by H. D. Gordon
Good thing for us, Dr. Cross’s security team was not so inactive in the face of danger. Though the metal ball striking and disorienting the gunman was a surprise to them, too, they’d obviously been trained to react swiftly in such situations.
The two large, black-suited men seized the gunman, disarming him in a way that I recognized as military. My eyes went to Caleb’s father, whose aura was so red now that it practically blazed.
“You murderer!” the gunman screamed at Dr. Cross, as the two men wrenched his hands behind his back and secured them with zip ties. I knew this had to be painful, because the guy was short and portly, not in the best of shape.
His pudgy face was twisted in rage, and he continued to scream obscenities as the two ex-military bodyguards hauled him away.
Right before I did the same with Sam, Caleb Cross’s eyes met mine across the shaken room, and I saw that he was holding the metal drone ball in his hand, no doubt having picked it up off the floor.
I gripped Sam’s arm. “Let’s get out of here,” I said.
And that, we did.
CHAPTER 8
“Holy turd balls!” Sam exclaimed as we stepped out of the convention center and into open air. We’d both agreed we’d had enough of the expo for one day. Also, I wanted to get out of there before the police showed up and started interviewing witnesses.
“What a day, right?” Sam said as we crossed the street and blended into the foot traffic, which was heavier than average as it was now rush hour.
I raised an eyebrow at this reaction. I hadn’t known it at the time, but Samantha Shy had her own demons to drown in adrenaline.
“That’s one way of putting it,” I said.
“Dude,” she said, linking her arm through mine. “I thought you were joking about the slingshot.”
I clenched my teeth to suppress a cringe. “You saw that?”
“Uh, yeah, you were standing right next to me.”
“It was a lucky shot.”
“Pfft,” she said as she stuck a cigarette in the corner of her mouth and lit it up. “I’m starting to think you’re not even human.”
I stopped in my tracks, halting her along with me. “What? Why would you jump to that completely illogical conclusion?”
She gave me a funny look that I didn’t like. “Relax, Aria. I was just joking.”
I let out a slow breath, and continued walking. “Right. Of course. I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little on edge. That was kind of heavy in there.”
Sam shrugged, giving my arm a small squeeze. “It’s all good.” She smiled. “You hungry?”
I checked my watch, welcoming the change in subject. It was nearly six pm. “Won’t your parents be looking for you?” I asked.
“It’s just me and my dad,” she said, that touch of darkness appearing on her face before disappearing just as quickly. “And it’s Friday,” she added. “I can stay out a little later since it’s not a school night. There’s a small pizza place around the corner from my apartment. I’ll treat you to a slice.”
As broke as I was, I couldn’t say no to that. I pulled my skateboard out of my backpack and rode slowly along beside Sam as we went to the pizza shop. When we got there, it was empty save for the old lady behind the counter, and the middle-aged cook visible through an opening behind her.
Sam ordered two slices of cheese and two cokes, and we slid into a booth while we waited for them to heat up the pizza.
“So…” Sam said. “I had a good day with you, Aria.”
“I had a good day with you, too,” I said.
I could feel myself shutting down a little toward Sam. I was currently completely unattached to anyone in this entire world, and the wounded part of me really wanted to keep it that way. If you didn’t allow yourself to get close to anyone, you didn’t set yourself up to be hurt.
The gray-haired lady who’d taken our order carried our food to the table, and we thanked her, eating in a comfortable silence.
Until Sam glanced around and said, “So… you don’t want to talk about how you’ve got crazy ninja skills, then?”
I sighed, sitting back in my seat, swallowing my last bite of pizza and chasing it with the coke, buying some time to formulate an answer. “Not really,” I said.
I know, I’m a genius, but it was all I could come up with, and it was true.
Sam studied me a moment over her glasses before pushing them up on her nose and nodding. “Okay,” she said. “I get that. You’ve got secrets. You want to keep them.”
I chose my next words carefully. “Because you have secrets of your own?”
A slow nod. “Maybe.”
Silence fell for a moment. Then a grin pulled up Sam’s face. “Then can I just say that you were pretty badass today?”
I couldn’t help a smile at this. Sam paid for the food and we stood to go. I linked my arm through hers. “Yes,” I said, as we stepped out into the evening air. “I suppose I don’t mind having my badassness pointed out every once in a while.”
She laughed. “Right. It keeps you humble.”
“Well, you’re pretty amazing, too, Samantha Shy,” I said, and realized only as I spoke the words that I meant them.
“We make a good team,” she said.
And that, at least, would turn out to be true.
CHAPTER 9
“Where do you live?” Sam asked, looking warily at the darkening sky. The sun had just set behind the buildings, and streetlights and neon signs had started coming to life.
“Not too far from here,” I said. “Like five blocks.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “In which direction?”
We were standing outside her apartment building, and I could see in her aura that she was concerned for me. I was warming to the girl, and there wasn’t a darn thing I could do against it. I was too young at the time to know how rare this was, what a gift it would be. Truly good friends don’t come around often.
“Uh, that way,” I said, pointing east. “On Row and 45th.”
Sam’s brow furrowed before she smoothed her face out. She’d lived in Grant City her whole life, and no doubt knew that the neighborhood I was referring to was a crime-ridden, slum of a place, but she was too polite to mention it.
Instead, she said, “Uh… maybe I should get my dad. He can walk you home. I’m not sure it’s safe. It’s almost dark.”
In the way I had, I could tell that Sam was still worried for me, but despite her offer, she didn’t want to actually get her father. This made me wonder again about what was really going on in my new friend’s mind, but if she was willing to let me keep my secrets, how could I not afford her the same?
I pulled the hood of my jacket over my head. “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “Ninja skills, remember?”
She still looked concerned, but then a man stuck his head out of the second-story apartment window. He wore glasses and was in need of a good shave. When he called down, my strong sense of smell picked up the stench of alcohol on the air.
“Sam?” he said, squinting down at the two of us. Dark circles ringed his eyes. “Come up. I need you to fix the damn television. It stopped working again.”
Sam’s cheeks flushed pink and she gave me a little wave before turning away. “I gotta go,” she mumbled. “Be careful getting home, okay? The city is dangerous at night.”
I nodded and watched as she retreated into the squat apartment building. Then I turned and pulled the hood tighter over my head, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets.
The neighborhood in which Sam’s apartment was located was only five blocks west of mine, but could not be more different socio-economically. Being unused to living in cities, this amazed me. How could it be that one could cross a few streets and be in an average middle class neighborhood, cross a couple more and be smack dab in the middle of the slums, and then cross yet some more and be standing outside half a million dollar condominiums?
Somehow, it just didn’t seem right. It was as if entire sections of Grant City had b
een left to fester, to spoil. But seeing as how I was only seventeen, and had no other skills that hadn’t been useful to the Peace Brokers, I was on a tight budget.
So I’d taken the studio apartment on Row and 45th because it was dirt cheap, and it was all I could afford. The Brokers, those self-righteous bastards, had not even given me any kind of severance despite my years serving them. If fact, the only reason I was even able to pay for the dump I lived in now was because I’d sold some of my mother’s things.
I’d sold all of my mother’s things, actually, and it had not amounted to much. Tomorrow was Saturday, and I would need to look for a job. It was this thought that distracted me as I reached 44th street and turned into the back alley that cut across to my apartment building. I was so close to home, I foolishly let my guard down, and didn’t hear the threat until it was upon me.
Actually, it was the guy’s smell that hit me first. He stank of sweat and garbage and his attire suggested a life lived on the streets. His pants were baggy gray tatters, his shirt the same kind of dirty. His eyes were bright with something that made me stop in my tracks, my hand reaching for my staff, which I remembered once again that I didn’t have.
The guy’s voice was a rasp that raised the hair on the back of my neck. “Pretty girly,” he said, and somehow managed to make the two words grotesque. “Pretty, pretty girly.”
I held my hands up to him, palms facing out. There was only three feet between us, and my right leg had already slid back into a fighter’s stance.
“Hey there, buddy,” I said, using my Halfling ability to push my will on him. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, you don’t want to do it. Trust me.”
He took a step forward. I took a step back, noticing now that his aura was a dull black, unlike any I’d ever seen before. With this, the words Black Magic came back to me, and I came to the conclusion that this guy was high as a kite on the drug Dr. Cross had been talking about.
I swallowed. What had Cross said about those who were on the drug? Homicidal, cannibalistic behavior… enhanced strength… extreme aggression.
In the time it took me to process this, the guy lunged at me, snapping his rotted teeth like a rabid wolf. I ducked his first swing, his long arm whooshing over my head, and punched him hard enough in the gut that it should have knocked the air out of him.
As it was—no doubt because of the Black Magic racing through his system—he absorbed my blow as though it were nothing and tried to grip me around the neck. Instead, I grabbed his arm and spun, twisting it to an unnatural angle.
This made him cry out, but not in pain, in rage. I released him and kicked him hard in the chest, sending him back several feet.
“Just stop,” I gritted out, but it was futile. He was no more hearing me than he was feeling my strikes. And though I may be a petite girl, I’m stronger than I look. The blows should have at least fazed him. I have my Faevian blood to thank for that.
When the guy only shook his head, still slapping his decaying jaws, the realization that he was just going to keep on coming settled over me. To my relief, my training kicked in (I guess those Peace Brokers had been good for something) and I watched with a cool calmness as the guy righted himself, then charged.
I waited until the last moment, my body relaxed and still. Right before he reached me, I turned my body sideways and stepped smoothly out of his way. He rammed headfirst into the building behind me, his skull colliding with the brick and making a sound that made me cringe, my teeth clenching together.
He collapsed to the ground and didn’t move. I held my breath, unable to move for a moment. Now I could feel my heart beating somewhere in my throat, and my eyes were wide and wary as I stared at the guy’s hump of a body.
Making my way cautiously over to him, I swallowed hard and checked his neck for a pulse, jerking my fingers away when I felt it racing at an abnormally fast pace under his clammy skin.
I looked at the wall where he’d hit his head, and saw that he’d managed to crack the bricks. There was a smear of blood there that looked black in the moonlight.
Glancing around me, I pulled my hood back over my head, noticing that it had fallen off during the scuffle, and hurried toward my studio apartment.
Seemed nighttime in Grant City was no place for the weak of heart.
CHAPTER 10
My studio apartment was on the top floor of a four-story building that took up the corner of Row and 45th. The sidewalk outside it was cracked and uneven, and only one of the three streetlights that served the area was functioning.
Despite this, I felt mildly safer once inside the building, as I had to use a key just to get past the front door. Of course, there was no bellman, not even a counter or front desk, just a narrow, slanted set of stairs that led up to a landing. I had yet to meet any of my neighbors, which was fine by me. I just assumed we all keep to ourselves.
When I made it up to the fourth floor, my adrenaline from the encounter in the back alley was still racing high. I reached the landing outside my apartment and did what Sam would’ve referred to as a badass ninja move, as I’m sometimes wont to do when in private. I even said a small ‘hi-yah!”.
And almost kicked someone in the face.
Luckily for him, the guy sidestepped just in time to avoid being Bruce Lee’d. My cheeks went red as I landed lithely on my feet. “Oh, man!” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know you were there.”
Those last words I spoke more slowly, not really hearing them, because the man I’d almost flying-jump-kicked had a small smile on his face, and he was, for lack of a better word, breathtaking.
“Nice kick,” he said, the smile already gone, and his expression neutral.
“Uh, nice reflexes,” I replied.
In a matter of seconds, I had analyzed the man before me, and couldn’t deny that I liked what I saw, despite the fact that he was too old for me—probably twenty-four or twenty-five. His dark hair was cropped close at the sides, just slightly longer on top but still neat and trim, a style that registered to me as military. His body also fit this description, as he was over six feet tall and built of lean muscle. There was a touch more than a five o’clock shadow over his strong jaw, and hazel eyes the color of caramel stared back at me.
I realized that I was just standing there gaping like an idiot and tried to be cool. “I, um, sorry about that,” I managed, sliding past him down the hall. His eyes had a way of pinning me that made my insides twist in an uncomfortable, but not unpleasant way.
He didn’t reply, only watched me with those hawk eyes until I retreated into my apartment, fumbling with the keys like a buttwipe, my back burning where I was sure he was still looking at me. Once I got the dang thing open, I gave a little smile and a wave that I hoped didn’t look as dorky as it felt, and shut the door behind me.
Once inside, I tossed my backpack and board aside and stripped out of my clothes, tossing them on the old wooden chair that was the only place to sit in the tiny space. The apartment was one room that served as a kitchen/living room/bedroom, and a tiny bathroom separated by a door. My clothes sat on the chair, a pile that I dug through everyday to get dressed. My only other belongings were books and weapons, the former in stacks against the walls and the latter in a locked trunk also pushed against the wall.
I took a long, warm shower, and washed away all the thoughts and happenings of the day. Despite all the craziness that had ensued, the thing I couldn’t get my mind off of was the handsome stranger I’d met just outside my apartment door. I wondered if he was my neighbor, or had just been visiting one of my neighbors. Then I told myself it didn’t matter. Either way, I was not in the position to be adopting a love interest. Dude was too old for me anyway.
After the shower I pulled out my bed, which folded up into the wall to save space, and flopped down on it. Remembering I still had half a sandwich in my backpack, I got up and ate it in three enormous bites. I read for a little bit, brushed my teeth, and climbed into bed.
For the
last month, this was usually the time of day when I would break down. This was the time of day I would allow my depression to overcome me, and I would wallow in the sadness, the emptiness, that had become my life.
But for the first time in what felt like forever, sleep found me quickly, and I didn’t have to be carried there by a river of tears.
CHAPTER 11
Saturday morning came with the blare of sirens, and I jolted out of sleep, reaching for my staff before looking around me and remembering where I was. In Blue Hook, sirens had been rare, the suburban streets peaceful and still on early weekend mornings.
But I wasn’t in Blue Hook. I was in Grant City. And I needed to get my butt up and start looking for a job. I wasn’t above stealing to eat, but I’d prefer to work and pay for it. Also, there was this hole of an apartment to pay for.
And there was the depression again, slipping back over me like a thunderhead in a clear sky. Was this really all my existence would amount to? Would I find a job here in the human world, put myself through college, find a better paying, but no less miserable career, and then work until I died?
Washing my face, I did my best to push the emotions away, but they weighed on my shoulders and in my gut, and I knew from experience that today would be one of my dark days. And, yet, there was stuff to be done.
I remembered something my mother said to me once: That’s part of being a woman, Aria. You hurt. You hurt so bad sometimes that it drowns you, but you still have to swim. You have to, because there are responsibilities to take care of. If you can manage the pain along with the responsibilities, you’re doing all right.
This random memory made my eyes tear up, and I mumbled into the empty space around me. “I don’t know if I can,” I whispered.
Deciding there was too much energy running through me, I got dressed and folded up my bed, making for enough room to breathe in my apartment. I did one hundred pushups, but that wasn’t enough. The Peace Brokers had kept me in top physical condition, and my body was craving the pump of my blood and endorphins.
