The Haunted Hero (Aria Fae #4)

by H. D. Gordon

  And, obviously, Thomas’s suspicion that I wouldn’t want to answer his stupid question was correct.

  “We won,” I said simply, partly because I didn’t trust myself to say more, and partly because it was technically the truth.

  Thomas sat up and grabbed the pants he’d discarded earlier, pulling them on and standing up.

  I sat up too. “Where are you going?”

  He folded his arms over his chest. The muscles there flexed in that way I found overly attractive.

  “What happened on the bridge?” he asked.

  I stared at him. I’d told Remy, but the only reason was because Remy wasn’t close enough to me to care as much as would Thomas or Sam and Matt. Sometimes, as much as it might hurt the ones you love, it’s just easier to bear your soul to strangers. After all, their opinions are really the ones that matter.

  “Fine,” Thomas said, his tone deep and low. “Let me tell you what I saw, then. I saw Samantha’s soul leave her body. I saw her standing over her body in ghost form. I see the dead, remember? That means I saw Sam die and become a ghost. Then, in the next moment, miracle of miracles, she was alive again. Like… Like a glitch in the timeline or something. She was gone, and then she was just back. So listen to me, little Halfling, I’ve had this ability since birth, and I know when somebody passes over. Three days ago, on that bridge, Samantha Shy crossed over. Then she crossed back again.”

  He shook his head, let out a puff of air, and tossed up his hands. “Something tells me that you have an explanation for the things I’m telling you,” he added. “So, again, what happened on the damn bridge?”

  Looking into his hazel eyes, his handsome face, his earnest aura, there seemed to be no other option.

  So I told him.

  Then, neither one of us was happy.

  Thomas didn’t say anything for a very long time, and I had only the sight of his aura with which to gauge his emotions. He pulled me into his arms, holding me close, as though if he held on tight enough he could keep me from any harm that might come my way. I melted there, wishing I could pause time and just stay here for the rest of forever.

  “Say something,” I whispered into his shoulder once the silence had gone on too long.

  His chest rose and fell as he breathed in deeply of the warm night air. He brought his hand up and stroked it gently over my hair, the other still wrapped tightly about my waist. I could feel his eyes on me, trying to get a read of my face, so I swallowed and looked up to meet his gaze.

  “We’ll find a way to save you,” Thomas said. “That’s really all there is to it.”

  There was a task easier said than done, but it sure did feel nice to hear him say it, even if it was a fool’s errand. I rested my head against his chest again and tried my best to keep it together inside.

  Thomas set his chin atop my head, and together we gazed out at the lights of Grant City spread out before us.

  Teeth gritted, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, I asked, “What if there isn’t a way, Thomas? What if there just isn’t one?”

  Thomas surprised me by taking a step back and gripping me by the shoulders as if to hold me in place. He looked at me the way a commander might a despairing soldier.

  “The mission from here on, is to find a way, little Halfling,” he told me. “And if we can’t find a way, then we’ll make a way. Save your soul; that’s it. There is no second option. There is no failure. This is our mission, and we complete our missions. If we have to kill every Demon in hell to do it, then so be it. But we will be successful.” He paused and touched my chin. “Are you with me?”

  Against my better judgment, a flash of hope began to spiral in my chest. Though I knew in my gut that the deal I’d made with Saleos was unbreakable and final, when Thomas said these things and looked at me the way he was looking at me now, I couldn’t help but believe him. With him at my side, it felt as though nothing in the world was impossible, as though mountains could be moved and stars rearranged.

  “I’m with you,” I said, and it was not a lie. Foolish and moot, maybe, but not a lie.

  “Good,” said Thomas Reid, and then, with three little words, he spun the universe on its edge. “Because I love you, Aria Fae,” he told me. “And God help any creature that tries to take you away.”

  We kissed then, because there was no way not to. Then I told him I loved him, too.

  And that was not a lie, either.

  AFTERWORD

  Three weeks later

  Time marched on, as time is wont to do. Life settled back into a routine of hanging with friends and working at the restaurant. Now, it was the eve before my first day at Grant City Community College.

  Due to the fact that I was pretty sure I was going to be dying in the next eight months or so, I no longer saw any point in seeking a higher education, but since I couldn’t explain dropping out to Sam or Matt, I decided I would go anyway and see what it was all about. Also, Sam and Matt were going to be back in school all day, and Raven had run off with Remy to wherever, so that left little for me to keep myself busy with.

  After our little conversation in my apartment, I hadn’t seen much of Caleb Cross. As I wiped down a table at the Bay Bar on the Sunday night before my first day of school, one of the flat screen televisions hanging on the wall gave me a clue as to why that may be.

  I had been avoiding the news outlets in general, because I was sick and tired of all the speculation surrounding the Masked Maiden and her current whereabouts. One could only stand so many stories and conspiracy theories about the citywide loss of power and the happenings on the Grant City Bridge. I wished a couple of big celebrities would just get divorced so that the news could shift their focus for a bit.

  But what I saw on the flat screen on the bar wall was that Grant City had elected a new mayor, and that new mayor was none other than Christian Cross, Caleb’s brother. The news showed all three of the Cross men standing side-by-side behind a podium, all grinning save for Caleb, who looked as though he was trying to hide his discomfort.

  Also on stage was Gail Golden, the new mayor’s girlfriend and reporter for the Grant City Gazette who’d written several negative articles about the Masked Maiden. I stopped wiping down the table for a moment to take in the four people on screen, thinking that having Caleb’s brother as mayor was not the best turn of events. It put even more power in the hands of the Cross family, and though I had a real love and friendship with Caleb, that could not be a good thing.

  Then again, it was also the least of my worries. I turned to Pete, the bartender who was helping me shut down the place for the night. “Mind if we turn off the televisions?” I asked.

  Pete shrugged, drying off wine glasses and beer mugs with a bar towel. “Be my guest,” he said. “We’re about done for the night, anyway.”

  I shut off the television and dropped off the last table’s check, telling them to pay whenever they were ready. Then, I resumed my tasks of closing down for the night, filling sugar caddies and flipping chairs over onto tabletops.

  Once the last customers had paid, there were only a few more closing tasks to take care of, and I told Pete he could head out early. I found this was something that my coworkers really appreciated, and since I hadn’t been sleeping well lately, I didn’t mind staying after to make sure the restaurant was closed up properly. So Pete scooted out the door a couple of minutes later, thanking me and wishing me a good night.

  I had just flipped out the lights, and was grabbing my jacket from a hook in the back when I heard the front doors open again. I sighed and went out to main floor, figuring some late night patrons had missed the hours of operation posted outside.

  It was just a man, and for all the shadows in the restaurant without the lights on, I could not see his face.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “But we just closed up. We open tomorrow at noon, and there’s an IHOP a couple blocks west if you’re looking for something to eat.”

  It was a spiel I’d given a hundred times th
is summer, and it was always met with sighs of disappointment as the people mumbled about being hungry or wanting a drink and finally left. The man who had just entered, however, ignored me and slid into an empty booth near the doors. My brows furrowed as I crossed the floor to repeat my spiel to him.

  I came to an abrupt stop when I was a few feet from the table. I hadn’t really been paying attention when he’d entered, had been focused on finishing up so I could go home for the night, but now that I was close, I could see his aura more clearly. I could feel the vibes coming off of it, and a chill raced straight up my spine.

  Since I’d already shut off the lights and the neon signs that hung in the window, the place was ruled by shadows, but even the darkness couldn’t mask the corruption of the soul before me.

  “Who are you?” I said, shifting backward instinctively into a fighter’s stance. The room had suddenly gone terribly cold.

  The man gestured to the seat across from his, and I had a flash of memory from a recent similar situation with a Demon.

  “Please,” said the man, his voice but a whisper and the “s” in please held a touch too long, making for a snake-like sound. “Have a seat, Aria Fae. Let’s share some words.”

  “You obviously know who I am,” I said, making no move to do as he directed. “So I ask again, who are you? And what do you want?”

  Sighing, the man waved his hand, and I felt my muscles move without my command. I slid into the booth across from him as if we were on a date, terrifyingly unable to control my own movements.

  “What the hell?” I said.

  White teeth gleamed out at me from the shadows that obscured his face. “There. Now, that’s better, isn’t it? And, please, there’s no need for vulgarity.”

  I sat and stared, because I could not make myself stand, and the only thing my mind could process was fear, confusion, and obscenities. Trying to gain control over myself both mentally and physically, and failing, I repeated my questions.

  The man said, “I go by many names, Aria, and that’s really not important right now. What is important is that I can help you. In fact, I’m the only one that can help you.”

  “I don’t need your help,” I said through gritted teeth. “You’re the one on top, aren’t you?” I squinted into the shadows, but it was almost as if he had some sort of cloaking magic hanging around him. His aura, however, he could not hide. “You’re the one they call The Man in the Shadows,” I said, and knew as the words left my mouth that they were true. “I don’t want anything from you.”

  His head cocked to the side. “No?” he asked, in that whispering snake’s tone. “You don’t want to break the deal you made with Saleos? You don’t want to keep your soul and ensure the welfare of your precious Sammy? You don’t want to fall deeper in love with your human boyfriend, or to live a normal life?”

  I stared into his face of shadows, hardly breathing. Of course I wanted these things. We both knew I did.

  “What are you doing with the Halflings in the labs?” I asked, changing the subject. It wasn’t everyday you got to sit down and chat with your mortal enemy.

  “You’re dying,” was what he said back.

  “The Halflings?” I repeated. “Whatever you’re doing, you won’t get away with it.”

  The man laughed, hissing like a serpent that feels clever. “And who’s going to stop me? You? You’re dying, Aria Fae, and when your time is up, you’ve earned yourself a ticket straight to the dungeon.” Another hissing laugh. “I’m the only chance you’ve got. It’s either me, or death and eternity in the possession of one of Hell’s most torturous Demon’s. I can’t help but feel you’ve underestimated the enormity of your situation.”

  Before I could respond to this, the man leaned forward in the darkness. He placed a little white card on the table between us, and again, I saw a flash of white teeth within the shadows. “Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you think things over, let that clock of yours wind down a little more. When you’re ready,” he slid the white card across the table toward me, “give me a call.”

  Then, he was gone. Just gone, like something carried away on the wind.

  I felt control over my own body return to me, and found I was panting and my back was hot with sweat. I stood, angry and afraid, and snatched the white card he’d left up from the table. I marched over to the metal trash bin by the bar and grabbed a lighter from the bartender’s drawer. Holding the card over the trashcan, I flicked the lighter to life and prepared to burn the thing to ashes.

  Just before setting flame to the card, however, I reconsidered my actions. After a moment, I replaced the lighter in the drawer and locked up shop, slipping the white card into my pocket before heading out into the darkness of the night.

  The End… For Now.

  Book 5 in The Aria Fae Series coming soon…

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  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Enormous thanks goes to my family, for being the best support system a girl could ask for. To my daughters, Soraya and Akira, for being my everything. To my writer friends, who make up a community unlike any I’ve ever known. And, finally, to the readers, without whom this book would never have been written.

  Special Thanks Goes To:

  Muriel Gordon

  Janice Gordon

  Sorayawati Smith

  Trisnowati Gordon

  Cyrus Gordon

  Tyson Kilbey

  Benjamin Gordon

  Gianna Sherry

  Roy Gordon

  Dave Michael

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  H. D. Gordon is the author of young adult and adult fiction. She is a poet, a mother, a philosopher and an earth-lover. She believes our actions have ripple effects, and in the sacred mission of bringing love and light to the world.

  She loves big dreamers, animals, children, killing zombies, eating dessert and old souls.

  H. D. resides in southern New Jersey—which she insists is really quite lovely.

  For more information, please visit: http://www.hdgordonbooks.com

  Or Grab a Free H. D. Gordon Starter Library Here

  Read on for a sneak peek at Shooting Stars (A Surah Stormsong Novel, book 1), a tale of star-crossed lovers and magic by H. D. Gordon…

  SHOOTING STARS

  A Surah Stormsong Novel

  ~Book One~

  H. D. Gordon

  Copyright © 2013 H. D. Gordon

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, are coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  For the lovers and the fighters.

  PART 1: GIVE AN INCH

  CHAPTER 1

  Charlie could tell there was something wrong with the old man as soon as he walked in the door. He couldn’t pinpoint the source of the wrongness because it seemed to be everything and nothing at once. The way the old man dragged his left foot a little as he shuffled toward him. (Could be Charlie’s imagination.) The way his creased eyelids seemed to be drooping a touch too much. (He could just be tired.) The way even the tattered cloak on the old man’s back seemed not to ripple as he moved, but hang stiffly over boney, sagging shoulders. (Again, could be Charlie’s imagination.)

  The man pulled out a stool at the bar and took a seat, resting his elbows on the shiny bar top and his chin in his brown-spotted hands. His spoiled liver breath smacked Char
lie in the face as he leaned forward. Charlie tucked the rag he’d been using to polish the bar into the waistband of his jeans and eyed the old man for a minute, the soft lights of the bar casting deep shadows in the crevasses of his face, making canyons there.

  He was the last customer of the night. The bar would be closing in less than five minutes. Old Brad Milner had a habit of popping in at the last minute for one final nightcap, as if he had gone home just to dig around in his couch cushions for change, which he probably had.

  “Hiya, Chuck,” he said, his voice the rasp of sandpaper on wood.

  Charlie smiled. This greeting was normal. It set him at ease a bit. “How ya doin, Mr. Milner?”

  The old man waved a hand. “Fine, Chuck. Just fine. Could use a nice shot of your finest whiskey.” He winked and grinned. His teeth always made Charlie wish he wouldn’t. They were stained with hundreds of years’ worth of booze and nicotine, the color of rotted wood. But Charlie grinned back. This was an inside joke. By finest whiskey Milner meant cheapest whiskey.

  Charlie poured the drink and set it in front of the old man, feeling a tightness in his throat he couldn’t explain. “Little late to be out, ain’t it?” he asked, a question he posed most every night, and most every night received the same answer.

  Milner waved his hand again, grinning now with his wiser-than-you grin, glassy blue eyes shining out of his sunken face. “And how many nights you suppose I got left to be staying out, Chuck?” He took a deep swig of his drink, the apple in his throat bobbing grotesquely, and set it down again. The glass thudded heavily on the bar, and a little whiskey sloshed up and spilled over the rim, running down the wrinkles in Milner’s hand like dirty rivers. “I hope not too many.” He laughed. More spoiled breath hit Charlie’s face. He swallowed once and forced a grimace away before it could take stage.