by H. D. Gordon
It hurt even to think about Nick Ramhart, and the way in which we’d parted. His shunning, more than that of all the high officials and councils the Brokers could have rummaged up, cut me far deeper than anything else. The disappointment in Nick’s eyes the day the matter had been decided was an image I would never forget, not if I lived to be a million.
Thinking of him now, in this moment of all moments, as everything hung in the balance around me, as Dyson chased me the way a lion chases a wounded gazelle, as the sand in the tank was reaching Sam’s chest, was somehow more soul crushing than it had ever managed to be. A conversation with Nick, one we’d had as children, came flooding back to me nonetheless.
We had just finished up a sparing session, and sat beside each other on a bench in the training facility as we drank water and caught our breath.
“Did I do that?” he’d asked, gesturing to a large black and blue bruise on my thigh.
I’d shaken my head, redoing the bun atop my head. “Devon gave me that one,” I said. “I don’t understand why they keep pairing me with him. He’s like three times my size.”
Nick had looked over at me, his handsome face growing serious. “You’re not a big girl, Aria,” he’d said. “And you never will be. Because of that, most of the time the people and things you’ll be fighting will be larger than you. Stronger, too, with the exception of humans.”
“Great,” I’d said. “Then I guess I’ll just get used to being bruised up.”
Nick had given me a little shove with his shoulder, a smirk pulling up his lips, making my heart flip. “Or, you could just make sure your mind is stronger, and use the moves you’ve learned that don’t require particular strength to be successful.”
“Like jujitsu?” I’d joked.
Nick had winked at me and tossed an arm over my shoulders before wrestling me into a playful headlock. “Exactly like that, ya little genius,” he’d said. “You don’t have to be a beast to cut someone’s air off, or to incapacitate them with an arm bar.”
This memory, and all the feelings that came along with it, flashed through my head in the space between heartbeats, and a certain resolve filled me, a new determination.
Yes, I was afraid of the thing on my heels, and even more so of the danger Sam was in. Yes, I was smaller, younger, weaker, and not in peak condition, but I’d been fighting people and battles bigger than me my entire life, and thus far, I’d done all right.
Besides, I thought, it was just as Nick had said; one did not need to be a beast to cut off someone’s air supply. On top of that, I kinda owed Dyson one.
With my mind zooming a mile a minute, I assessed my situation, and knew what I would need to do.
Running up the wall and using one of those thick, linked chains hanging from the ceiling, I managed to swing myself into the air and over the werewolf’s head. He swiped at me with an awful growl, catching me in the leg with those sharp claws, ripping through my flesh as easily as he’d ripped through that of my back.
I cried out in pain, but didn’t let it throw me from my plan. Wrapping my legs around the beast’s back, I took the chain I’d been hanging from and coiled it around his large, hairy neck. The veins and muscles in my arms bulged as I pulled with all my might.
Dyson the beast whipped his body back and forth, trying to wrench me free, but I held purchase for dear life, my fingers holding the chain going bone-white as the blood was kept from them.
Spittle flew from his terrible mouth as his teeth snapped uselessly at the open air. He fell to all fours, taking me with him and knocking the air out of me as he crashed onto his back in the next instant, pinning me between him and the hard concrete floor.
I almost lost my hold. My muscles were screaming, the air tearing in and out of my lungs. The places where his claws had ripped through my skin were bleeding and burning like fire. A cold sweat had worked its way across my brow. My red-brown hair hung in my face, obscuring my vision. But I held purchase. I held purchase for dear, dear life.
Pain ripped through my hands as Dyson tore at the thick chain around his neck. Had it taken any longer for him to do it, I would have let go of the chain and been at the mercy of his fury. As it was, he convulsed on top me, his struggles growing weaker and weaker, and then he went limp.
Hardly able to breathe myself with his enormous weight atop me, I shoved Dyson’s beastly body off of me, and climbed shakily to my feet.
CHAPTER 59
Staring down at Dyson, his Wolf form unmoving before me, I could do little other than grip my knees and try to catch my breath. The world was swaying under my feet, my exhaustion catching up with me, hitting me like a truck.
Working up all the nerve I had left in my depleted body, I made myself move forward and search for a pulse. I found it after some searching through the thick hair on his corded neck, breathing a sigh of relief when I confirmed that I hadn’t killed him, but rather just rendered him unconscious, as I’d been trained my whole life to do.
It took me a few seconds to come to terms with this turn of events, to believe that I had actually managed to incapacitate a full-grown Halfling Werewolf. Then I remembered that Sam was likely close to being buried in sand, and forced my aching body into action.
Using the chain coiled about his neck, I unwound it from his throat and removed the silver knife from my pocket, placing it on his chest. The effect was immediate, and Dyson’s body began to shift back into its human form, the contortions somehow worse than the reverse transformation, leaving his human body bare before me. I wrinkled my nose, my teeth clenching.
The silver would keep him from shifting again, and weaken him enough that the chains should hold just fine. Just to be sure, however, I wrapped his body so efficiently with the thick chains that by the time I was finished, he looked like a metal, human-sized hotdog.
Then I rushed over to Sam. The sand was still pouring into the tank from above, and it had just reached her chin. The rest of her body was buried completely, the panic and shock in her eyes enough to wrench at my weary heart.
I kicked the glass of the tank with what I thought was enough force to shatter it, but instead, it showed no give.
As I kicked at it again, my frustration and fatigue only increasing, Dyson spoke behind me, making me jump.
I whipped around. He was still wrapped up as tight as a newborn babe, but his dark eyes were open, and locked on me.
“You won’t be able to break it,” he said with a short, humorless laugh. “It’s bulletproof glass.”
“Same as I wouldn’t be able to take you down?” I retorted. “How’d that turn out for you?”
“You’re a stupid, foolish girl, Aria Fae, and you have no idea what you’re doing,” Dyson said.
I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help it. “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Just shut up, would you?”
Looking at the tank, I saw that if I could get on top of it, I would probably be able to stop the flow of sand coming out of a large funnel hanging above, and maybe find a way to pull Sam up and out.
Dyson continued to growl threats and make ominous statements, but I did my best to ignore him while I dragged a chair over and leapt up onto the top of the tank. I’d tossed Dyson’s expensive suit jacket up there with me, and now I used it to shove in the small end of the funnel, effectively cutting off the flow of sand.
With that done, I breathed much easier. It took me a little longer than I would’ve liked, due to both the impenetrability of the tank and my depletion of strength, but twenty minutes later, I was groaning with exertion as I pulled Sam out of her prison, and we both hopped off the tank and collapsed to the floor of the factory.
The hardest part had been freeing her from the duct tape that held her to the chair… and listening to Dyson’s incessant badgering.
Eventually, when I had the zest to do so, I crawled over to where he lie restrained in the chains and pulled my boot off my foot, and then my sock along with it.
“What are you going to do with—?”
&nbs
p; I shoved the sock into his mouth before he could finish, and if looks could kill, the one Dyson gave me just then would have done so. As petty as it may have been, I had to admit that I took a certain amount of pleasure in the act.
Sam hadn’t spoken a word since I’d pulled the tape off of her mouth. She’d only continued to cry silent tears and shake in shock after hugging me so violently that my body screamed, though I only held her back and bit through it.
As we caught our breath, she spoke at last, and her voice was stronger than I would’ve expected, making me swell a little with pride for her. She nodded at Dyson. “What are we going to do with him?” she asked. “We can’t let him go.”
“No,” I agreed. “We can’t… but while we have him here, I think maybe we should ask him a few questions.”
I could see that the idea intimidated Sam, but she gave a nod, and we moved over to where Dyson was restrained on the floor, sitting before him.
His dark eyes were practically ablaze with rage, and when I gingerly removed my sock from his mouth, he immediately expressed his displeasure.
“You stupid little bi—” he began, but was cut off when I gave him a swift bop on the head with my staff.
“Now, now,” I said. “Let’s not start with the name calling. Why don’t you tell us who’s supplying the Black Magic and taking the women? Who else do you work with?”
Dyson spat at the space between us. “You ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” he growled. “Even if you kill me, which I suspect you can’t, someone will take my place.” His voice lowered further and his dark eyes gleamed. “You’re a child in way over your head.”
I tilted my head. “Maybe,” I said, and gave a slow grin. “But I’m not the one chained up like a giant metal hotdog.”
Sam nervously giggled at this, sitting silent beside me.
“Why do you assume I can’t kill you?” I asked.
Dyson’s eyes narrowed. “You’re an excommunicated Peace Broker, are you not?”
I tried to hide the fact that I stiffened. “How do you know that?” I asked, and then answered my own question before he could. “You’re an ex-Broker, too.” It was not a question, but a realization.
Halflings, I knew, were not very common, as anyone who birthed one was forced to give over custody to the Peace Brokers within the child’s first five years of life. This was the reason so few of us existed—only a few thousand total, as far as I knew—because all supernaturals were careful not to breed with humans, knowing the offspring would have to be handed over.
This was why Dyson had confounded me so. I’d never met another Halfling outside of the Brokers, and he likely hadn’t either.
“What’d you do to get shunned?” I asked.
“What does it matter?” he snapped. “I didn’t deserve to be cast out, after a lifetime of servitude.”
I rolled my eyes, dubious. “Isn’t that what all criminals say? That they don’t deserve what they get?”
“Did you deserve to be tossed out, Aria Fae?” he asked.
I considered this, careful to keep my face blank. “What does it matter?” I asked, throwing his words back at him.
“Free me,” he said. “And let’s work together. You’re obviously a clever, capable girl.” And then he said the words he knew would get to me. “I can give you home, a family, a new life. Everything the Brokers took from you, like they took from me… I can give it back. No more struggle, no more being alone… What do you say?”
It would be a lie to say that this didn’t affect me, that the words had no draw, no appeal. Dyson Gracie was not a good man, but who in all the worlds could understand my situation better than him? Who could relate to the particular agony of my existence, could sympathize with my misfortunes, better than he?
A home. A family. A place. It was what I wanted more than anything in all the worlds. To feel wanted, and needed… and yes, loved. Even through my despising of his character, there was a certain allure to his offer, a certain promise that I couldn’t entirely ignore.
And of course, he could sense this. Dyson Gracie was a Halfling, after all. Same as I was.
“There is such power in you, Aria Fae,” he told me, his voice far gentler, far more amiable than I’d ever heard it; the voice of a gentleman, and his dark eyes held mine. “They never wanted us to know how much power we hold, to reach our full potentials. They suppressed us. Forced us to fall in line, to take orders, to think we were only meant to follow and serve, and then threw us away as though we were nothing more than trash… but it’s all a lie. Halflings are so much more than that. You are so much more than that. Free me, and I’ll take you home, Aria. You don’t have to be alone ever again.”
It was likely a combination of my fatigue, the loss of blood, the blow to the head, and my ever-present depression, but these words hurt me more than I think Dyson even realized, sank deeper than I would ever admit.
Then, someone took my hand, warm, small fingers slipping over my own and squeezing tight, and I looked over to see Sam, still sitting beside me, glaring at the tied up Halfling Wolf before us.
“She’s not alone,” Sam said. “She’ll never be alone again.”
And then, surprising the crap out of all three of us, Sam threw out her little fist and punched Dyson as hard as she could, right in the nose. He let out a grunt of pain as something crunched beneath her blow, and cursed us like a sailor.
Sam only smiled. “That was for my mother,” she said.
CHAPTER 60
It became obvious that we were not going to be getting too much information out of Dyson, other than promises that were he to disappear, trouble would follow.
I didn’t doubt the words, but the fact that he had been a key player in the kidnapping of women and the supplying of Black Magic in Grant City meant that things weren’t good with him around, either. And I told him as much.
“Foolish girl,” he said, for what had to be the millionth time. “Someone will fill the void, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
“What happened to me being clever and capable?” I asked, feigning despair.
He cursed me again, earning an eye roll from both Sam and me.
“What does Dr. Cross have to do with all this?” Sam asked.
I held my breath, but of course, we got only a vague threat of an answer.
“You’re messing with big money,” he snarled. “And you can’t imagine how dangerous that is. You may feel like you have, but you’ve accomplished nothing.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “He’s not gonna tell us anything useful, Sam. I think it’s time to get him to where he’s going.”
“And where is that?” Sam asked. “We can’t just call the GCPD and tell them we’ve got a criminal Halfling Werewolf chained to the floor of an old factory.”
“I’ve got an idea,” I said, standing and steadying myself as my head swam. Not only was I done with the useless back and forth between Dyson and me, but I needed to get to a bed as soon as possible. I was dead on my feet, and my body hurt in more places than I could count.
Moving a little bit away from Sam and our captive, I closed my eyes and whispered the incantation the Sorceress Queen had promised would summon her if I ever needed her help. Now seemed like a good time to call in that favor.
For a few seconds, nothing happened, and I just stood there under the bright fluorescents, feeling like an idiot.
Then, the air shimmered, and within a heartbeat, the Sorceress Queen appeared before me, in all her royal splendor. Surah Stormsong looked the same as I’d last seen her, almost too beautiful for words.
Both Sam and Dyson were helpless against the gasps that escaped them upon the Queen’s sudden appearance, and I got the feeling Surah Stormsong ignited that reaction wherever she went. Her hair was a brilliant lavender, shaved shorter on one side of her head and the rest longer than I remembered. Her eyes were a brilliant violet, made all the more striking with the black, rich cloak she wore over her shoulders. A lar
ge, clear stone hung around her neck, and in her hands, two silver sais were gripped.
When she looked around the old factory and saw no immediate danger, the weapons disappeared into the folds of her cloak, and she offered me a curious smile.
“Aria,” she said. “It’s good to see you.”
I bowed low to her, and she returned the gesture in her queenly matter. Then, surprising her as much as myself, I rushed forward and wrapped my arms around her, taking her off guard.
After a moment, I felt her arms go around me as well, and her sweet voice was gentle when she spoke. “What did I do to earn this?” she asked.
I breathed in the clean smell of her, closing my eyes when she continued to hold me and stroke my hair. “It’s just nice to see a familiar face, your majesty,” I said. And then, gaining control over myself, I stepped back out of her arms. “Sorry about that,” I said.
Surah placed both of her gloved hands on my shoulders. “Aria Fae, you never have to apologize to me. Now, tell me, why did you call?” She leaned a bit to the side, eyeing my two companions, a smirk lifting her lips as she took in Dyson, chained up on the floor. “Found yourself in a bit of trouble?”
I sighed, trying to keep tears back for whatever reason. It was embarrassing how much Surah showing up at my summons meant to me. “Do you think you have room in your dungeons for a Halfling Werewolf?” I asked.
This surprised her, but studying my face, Surah gave a slow nod and a quick smile, the kindness in her eyes ever present. “I’ve always got room in my dungeons,” she said, and asked if she could inquire as to the nature of his offenses.
I gave her a quick rundown of all the events that had taken place since I’d arrived in Grant City.
When I finished, she looked a bit confused. “I’m happy to take him for you,” she said. “I could hardly imagine denying you anything, after what you’ve done for me and my kingdom, but I have to ask, don’t the Peace Brokers have holding facilities that could manage him?”
