by H. D. Gordon
Dyson tried to break in here with more threats and insults, but Surah only quirked a brow at him before snapping her fingers. With the snap, Dyson’s mouth clicked shut and he was instantly silenced. He may have been a big bad wolf, but one did not speak casually to the Sorceress Queen.
Reluctantly, I admitted that I was no longer involved with the Brokers, that I’d acted on my own.
Now it was Surah’s turn to gasp. “Is this…? Did they banish you because of what you did for me?” she asked, though I could see in her face that she already knew the answer to this.
I shrugged, not wanting her to feel guilty. “You know me,” I said. “Always getting in trouble. It was only a matter of time, really.”
“Oh, Aria, I’m so sorry.” She looked over my shoulder again at Dyson. “I’m happy to take the Halfling Wolf. It’s the least I can do.”
“Thank you.”
Surah nodded and casted a spell of some sort, making the air shimmer around us. I raised an eyebrow in question.
Tipping her head toward Sam and Dyson, she said, “Now those two can’t hear us… Are you okay? Don’t bother to lie to me. You know I’ll be able to tell.”
I looked over at the others, trying to keep my shoulders from sagging. “I think I will be,” I said.
The Sorceress Queen was silent a tick. Then, she said, “Aria, if you need a place to call your own, my kingdom, my Territory, will always be open to you. You say the word, and you can come back with me. I’ll give you a home, a support system, a family. It would be my honor, seeing as how you lost all of that thanks to me.”
This was the second time on this endless night I’d been made such an offer, and for obvious reasons, this one was much more appealing. I knew that I didn’t belong with the likes of Dyson—obviously. But I also didn’t belong in the Sorcerer world, as easy as it would’ve been to pack up and go there.
I considered my answer, but truly, it was as though the path had been chosen for me. Casting a sideways glance at Sam, I bowed my head and said, “Thank you, your majesty. Really. You can’t know how much that offer means to me, but if you want to do something for me, just don’t feel guilty at all for my situation.” I gave her a little smile. “I make my own decisions. I always have.”
Surah stared at me with those violet eyes, and in her aura, I could tell that she’d had a feeling I would say this, and respected me all the more for wanting to make my own way.
“Very well,” she said. “Then allow me to leave you with a parting gift.” She waved her hand gracefully in the air, murmured a spell, and a small bottle appeared between her fingers. She handed it to me, and I took it.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s a salve with Magical properties,” she said. “It’ll make sure those wounds you’re trying to pretend aren’t there heal without scarring, speed up the process, and aid in the pain.”
I thanked her, and then, peeking up beneath my dark lashes, I said, “Can I ask for one more thing then, your majesty?”
“Anything.”
Knowing that I could not be overheard, I let my voice come out as small and broken as I felt. “Can I have one more hug, please…? And a ride home?”
CHAPTER 61
As one might guess, there was a barrage of questions awaiting us from various sources upon our return home, and without second thought, I left Sam to deal with it, because more than anything in the world, I needed a good night’s sleep.
The lacerations I’d sustained on my leg and back were deep, jagged, and ugly. When I got home, having been teleported directly into my apartment via a wormhole courtesy of the Sorceress Queen, the first thing I did was stumble into my bathroom and shed my clothing, staring into the time-stained mirror above my sink and hardly recognizing myself for how awful I looked.
I showered, unable to stand up in the stall and instead sinking down to the floor and watching as red-tinged water circled the drain. The spray scorched my wounds, making me grit my teeth until my jaw ached. Shivering despite the warmth of the water, I found myself overcome with all the emotions I’d been so ardently trying to avoid since my move to Grant City.
I sat there on the hard tiles of the shower stall floor, rested my head on my knees, and cried until I could cry no more.
Eventually, I crawled out and dried myself off, not even bothering to get dressed, but instead collapsing into my bed wrapped in my towel. I had time only to smear the salve Surah had given me over my wounds, and then I passed out and was dead to the world until I awoke to a text from Sam the next morning.
When I came to, it took a while to orient myself, to remember that the events of the night before were not a nightmare, but had actually taken place. When I turned my head and saw the still open bottle of magic salve the Sorceress Queen had given me, I knew it all to be true.
I felt infinitely better than I had last night, but that was not saying much. My muscles ached in places I hadn’t known were capable of such pain, and my head pounded and throbbed. The side of my face that had met with the back of Dyson’s hand was hot and swollen, and the deep cuts he’d left on my back and leg burned like the fires of hell despite having healed considerably.
Needless to say, I doubted I’d be going to school this Monday. I’d need at least another day to recover. I grabbed my cellphone off the small table beside my bed and flopped back down, groaning. I’d come to Grant City intent on finishing my high school education, and so far, I was doing a piss-poor job of it.
I checked my phone and saw I had a message from Sam, which said: Call me when you wake up.
After dragging myself out of bed, I brushed my teeth, put my hair up in a bun, and called Sam. From her, I learned that surprisingly, the easiest people to explain things to were the police.
Her father notified the GCPD that his daughter was no longer missing, and not much more was asked on their part after that.
Mr. Shy, however, was not as easy to appease, and I could tell by the muted way Sam was speaking into the phone that she was not even supposed to be talking to me.
I had no idea what lies she’d told him, but I knew that she’d stayed up half the night going through the hurdles of vowing to never get into such a situation again. I could tell just by her voice that she’d scarcely gotten any sleep, and that her father had more than likely said some unkind things about me. Perhaps they’d even said some unkind things to each other.
Matt had been less of a bother, as he had watched the whole fight between Dyson and I on the camera attached to my jacket, and had explained to Sam how he had been two seconds from calling in help before I, in his words, “Pulled that badass move with the chain and choked Dyson’s punk ass out.”
This brought a small smile to my face, as I could practically hear Matt say this.
After Sam was done regaling me with the tales of how everything had gone down, she said, “But… seriously, Aria… Are you okay?”
I wished people would stop asking me that, but tried to consider that I was lucky to have people in my life who cared to ask at all.
I gave what seemed to be my default answer. “I think I will be,” I told her, and signed off after confirming that neither of us would return to school until tomorrow, which would be Tuesday.
After that, I ate, escaped into a book, and nursed my wounds. I thought about calling Rose and telling her that I would be unable to work that afternoon, but thought better of it. I prided myself on being able to work through physical pain, as my training with the Brokers had offered plenty of it throughout my life. And, I needed the money… or so I’d thought.
Right before I was about to head out to the flower shop, I got a message from Surah, and it arrived in true Sorceress Queen fashion.
There was a small knock at my window, and curiously, I went over to it, shocked to see a glowing form in the shape of a letter just floating in the air. Seeing that it was stamped closed with the Stormsong house crest, I opened the window, and the magic message floated inside.
With fin
gers that were shaking, I picked up the note and read the letter inside.
Dearest Aria,
Rest assured that the Halfling Wolf is securely locked away in the dungeons of my castle, and will not be able to do any harm again. Since Mr. Gracie has made my acquaintance, he has learned much better control over his tongue and its utterances, lest I remove it from his possession. I imagine you would have quite enjoyed the look on his face when I suggested this.
In other news, I have taken the liberty of paying the rent on your apartment for the next year. Think nothing of it. It in no way makes me free of your debt, but hopefully will serve to make what I have come to expect is a complicated life of yours a bit easier.
Know that the offer of my assistance always stands for you, and that you have more friends in this world than you might think you do, and that it is okay to call on them.
As for your expulsion from the Peace Brokers… I condemn their decision, and they will find no ally in me should they ever seek it because of their treatment of you. You deserve so much better, Aria. So very much better.
The human world is luckier than it knows to have you, and Grant City is undeniably safer in your hands. It, too, is lucky to have you.
Try hard not to let the darkness drown you, my dear young friend. I know all too well what can happen if you do.
Yours truly,
Queen Surah Stormsong
I read the note three more times before I could put it away, feeling so many things, but having exhausted all my tears the night before as I’d sat on the shower stall floor. Folding up the letter, I tucked it away in my trunk, along with the other items I valued most in the world.
And life kept going. Because that’s what it does.
CHAPTER 62
The days passed, as days always do, and soon I was healed of my physical injuries. The places where Dyson’s claws had ripped open my skin were now nothing but faint silver lines, Surah’s salve having worked even better than expected.
I returned to school, along with Sam and Matt, and eventually won over most of my teachers with my work effort and respectful manner. Not having to worry so much about how I would pay my rent for the next year, things got decidedly easier. In my new home, I settled into a comfortable routine. Even Andrea Ramos, aside from daggered glances in the hallway, pretty much left us alone.
All in all, things were going pretty well.
Sam, Matt, and I grew closer with every minute we spent together, which was as often as we could manage. The little team we’d formed became my family in a matter of time that made my head spin.
On top of this, the flow of Black Magic into Grant City was staunched considerably, and the number of drug-related incidents dropped with a suddenness that was reported upon in the local news. One channel even had a discourse about me, about ‘the nameless girl in the mask’, and whether or not she was a contributor to the recent fallen crime rates in Grant City. When we heard this, Matt had said, “You’re damn right she contributed! She’s the reason women have stopped disappearing, too. You nerds should be praising her!”
I had wisely responded to this with, “The credit matters not, Matt, but only the goodness of the deeds themselves.” But, of course, I secretly felt quite pleased with all the approbation. I was, after all, half human.
To add to this, Caleb Cross had become a frequent in my life as well, and it would be a lie to say that the attention of someone like him didn’t flatter and excite me. Most importantly, he was kind to me, and I could see in his aura that it was because he was a kind person, and that he liked me very much.
His brother’s waking had done wonders for his overall mood, and he was grand in his gestures and love for me. I knew he secretly thought I attributed to Chris’s recovery, and he showed his affection in every way imaginable.
Against my better wishes, I found myself becoming partial to him as well. With things so much more peaceful in Grant City, and considering the fact that the two of us had barely escaped with our lives, Sam and I didn’t speak too much about Dr. Cross’s possible connection to Dyson Gracie’s activities. With my blooming relationship with Caleb, it was kind of like we both just decided that Dr. Cross probably hadn’t been involved with any of it. But I won’t lie and say this information didn’t linger in my mind.
I was eager to move on, though, to put the craziness behind me for a bit.
But as grateful as I was for all of this, more than anything, it scared me. It scared me to be so happy, to have my life so full of people who could be lost. It was a daily battle, as ever, to fight the impulse to turn away from it all, to let my sadness and fear break the bonds before they could form any stronger.
Without the nightly adrenaline rush to keep my depression at bay, I settled back into my default gloomy state of mind. It was better, I told myself, than ending up at the wrong end of a Werewolf’s claws.
As for my mysterious neighbor, Mr. Thomas Reid, I didn’t see him at all until two whole weeks after the incident where I had kicked him through the door of my apartment. Not that I was counting the days or anything.
Several times in those two weeks I would catch a glimpse of him slipping in or out of his apartment, and tell myself to call out, only to hold my tongue and lose my nerve. There were things I wanted to say to him, but I had no idea what those things were.
The night I finally did talk to him, I was sitting on the sill of my open window, breathing in the night air, my arms wrapped about my legs. It was one of my ‘down’ nights, when my mood felt so low that I could do nothing more than sit and ruminate in it.
As I sat there, I heard a faint humming, too low for human ears to catch, coming from the rooftop. I knew, of course, who it was coming from, and in hearing it, my heartbeat picked up in pace.
With a deep breath and an amount of courage that felt borrowed, I climbed out onto my fire escape and swung myself up onto the roof. I perched on the ledge for a moment before hopping off and standing up straight.
Thomas Reid stared back at me, hazel eyes as penetrating as they’d ever been. He didn’t look as surprised at my appearance as I would’ve thought, but then again, he’d seen some pretty strange things from me.
We both regarded each other in a silence that felt thick enough to slice, and finally, I cleared my throat and said, “Hi, Thomas.”
“Hi, Aria,” he said.
I chose not to think about the affect the sound of his voice had on me, about how it seemed to float over my skin and raise goosebumps there. Or about how very much I wanted to squirm under his gaze.
“I heard you humming,” I said, because I couldn’t seem to find any other words.
Thomas lifted one dark eyebrow. “Of course you did.”
I swallowed. “I’m sorry,” I blurted, and these two words seemed to open a floodgate. “You know, for kicking you through the door and saying those things to you. I know you were just trying to help me. I was out of line, and I’m sorry.”
He was silent for so long that I felt certain he wasn’t going to respond. I decided it didn’t matter, and turned to go, feeling as though I’d lifted a weight off my shoulders that I hadn’t known was there.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said, halting me in my tracks.
I turned back to face him, unable to keep the surprise from my face. “For what?”
“You were right,” he said. “I shouldn’t have called you a child. I shouldn’t have told you that you were too weak. You’re obviously more than you seem, and I don’t know you well enough to make those kinds of assertions. So, I’m sorry.”
These words sank in slowly, and I found myself moving warily over to him and taking a seat on the crate beside his. My crate, it seemed it was.
The lights of Grant City sparkled before us, the sounds and smells fainter up here on the rooftop, the waning moon and stars hanging above our heads with quiet indifference. We sat in comfortable silence for a time, and without a word, Thomas reached into a bag beside his crate and handed me a sandwich and a bottle of
water.
I couldn’t help a smile, still sinking in my depression, but noticing a lift in spirits as well. “I don’t suppose you have any cookies in there?” I said, after devouring the sandwich in record time.
That spark of amusement touched his aura, and I realized with a small jolt that I was beginning to crave this reaction from him, that I sought his approval the way a trained dog might seek that of its master. This analogy jolted me further still. A strange sort of magic, Thomas Reid had, and I was used to producing this magic, not receiving it.
Without a word, he handed me a chocolate chip cookie. My favorite kind of cookie, and with it, I knew that I was forgiven for my treatment of him.
More sitting in silence followed, and I was cool with that.
Then he said, “She’s my sister.”
My shoulders tensed a touch, but I told myself to be cool. “Hmm?” I said.
That amusement reappeared. “The ‘blonde bimbo’ you saw leaving my apartment the other day. She’s my sister.”
I swallowed, feeling a thick lump form in my throat. “Oh,” I said, feeling my cheeks growing hot. “Well… I, uh… I’m sorry for calling her that. I was upset. I didn’t know what I was saying. Not that it matters that she’s not your girl—that she’s your sister. It totally doesn’t matter. Like, not at all.” I snapped my mouth shut, realizing I was rambling, and resisted the urge to face-palm myself.
The faintest of smiles tugged at his lips. “Not at all,” he agreed.
More silence, much less comfortable now. I searched for words and spoke the first that I found. “That song you were singing, what was it?” I asked.
Thomas continued to stare out at the city. “Just a song from my childhood. One I used to hear as a boy.”
I let out a sigh. “Why do you sing it? It sounded so… sad.”
He looked over at me now, hazel stare making my heart stop. “It is,” he said, voice low, gentle. “But all the best songs are.”
