did great,” Aquila added, hefting their bags.
“Whenever they invent self-driving cars, I'll be first in line,” Eliza grumbled.
“Oh, my mom already has one.” Joe ruffled his hair. “It's pretty cool.”
Eliza opened her mouth to respond, but her gaze was captured by the floor-to-ceiling windows and the magnificent vista beyond them. “Woah…”
She drifted over, one arm still in her coat, to admire the jagged cityscape and shimmering lights. She'd never spent much time in New York, and certainly had never appreciated it from this angle, but she'd thought that her time in Atlanta had trained her. It was just another city, after all. Just another center of noise and chaos.
But even Eliza had to admit that there was something special about this view.
“Pretty impressive, huh?” Joe had come up next to her, Aquila hovering close behind. “I'd say you get used to it, but I don't want to sound like a jerk.”
“Well, I'm used to it,” Aquila said with a laugh in his voice, ruffling his wings.
“I bet you are,” Joe answered, and Eliza wondered if Joe had intended the bite in his voice.
I was ready for this, she thought, gathering enough of herself to pull off her jacket and fold it over her arm.
“So, what's with the James Bond costume?” she asked, ripping her gaze away from the view.
“Oh, yeah.” Joe ruffled his hair again, ruining what Eliza was sure had been a professional styling before they'd walked in. “There's this, er, thing tonight. Fancy party. Apparently, I have to go. Not that I want to, but—”
“But your presence is expected.”
The three teenagers swung around, Eliza jumping more than the rest of them. She couldn't help it; the angry click click click of heels zoomed her brain into overdrive and her blood into a galloping storm. For a long, protracted heartbeat, Eliza was paralyzed with pounding terror, gaping at the dark-haired woman in heels, body braced for impact.
Then Joe spoke. “Mom, you've met Eliza. This is Aquila, one of the, er, Vagabonds.”
Eliza wondered if it was possible for the situation to get any more awkward. She had met Mrs. Fagan several times back in Scottstown. Eliza remembered Joe's parents being charming, sophisticated, and welcoming, surprisingly normal for their wealth and fame. But that had been before October and the events on Fitzgerald Base and the three infuriating months of HNN insisting that the Vagabonds weren’t who they said they were.
She could feel Aquila straightening behind her, as if to force this woman to acknowledge him.
Instead, Natalie Fagan turned to her son. “Are you ready?”
“Mom, I really think I should stay and show Eliza—”
“I'm sorry, Joe, but tonight is important. We must keep up appearances.”
“And besides,” came a male voice around the corner, closely followed by another, older man in a tuxedo, “the food will be delicious. No one ever skimps when Hans Schneider is in town.”
Joe rolled his eyes.
Horatio Fagan gave Eliza a slightly warmer smile, even going so far as to nod at Aquila. “So you two are staying with us for a few days?”
“Only until we find my brother,” Aquila said, and Eliza could hear the strain in his voice to be polite.
“Lost him, have you?” Joe's father asked with a smile.
Eliza's teeth ground together, barely holding back a flood of unstable rage. How could he not understand what it was like for the Vagabonds, how difficult it was to endure the ridicule and condemnation of the world because their news channel had decided to pretend the boys were nothing but a bunch of attention-seeking phonies?
But Aquila, to his credit, smiled. “Moose decided he wanted a city adventure. We're here to make sure he's ok.”
“Well,” sniffed Natalie, touching Joe's arm to subtly pull him away, “I wouldn't linger too long in the city if I were you.”
Eliza couldn't help herself. “Why not? Because you might run a story about how they’re phantoms or vampires or some shit?”
Aquila winced. Joe flinched. Horatio blinked in surprise.
But Joe's mom only met Eliza's gaze with her own steel. “You have no idea what you're dealing with, little girl. No idea. And if you're very, very lucky, you'll be able to keep it that way. Come on Joe, the car is waiting downstairs.”
She strode off, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake.
After a quiet second, Joe shrugged, reaching into his pocket to hand Eliza a key. “Feel free to make yourselves at home,” he said, leaning in. “Good luck looking for Moose.” And, so quietly that Eliza almost didn't hear him, “Sorry.”
“Come on champ,” Joe’s dad said, clapping a hand around his son’s shoulders. “Those bacon and scallop skewers await!”
Flushing with embarrassment —although Eliza wasn’t sure who it was for—Joe followed his parents to the door. Then, with a rustling of jackets and tying of scarves and a single, derisive glare from Natalie, they were gone.
“That was… fun,” Aquila said.
Eliza sighed, forcing herself to unclench. “Something tells me it was only the beginning.”
Aquila ducked his head and smiled at her. “I was afraid you'd say that.”
Eliza made herself look at him, trying to see outside her own claustrophobically selfish issues. Aquila looked… tired. She was used to the bow of his shoulders—not everyone could live with as much responsibility as Aquila took on. It was the reason they'd never had more than a few stolen moments together, the reason he'd always jumped away whenever there was a crash or a shout. Aquila loved his brothers. He saw their safety and wellness as his ow
n personal battleground.
She could only imagine how much this was killing him.
Without a word, Eliza walked over to him and locked her arms around his waist. He was huge and strong and impossible, a literal superhero.
But she knew how human he was, despite the wings.
“Don’t worry,” Eliza said into his chest. “We’ll find that idiot.”
A sigh gusted through his chest like wind through caverns. “If there's anything left to find.”
“How much trouble could he have found in a month?”
Aquila chuckled. “You clearly don't know Moose very well.”
“Well, we do know one thing for sure.” She tilted her head up, resting her chin on his expansive chest. “He's fast enough for this city.”
Aquila let out a surprised laugh. “Lord help us, he'll never want to leave.”
“Well he is leaving, if I have to drag him out by his ear,” Eliza growled good-naturedly. “I'm not spending a single second in New York that I don't have to.”
Aquila pushed wild hair out of her face, holding her head in his hands. “And I won't make you.”
As he dipped down to brush his lips over her cheekbone, Eliza let the world melt away, let her persistent terror fade until all she could think about was his bulk and his smell and his presence in her life.
But at the back of her mind, the question still buzzed like a swarm of insects.
Where was Moose?
Chapter Four: Finding Trouble
Moose was lost, but that was nothing new.
He'd decided after three days in the city that whoever had said New York was easy to navigate should have their house egged. New York was a grid, sure, but it was also a mess of horns and noise and streets that had names rather than numbers. After sixteen stable years in Scottstown, Moose was absolutely sure than things here moved. Restaurants would be gone when he came back to a corner. Small delis would appear where he'd sworn there wasn't one before.
And now, the alley he'd known would lead to a shortcut home looked completely foreign.
“Darn it all, where the hell did that turn go,” Moose muttered under his breath, looking around while trying not to move too fast.