The Masked Maiden: an adult urban fantasy (The Aria Fae Series Book 2)

by H. D. Gordon

  “Depreciating?” Sam asked, her aura indignant. “What are you talking about?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Stein exchanged a look that suggested this was an expected response from a naïve girl. I shoved a gravy-dipped roll in my mouth and swallowed it down as I watched Sam’s intensity slowly increasing.

  “Well,” Mrs. Stein said, “we all know that Grant City has become more and more dangerous, what with that Black Magic flooding the streets and the murder rate climbing every year, and now there’s some masked villain running around breaking the law and doing as she pleases.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose, as if her point was made and set. “So, yes, I would say ‘depreciating’ is an appropriate word.”

  Under the table, I gave Sam a gentle nudge, but if she felt it, she took no notice. “The Masked Maiden isn’t a villain,” Sam snapped. “She’s a hero. She saves people, and Grant City is safer for her.”

  My throat felt a little tight, and I could tell that even Sam’s father, Mr. Phillip Shy, had tuned into the conversation for the first time. Until just now, his aura told me he’d only been counting the seconds until we all left so that he could crawl back into a bottle. Sam had not been lying when she’d said he’d been having a hard time with the holidays. I’d recognized Phillip Shy as damaged the first time I’d set eyes on him, and even so, I’d never seen him in lower spirits than his current state.

  “You defend her as if it’s personal,” Mrs. Stein observed, a smirk pulling up her sharp lips. “You’re not the Masked Maiden, are you, Samantha?”

  The way she said this made it clear that she’d posed the question as a joke, as ridiculous, and I saw that this only served to piss Sam off more.

  “Of course not,” Sam gritted out between clenched teeth. “I just don’t think we can believe everything we read in the newspapers. I think most of it is slanted and skewed, propaganda, even.”

  To this, both Mr. and Mrs. Stein laughed heartily, condescendingly. Once they sobered, Mrs. Stein wiped at her eyes and said, “Oh, today’s youth, so full of conspiracy theories and ridiculous expectations while knowing so little of the world. You may think the Masked Maiden is a hero, dearest, but I can assure you, anyone who feels they’re above the law poses a danger to the rest of us. It’s not how we behave in a civilized society.”

  Sam’s mouth opened, but I interjected again.

  “Who wants pie?” I said. “I do. I want some pie. It’s blueberry. It looks amazing. Sam, you have any ice cream for that pie?”

  This went ignored, and I shoved a piece of turkey into my mouth as I accepted the fact that there was no avoiding the fireworks to come.

  Sam’s face went almost as red as the cranberry sauce that had gone untouched on the table. I shifted uneasily and finally caught her eyes. The blue of them was colder than ice, but the calming green in mine warned against an unnecessary overreaction. It would be a lie to say that the opinions of Sam’s aunt and uncle didn’t burn me a little, too, but what good would arguing with them do?

  Much to my relief, Sam took a breath and said, “I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

  Her aunt raised her glass to this, and the meal continued on in the same uncomfortable fashion.

  I couldn’t complain too much, however, because it turned out that Sam had indeed gotten vanilla ice cream to pair with the blueberry pie. She even laughed a little at the way my face lit up when she pulled the ice cream out of the freezer.

  We were in the kitchen alone, the rest of the party in the dining room. “Aria,” Sam said, a small smile forming on her lips as she shook her head, “I’m almost certain you could walk through the fires of hell in relative comfort and bliss as long as you had enough food to occupy you.”

  I grinned at this imagery, picturing myself strolling through hell’s depths with a fried chicken drumstick in one hand and an ice cream cone in the other.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “My stomach is a direct route to my soul.”

  Sam let out a sigh. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to be subjected to them,” she said, nodding at the door to the dining room. “At least the dinner is almost over. Let’s just get through dessert, and I won’t have to see them again until next year.”

  I shrugged, my eyes flicking to the ice cream like a dog awaiting a piece of fallen food from its owner. “It hasn’t been so bad.” I rubbed a hand over my belly. “In fact, I’ve rather enjoyed myself.”

  With a little laugh, we joined the others, and without too much more event, the dinner came to an end at last. Sam’s colorful aunt and uncle stood from the table to take their leave. I had to bite my lip to hide the smile that wanted to appear on my face with the relief that flooded through Sam’s dad’s aura. His obvious want for the bottle was starting to make him sweat.

  I’m convinced that had Mrs. Stein just taken her leave then, and left her brother to his misery, the events that happened next may have gone differently, but Sam’s aunt was nothing if not consistent in her personality.

  “Really, Phillip,” Patricia Stein said as she hugged Sam’s father goodbye, “you look terrible.” Her sharp brown eyes flicked over to Sam. “You have responsibilities.” Her voice lowered, but of course, I could still hear her next words. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Even though my ability to see his full aura was dampened by the fact that Mr. Shy kept himself almost constantly intoxicated, it didn’t take an Empath to see the way the rage slammed over his being. I’d seen this reaction many times in the course of my life. It was like a switch had been flipped, and that cool that he’d had an impressive hold over only a split second ago was gone as though carried away on a hard wind.

  His face went red, his hollow cheeks shaking slightly as spittle flew from his dry lips. “Get out,” he said, and somehow the cold, low tone in which the two words were spoken was worse than if he had screamed.

  Or so I’d thought.

  “Get the hell out of my house!” Sam’s father shouted, as if the command had been ripped free of his gut. “Just leave, Goddamnit!”

  Silence descended for a space of time that felt eternal, but was actually only a bated breath. Then, with a huff, tossing the strap of her pocket book over her shoulder, Mrs. Stein gathered her husband and stormed out.

  I swallowed, biting at my lip. Sam let out a sigh and followed her aunt and uncle, seeing them out of the apartment and leaving me alone with her father still sitting at the dining room table.

  From down the hall, I could hear Sam’s aunt still mumbling things to Sam, and the pulse of my best friend’s aura told me that her father was not the only one who was going to blow his top if Patricia Stein didn’t shut her mouth and take her leave.

  Sam had not been kidding when she’d said this would be awkward and unpleasant. The ill emotions were practically choking the air. It was almost enough to make me glad I didn’t have any family. Almost.

  I knew in that moment, sitting alone at the table with Samantha’s father what I was going to do, and as was my manner, I made the decision, and went with it.

  “Mr. Shy,” I said, in a low, soothing voice, behind which I exerted a touch of my will. I reached across the table to where he sat, holding out my hand. “Would you please pass me the salt?”

  With a touch of confusion, but unable to resist my pull, Samantha’s broken father lifted the saltshaker. I caught his hand as he placed it in mine, his soul unwittingly desperate for a healing, and mine ever willing to assist.

  CHAPTER 21

  On the eve of the first Christmas I’d spent as a separate from the Peace Brokers, I sat at my window stewing in the emotions I’d taken from Sam’s father. I’d been sure to finish before Sam could know what I’d done, but with how much I’d absorbed, the difference would become clear to her soon enough.

  When it did, hopefully she would just be happy that her father wasn’t so sick in the mind anymore, rather than upset that I’d done something so personal without her knowledge or permission.

  It’s a strange and powerf
ul thing, absorbing the grief from someone who’s lost a dear one. Memories that were not my own flooded my mind, and feelings I’d never felt for anyone filled me from my skin to my bones. Warm tears rolled down my cheeks and dampened the top of my t-shirt as I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, leaning against the cold window and staring at the view of red brick.

  When a knock sounded on my door, I was so deep in the shadows that I had half a mind just to let it go unanswered. Pulling myself to my feet, I trudged over to the door and peered through the peephole before throwing the locks and pulling it open.

  Nick Ramhart stood there. Dressed in the black and gray tones of the Brokers, his red hair longer than when I’d left four months ago, his wide shoulders filling the doorway.

  As soon as he set eyes on me, he knew what I’d done. Nick entered my apartment and placed his hand on my cheek. “That’s my Aria,” he said. “Always healing others at the expense of herself.”

  When his warm palm cupped my cheek, I felt some of the ache in my soul lessen, and pulled his hand away before he could take more. Nick Ramhart was also a Halfling Fae, after all, and he could absorb the feelings of others same as I could. The difference between him and me was that Nick almost never did this, as he thought it foolish to harm oneself in the pursuit of helping others.

  The only time Nick ever used his Empath ability in this way was when he was pulling the pain from me, when I’d gone and taken too much.

  But things were not the same between us as they’d once been. I was not his inferior, his charge, his to look after.

  “Don’t,” I said. “I took it. I’ll keep it.” Realizing I was still clutching his hand, I dropped hold of it and took a step back from him, where it was easier to think. “What’re you doing here?”

  Nick’s brow quirked as if this were a silly question, his handsome face so familiar and yet so different at the same time. “Looking after you, of course. We still haven’t located the Scarecrow.”

  “Yes, I’m aware, but I’m sure I can look after myself for a night. I have been so far.”

  “No, you haven’t,” Nick said, looking down at me from his taller height. “I’ve been watching you almost constantly since I arrived in Grant City. Your human neighbor has been with you. He was here last night.”

  I chose to ignore the green that edged Nick’s aura, to overlook the bit of something stormy that touched his brown eyes.

  “Nothing happened,” I said, and resisted a face-palm thereafter. I didn’t need to explain myself to him.

  Surprising me, Nick closed the distance between us, his voice coming out lower now, his lean, muscled body only inches from my own. “I know,” he said. “I know nothing happened.”

  This behavior from him was so unexpected, so overwhelming, that it took my brain a moment to even process it. I’d spent the greater portion of my life in love with the man standing before me in some form or other, had been mooning over him since puberty ravaged me, and never had he treated me as if he felt the same. I knew he cared for me, of course, but Nick Ramhart had been my teacher, my trainer, and my superior. He was a man, and I was a girl on the cusp of adulthood.

  But I didn’t need to read his aura to know that something between us had changed, that our world had somehow shifted.

  “How do you know nothing happened?” I asked, and felt my cheeks heating, my voice having come out huskier than usual, almost a whisper.

  Nick’s strong hands found my waist and pulled me close to him, making my stomach feel warm. “I know,” he said, looking down at me, his brown eyes burning in a way I’d never seen from him, “because you are mine, Aria Fae, and you have been for a long time.”

  “You left me,” I said, but barely heard my own words. I was lost in him. Or, maybe, I thought, I was simply lost.

  Nick shook his head at this, his red hair almost gold in the dim light. “I never left you. I just had to let you go for a little bit, and now, I’m taking you back.” He tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear, a smirk pulling up his lips. “Hopefully, when you come back, you’ll follow the rules this time. You have no idea how much convincing it took to make the superiors agree to consider a reinstatement. The Brokers don’t usually give second chances.”

  Like that, the spell was broken. I pulled back a touch. “What if I don’t want to come back? What if it’s me who has to do the considering?”

  Then, Nick Ramhart, badass Peace Broker and boy I’d fallen in love with nearly a decade ago, kissed me. The way his lips captured mine was swift and undeniable. I had no choice but to kiss him back, to melt into his arms the way I’d dreamed of doing since I was a little girl.

  I was helpless, hurting, and wanting of a home. How many nights had I fallen asleep with the image of his bad-boy smirk in my mind and his slight Scottish accent in my ears? How many times had I wished only that he would hold me this way, touch me this way, kiss me with the fervor that he was now?

  Too many to count, that was the answer.

  With Nick’s kiss, the realization that I was going to have to choose between my past life and my new life slammed into me, and the battered muscle in my chest gave a small squeeze.

  Either way, no matter what I chose, I would soon be parting with what I could no longer deny was a piece of my heart.

  CHAPTER 22

  Christmas Day came the way all other days do, with the rising of the sun and the turning of the Earth. Wakefulness found me slow and steady, my eyes peeling open to see the familiar water stain on the ceiling of my studio apartment.

  When I turned my head, however, my mind snapped to awareness like a plucked rubber band, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest.

  Nick lay on my bed beside me; his warm body flush with mine, my head resting in the crook of his strong arm. I rolled over and stood up as though my tail had caught fire, staring down at the first man I’d ever fallen asleep and awoken beside.

  Nick’s head lifted from the pillow, his ginger hair a wild mess atop his head, his eyes squinting in the morning light. A sleepy smirk formed on his handsome face, and he rested his head back on the pillow again.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” he mumbled.

  My eyes narrowed. I came to the conclusion that Nick was laying it on thick, eager to sway my opinion in favor of him… and against my will, it was kind of working.

  “Good morning, Nick,” I grumbled, and scooted into the shower before I could see if he was going to respond.

  Of course, being a Peace Broker, Nick was an early riser as well, and he was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by the time I stepped out of my tiny bathroom. The towel was wrapped over my head, and I’d had the foresight to bring fresh underwear and a clean t-shirt into the bathroom, but my strong legs were bare, and Nick’s eyes went right to them.

  “Quit that,” I snapped.

  Nick smirked, running his hands through his thick red hair. “Quit what?” he replied, and in one swift motion, snatched the towel from my head and moved into the bathroom, his large, muscled body brushing by mine.

  “Trying to seduce me,” I said.

  Nick’s eyes flashed down to my legs again. “Right back at ya, babe,” he laughed, and shut the door to the bathroom, leaving me to glare at the spot where he’d disappeared.

  With no work and no school and all the humans around me celebrating Christmas Day with their families, I had nothing to do this morning, and decided I’d ask Nick if he was up for a workout when he was done with the shower.

  I was lacing up my tennis shoes and waiting for Nick to finish up when a knock sounded at my door. Standing, I went to the door and threw it open.

  And my breath caught in my chest the way it always did when I saw him, the affect instant and incredible.

  “Hi,” I said, feeling a smile come to my lips that was particular to him. It was what I would come to refer to as my Thomas Smile, the one created and reserved for him.

  “Hi,” Thomas Reid replied.

  He was dressed up today, wearing a s
uit that fit his masculine form perfectly, tailored to his tall, lean body, and he’d trimmed his dark hair so that is was cut close on the sides and a bit longer on top. His hazel eagle eyes watched me as my green gaze ran the length of him.

  Before some stupid comment regarding his super-flyness could slip past my lips, Thomas handed me a small, rectangular box, wrapped in shiny silver and topped with a red bow.

  “I wanted you to have this,” he said, placing the box in my hand.

  I stared down at the gift, feeling as though the planet had halted under my feet. “Thomas, I don’t…” I said, trailing off when I saw his hazel gaze move over my shoulder, and a peculiar darkness touch his aura.

  With a turn of my head and a drop of my heart, I followed his eyes to see Nick had exited my bathroom, and was wearing nothing save for the towel wrapped around his waist.

  When Nick saw us, he flashed his characteristic smirk, and for the first time ever, I found myself resisting the urge to smack it off his face. The feeling surprised me, and I filed it away in my mind for further investigation at a later point in time.

  I turned back to Thomas, my mouth falling open but my mind completely unsure what to say. I was somewhat dumbstruck with the circumstances of the situation.

  I didn’t get the chance to say anything, anyway, because Thomas turned to go. “I’ve gotta be somewhere,” he said. “See you later.”

  For whatever reason, I felt a bit of panic, and shot Nick a look before stepping out into the hallway and closing my apartment door behind me. I took a few quick steps toward the stairway down which Thomas was descending, opening my mouth and calling out to him before I could convince myself not to.

  “Hey,” I said, and he halted in his tracks, turning back to face me. From his aura, I could tell he was more guarded from me than usual, and it made my chest ache to see it. “Nothing happened between Nick and me,” I told him, feeling utterly stupid and yet unable to stop myself. “It’s not… it’s not like that between us.”