A Kingdom of Iron & Wine : New Adult Fantasy Romance (The Ironworld Series Book 1)

by Candace Osmond

  The gallery. God, that felt like eons ago. “Celadine’s out of town for business, so I just went for a walk around the boardwalk before I came home.”

  She guffawed over a laugh as she cracked open her bottle of water. “A walk? At night? By yourself?” I watched her take a swig and then clucked her tongue. “Don’t let aunty Tess find out.”

  I laughed along with her but inside… I was wrought with nerves and rushing thoughts of worry. Of disbelief. Because, for once, Tess was right. Something lurked in the city. Shadows and voices, and angry little fairies. I drank some water to hide my expression.

  I said goodnight to Julie and slowly headed for my bedroom. With trembling fingers, I turned the knob. The creaky hinges protested as I gently opened the door and stepped inside. I held my breath, my eyes immediately darting to the birdcage I’d left on my bed. But it was gone. No, not gone… on the dresser where I’d initially had it. Not a single flower out of place. The pillowcase returned to my pillow. It was as if nothing had happened.

  Was I truly losing my mind?

  If so–the blue light, the fairy, the shadows following me all over the city… was I subconsciously scaring myself out of living here? I let out the breath I’d been holding and tiredly changed into my pajamas before I slipped beneath the cool sheets.

  Sleep weighed me down as my mind refused to let go of the thoughts of worry. I drifted off, exhaustion taking me. But as I plunged into the abyss of a dream, one thought carried with me, whispering a question in my ear.

  Had my window always been open?

  Chapter Seven

  I awoke with a new sense of… something. Eagerness, determination. A stubborn will to never let my own mind scare me out of the life I wanted. I slept dreamlessly all night. Or… at least… I awoke refreshed, with no lingering tugs of a nightmare on my mind, no swirling thoughts or sweat coating my skin.

  I yawned and stretched beneath the warm blankets as the early Saturday morning sun filled my bedroom. My window, still open, allowed a gentle breeze to coax across the room, and I inhaled the tinge of Fall approaching. This was heavenly. I could stay in bed all day and admire this lovely little place of mine. Mine. I rolled the word over in my mind. This bedroom, this apartment, school, it was all mine.

  My phone beeped. Not a message, but a reminder I’d set for myself days ago. I rolled over and swiped the screen to stop the annoying sound and groaned as I remembered what precisely the alert was set for.

  I was meeting Maxine today.

  One prof had assigned what he’d called a ‘living assignment’. The city was full of artsy architecture, and we’d paired off to study it. Of course, he’d put me with Maxine. I rolled back and stared at the ceiling. I could do this. She was just a girl, like me. A person. Albeit the coldest person I’d ever met in my life, but a person nonetheless, and I would meet her in the coffee shop to discuss our project for class.

  Julie and I bounded down the spiral staircase that led to The Chocolate Kettle below, and there she was. Maxine Carmichael, sitting ramrod straight in a chair near the back where a picture window cast her in a golden sunny glow. It covered her like a halo, outlining her dark shape and deepening the beautiful tone of her skin. No long black locks today or intricately braided strands. Maxine’s hair was a massive rounded mohawk of tight black curls sprinkled with bits of gold that caught the sunlight like flecks of jewels. Her all-black sleeveless tube dress swallowed her right up to her chin, and she stared at me unblinkingly with those beauteous eyes.

  Beside me, Julie halted with a shudder. “Jesus,” she whispered to me. “Is that her?”

  I nodded with a sigh. “Yep, that’s Maxine.”

  She blew out a long breath. “Yikes. You weren’t kidding when you said she was terrifying.” I held up a finger to Maxine to indicate I’d be a minute and turned to the register with Julie to order our coffees. “Fucking gorgeous, though.”

  “Oh, she’s like a gothic goddess,” I agreed and set some change down on the counter for Penny, one of the day shift crew, and moved off to the side to let the line progress. “But, like, a goddess you fear.”

  Julie swallowed a chuckle as we turned and found Maxine’s eyes on us. Waiting, brimming with impatience.

  “I’ll catch you later, k?” Julie said, and I gave her a nod as she skirted through the morning crowd for the door.

  I took a deep breath, plastered on a smile, and walked over to the table where my guest waited.

  “Maxine,” I greeted curtly.

  “You’re late,” she replied with a sneer and opened a large, thick notebook bound in black leather. “And it’s Max.”

  The two statements clashed in my ears. “What?”

  She set her pen down with an annoyed huff. “You’re late. We were supposed to meet here fifteen minutes ago.”

  I slipped into the seat across from her. “No. I mean, yes, I know that. I’m sorry.” I wrapped my fingers around the warm cup of coffee in my hands. “The other thing you said. Max?”

  Her eyelids shimmered with black eyeshadow. “It’s my name.”

  “Not Maxine?”

  “Not if you wish to remain in one piece,” she replied as coolly as a cat. Her perfectly manicured black fingernails casually turned the pages over. When I didn’t answer, she set her pointed gaze on me. The whites of her eyes like pure moonlight around the pools of an abyss that anchored the centers. “Are we doing this or not?”

  I shook away the scramble of thoughts in my mind. Maxine–Max always seemed to render me speechless, with little to no effort on her end. She was beautiful and intimidating as hell. The sliver of talent I’d seen just from peeking at her stuff online told me she was also far above my skill level. So why was Max doing a Foundation Year at art school? She didn’t need it, clearly. She didn’t seem to even want to be there. She rarely took part in class discussions, projects, or even hung around during break times. She constantly hid behind a wall of contrition. I wondered what was on the other side.

  “Yes,” I replied and fetched my own notes from my shoulder bag. “Let’s figure out what we’re doing for this project.”

  I could have sworn I caught the quickest tug at the corner of her mouth when she laid her eyes on my notebook. I’d made it myself. Several of them, actually, and sold them in my Etsy store. But they were pink and purple with glitter and hand-drawn pixie wings and gold leaf marbling. Such a contrast against Max’s leather-bound one; the soft black, an insignia of moon phases burned into the cover, its spine bound and tied with fraying straps of black leather. It was like pairing a Disney movie to a Horror film side by side.

  “You make that?” Max asked with hardly a hint of actual interest as she took a sip from her steaming mug. She didn’t strike me as the type to drink tea.

  I ran my fingertips over the cover, remembering when I first came up with the idea and how excited Tess was. I smiled. “Yeah, I sell them in my shop.”

  Max just regarded me curiously, her eyes like a sharp rake as they scanned me over. An awkward silence held us in place, and I swallowed dryly.

  “Did… you make that?” I tipped my chin toward her notebook.

  “No.”

  I mulled my suddenly dry lips together. “I… saw your stuff.” Max’s face went blank. “Online. I checked out your work.”

  “And?” The reply carried the full intent of a warning. Go ahead, mock me, I dare you.

  I attempted a casual shrug, but I’m sure it came off as uncomfortable. “It’s… stunning.”

  Max’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t patronize me, Quinn.”

  “I-I’m not,” I blurted. “I swear.”

  The back of her pen tapped anxiously against the paper in front of her, but she displayed no signs of being nervous. Max was like a wall of darkness, refusing to let anyone see anything behind it.

  “Don’t you mean it’s sickening?” she said, clipped. “Dark? Terrifying? A disgrace?”

  I gulped down a dry lump in my throat as her dark stare bore into me. But I
refused to start this day cowering. I’d promised myself things would be different. I wouldn’t live my life afraid. So, I went with compassion. I dared lean forward, reaching a hand for hers–for whatever possessed me to do so–but she flinched away.

  “Is that what people really say about your art?”

  Max said nothing as she stuffed her things inside her black suede shoulder bag.

  “Just ignore people like that, Max,” I tried to sound comforting. “They obviously just don’t get it.”

  Something like regret flashed across her face. “Hard to ignore them when they’re your family.” She slung her bag over her arm as she stood up.

  “Wait. Where are you going?” I asked. “We haven’t even started.”

  She peered down at me as she stepped directly into the sun, casting her front in darkness as my eyes adjusted. “I’ve already done all the research and planned everything out.” She turned and headed for the door. “I’ll email you the notes.”

  The sudden turn of events gave me whiplash, and I blinked through the confusion. “But you don’t have my email!” I called after her, but she was already gone.

  ***

  I turned the key over in my Vespa for the fifth time, but nothing happened. It was dead, and I could hear my aunt’s voice in my ear, don’t forget to change that old battery. I loved my bike, but it was nearing the end of its life, and I slunk down on the seat with a groan. I had to be at the gallery for my apprentice shift in ten minutes. Even though it was close by, I couldn’t get there that fast on foot. I glanced at the pole that displayed the bus number just a few feet away from the entrance of The Chocolate Kettle and cringed at the thought of riding the bus. But it was my only option.

  As the rain trickled from the skies, I tucked the bike key into my bag and stood under the sign as I waited for the bus. I could already see it coming from down the street. As it came to a stop and the accordion doors flung open, I took a deep breath and stepped inside. I dropped some change in the bin and took a spot near the back door. As the bus bounded off again, the force pushed me further into my seat, and my stomach rolled over.

  I hated enclosed vehicles. Tess thought perhaps it was anxiety and a bit of claustrophobia when I was a kid. But it turned out to be good ol’ fashioned motion sickness. I was prone to it, and it sucked beyond belief. Nothing curbed the inevitable wave that always rushed over me.

  The bus made two stops along the way, but I paid no attention to the traffic of bus goers. I just had to hang on for a few more minutes. My fingers gripped the edge of the plastic seat beneath me as I put my focus on the gritty floor. I knew glancing out the window would cost me; it always made nausea worse. But I moved and leaned the side of my face against the cool glass. Beside me, someone filled the empty seat.

  “You look like you’re being held against your will,” a familiar voice spoke.

  No, no, no. Not now. Not while I was like… this. The deep husky tone was laced with amusement, and my stomach clenched at the sound. I turned my head slightly, enough to look at him. The hot guy from the party, the one who’d tried to help me, stared back with those unnervingly blue eyes.

  “W-what?”

  His soft pink lips widened into a smile that nearly took the breath from my lungs. “You look like you’re dying. Are you alright?”

  The bus took a sharp turn, and my stomach rolled. I stomped down the urge to vomit. “I’m fine.”

  Crisp leather replaced his casual combat jacket and crunched as he shifted in his seat. His jet-black hair slicked back neatly. “Sorry for leaving you the other night,” he said. “Frat parties aren’t really my scene.”

  I gulped down a belch that tasted like bile, and a sticky sweat coated my brow. With about as much grace as a seal, I wiped it with the back of my sleeve. “It’s okay. I never got to thank you for… helping me.”

  Something flashed in those hypnotic eyes. Something like… anger. No, it couldn’t be. The guy didn’t even know me. But his gaze quickly softened as the corner of his mouth turned up in a grin. “You have absolutely zero color in your face. Are you sure you’re–”

  My stomach threatened to purge, and I clobbered over him to get out of the seat. I bolted for the side door near the back and pounded my palm against it. “Open the door!” I called to the driver. The sound of the bell dinging clamored in my ears, and the bus came to a screeching halt, nearly knocking me off my already unreliable feet. I attempted a glance back at the guy to give him an apologetic look, but the movement was my undoing. I shoved my body through the half-opened doors and barely made it to a bush, where I hurled my guts up. Behind me, the bus lingered, and I heard the call of the driver’s voice.

  “You okay, sweetheart?”

  I remained bent over, letting the rest of the contents in my stomach spew from my mouth. But I waved a hand in his direction with a thumbs up. The doors closed, and I straightened in time to catch a glimpse of the hot guy staring widely at me from the window. Concern wrought across his striking features. But when he beheld the embarrassment on my face, I watched him erupt with a gutsy laugh as the bus pulled away.

  I decided then and there that I hated him.

  Rain thundered from the skies, drenching my skin through my clothes. Breath reeking like vomit, skin coated in sweat, rain soaking my hair and clothes, I covered my head with the hood from the sweater I wore beneath my jacket and walked the last few yards to the gallery.

  My sneakers squeaked wetly as I trudged across the marble floors of the grand entrance, and near the back, Celadine twisted at the sound. She wore a deep crimson pantsuit, her many smaller braids tucked neatly into one large braid that bounced against her as she bound toward me. Her eyes alight with concern.

  “Avery!” she said and gently touched my shoulder as she took in the sight of me. “What on earth happened to you?”

  I thumbed toward the doors behind us. “My bike wouldn’t start, so I took the bus, but that always makes me sick, so I had to walk, and it’s raining….” I glanced down and beheld the state of myself. I wasn’t fit to be in a place like this, a place so pristine and valuable. “Oh, god, Celadine. I’m sorry. I should have gone home to clean up–”

  “No need,” she replied with a quick shake of her head. She ushered me further into the gallery. “There’s a bathroom and a change of clothes upstairs. Come.”

  She waved her hand, and I followed her to the upper level of the gallery. Where I’d never been before. I knew she hosted a rental space for artists to use. A sort of retreat. Most loaned the area for about three days. But it was almost always occupied. The talent that flowed through Gallery Danes daily was mesmerizing. Painters, writers, sculptures, artists of all sorts. Luckily, it was empty, I noted as Celadine fiddled with keys and let us inside the cozy apartment. She pointed down the hall.

  “There’s a bathroom on the right. And some clothes near the massage table.”

  My soaked clothes were now freezing. And I smiled with a quivered lip as I stalked past her and headed to the bathroom. I felt for a light switch with one shaky hand and flicked it on. Never-ending white marble surrounded me. Even the vanity was made of it. A bowl of Carrera on top.

  I found a facecloth and snagged a fresh shirt from a small pile near what looked like a massage table. A pile of generic black t-shirts made of some glorious material that felt like a mix between silk and cotton. I painfully peeled my rain-drenched jeans and green plaid button-up before slipping a shirt over my head. A pile of loose, flared-bottom jogging pants sat next to the shirts. And I hauled on a pair of those, too.

  I exited the bathroom with my wet clothes balled in my hands. “You wouldn’t happen to have a bag, would you?”

  Celadine grinned as she stepped forward, and her tattooed fingers took the clothes from me. “There’s a dryer.”

  “Oh, I… don’t want to be any trouble–”

  She glanced over her shoulder with a disgruntled look. “Trouble?” She shrugged and opened one of the doors near the kitchen. “It’s w
hat it’s for, isn’t it?” A stacked washer and dryer and some empty baskets filled the tiny space. I stood and watched as my boss tossed my wet clothes inside the dryer and turned it on.

  “Thanks,” I said and admired the feel of the soft black fabric I wore.

  “It’s nice, right?” she said, her brows raised, waiting for my approval. I just nodded. “It took me forever to find just the right one for my guests.”

  “I like it,” I replied and smoothed a hand down the sleeve.

  “So,” Celadine said, her tone changing the subject. “Tell me more about this bus ride.”

  Color rushed to my cheeks at the thought of seeing that guy. Or rather… him seeing me like that. Throwing up in the bushes. It wasn’t my finest moment. “What do you want to know?”

  She studied me curiously. “Do you always get sick on the bus?”

  I shrugged and watched her go to the small kitchenette and start rummaging through cupboards. “Buses, cars, trucks, you name it. If it’s an enclosed vehicle, I’ll get sick.”

  Celadine placed two China cups on the white marble top of a small island. “Enclosed?”

  I approached and watched as she filled a kettle and ignited the gas stovetop. She looked so out of place in a simple kitchen with her striking looks. Yet, somehow, she seemed to fit. Like a work of art held against a bland background to showcase its beauty.

  “Bikes are fine,” I replied. “The fresh air seems to keep nausea at bay. That’s why I drive a Vespa.”

  “And you’ve always been that way?” she asked and plucked a woven basket of various teas from a cabinet and slid it across the countertop as she motioned for me to take a seat.

  I pulled out one of the round barstools and sat down. I fingered through the impressive tea selection and chose a vanilla-flavored one. Celadine put her elbows on the counter across from me and rested her chin atop her folded hands.