by H. D. Gordon
Thomas Reid would never know the affect his words had on me, how many times they replayed in my head, how I would cling to them in the nights ahead, when my sadness would seem all-encompassing. Those five simple words brought home all the things I was dealing with, shed light on what the true source of my pain was.
I was not just nursing wounds of the physical sort. It was a broken heart I was healing from.
But, healing, I was. And when Thomas Reid looked at me that night under the moon and stars and asked the three-worded question I was growing accustomed to hearing, I felt my answer was as true as it could be... Maybe truer than it had ever been before.
“Are you okay, Aria?” he asked.
I gave him my best smile, and saw in his aura that the brilliance of it was not lost on him. This made me happier than I cared to admit.
“I think I will be,” I answered.
Because in the end, I was a warrior, and no matter the ferocity of the beast at my back, I would turn and fight it, and at the very least, it would remember my name.
AFTERWORD
He was not the type of man who shook easily. In fact, he was the type of man who others shook before. So the fear that filled him now was all the more potent for its rarity, all the more terrible for being a bitter taste of his own medicine.
The disappearance of Dyson Gracie had complicated things, and now he’d been called forth to answer questions he hadn’t the slightest clue how to answer. Truth was, Dyson was just gone. Dr. Cross had spent the past two weeks turning over every rock in Grant City, and the man was simply nowhere to be found.
It was almost as though he’d vanished into thin air. The fool had gone and put on that public display, calling out the masked girl who’d been throwing a wrench into their operations... And he’d never returned from that altercation. Dyson had likely gone and gotten himself captured and killed. Which, really, was his own damn fault.
Now, Dr. Christian Cross sat in a foyer fit for a king, the grandeur of the place alone meant to make its visitors feel small. And if it could accomplish this with someone as wealthy and affluent as himself, he could only imagine how this place affected others.
A pretty young lady no more than twenty-five, wearing a tight skirt and bright red lipstick entered the room, her heels clicking across the marble floor. “He’ll see you now, Mr. Cross,” she said.
Christian stood stiffly, narrowing his eyes at the assistant whose obvious asset was her ass itself. “It’s Doctor,” he corrected with a snap. “My name is Dr. Cross.”
The red-lipped young lady gave no reaction but a slight raise in her perfectly arched eyebrows. She waved a hand. “He’ll see you now, Dr. Cross,” she said, and gave him a look that made him feel the urge to slap it right off her face.
He stepped around her, entering into another rich room. She stopped here and nodded toward a large black door. “He’s right through there,” she said, and turned to go.
For a moment, Dr. Cross could do nothing but stand there, his pulse throbbing in his neck.
From behind him, the young lady, rather smugly, said, “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” And then she was gone.
Christian stared at the large black door and reached up to push it open with a slightly trembling hand, but before he could, it swung open on its own. Shadows waited beyond it.
“Come in, Christian,” said a voice that chilled him, though he couldn’t be sure if the words had been spoken aloud or were just in his head.
Trembling, terrified, Christian stepped into the darkness, and the big black door swung shut soundlessly behind him.
His voice came out small and pathetic when he tried to speak, and he cleared his throat and tried again. “You… you wanted to see me, my Lord?” he managed.
“Tell me what’s going on,” came the reply, making his teeth and fists clench. “You have not been meeting your quota. Your liaison hasn’t submitted a report for two weeks. Tell me what you know, Christian.”
“I… I’m not sure what happened to Gracie, my Lord. There have been some… some complications.”
The next thing Dr. Christian Cross knew, he was gripping his head and screaming bloody murder. The pain was so fantastic, so consuming, that he doubled over, his throat working and his nails digging into the flesh at his temples.
“I’m sorry, my Lord!” he heard himself scream. “It’ll be fixed! On my word, I’ll fix it!”
And like that, the pain was gone, the agony leaving behind only the sweat on his back and brow, the sting in the places where his nails had broken skin.
“See that you do ‘fix it’, Dr. Cross,” said the voice in the darkness. “I don’t need to remind you what will happen should you fail to hold up your end of the deal, do I?”
“No, my Lord. Of course not.”
“Then whatever the reason you’ve lost control of Grant City, I suggest you put an end to it. Or I will. Do we understand each other, Christian?”
Dr. Cross agreed that he understood very well, and got out of there as quickly as he could once the large black door at his back swung open, offering him blessed escape.
THE END…FOR NOW.
Read on for a sneak peek at book 2 in The Aria Fae Series, THE MASKED MAIDEN, available now in the Kindle Store.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It takes a village to produce a book, and I owe thanks to every person in mine.
To my family, who have supported me on this crazy journey and told me I could when I was sure that I couldn’t. I love you all.
To my dearest author friends, of which you are too many to name. You make this whole thing more fun, and I’ve come to see you as a second family. I love you more than you know.
To the readers, to whom I owe a great deal of my happiness. You have no idea how your support has changed my life. I love you guys, too.
And, finally, to Soraya and Akira. You drive me mad, but it’s all for you
A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR
Dearest Reader,
I’m not sure how you stumbled upon this book, but thank you for being here. Out of the twelve novels I’ve written, I can honestly say that THE HALFLING was something special for me, and I wanted to share my plans with you regarding the subsequent novels in The Aria Fae Series.
In 2016, I will be focusing solely on Aria and her story, and plan to have a new book out every couple of months, with a total of six books becoming available by early 2017. As a reader myself, I know that if I like a series, I want the next book ASAP, so I’ve been working my butt off to provide that experience. My hopes are you’ll come along for the ride.
Book two, three, and four of Aria’s story, (The Masked Maiden, The Blue Beast, and The Haunted Hero) are available now in the Kindle Store, but as my thank you to you, for a limited time, you can read book 2 The Masked Maiden, absolutely FREE by clicking HERE.
If you enjoyed THE HALFLING, please take a minute to leave a short review. As an indie author, it really means the world.
I hope it’s all rainbows and butterflies wherever you are!
Xoxo,
H. D. Gordon
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
H. D. Gordon is the author of young adult and adult urban fantasy and paranormal 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
OTHER BOOKS BY H. D. GORDON
THE ALEXA MONTGOMERY SAGA:
BLOOD WARRIOR, BOOK 1
HALF BLACK SOUL, BOOK 2
THE RISE, BOOK 3
REDEMPTION, BOOK 4
THE SURAH STORMSONG NOVELS:
SHOOTING STARS, BOOK 1
FALLING STARS, BOOK 2
CROSSING STARS, BOOK 3
THE COMPANY STORE
ADULT NOVELS:
SANTA’S LITTLE HELPER
THE JOE KNOWE SERIES:
JOE, BOOK 1
JOE 2, WHITE SHEETS
POETRY:
A MUSTARD SEED
Read on for a sneak peek at The Masked Maiden
(The Aria Fae Series, Book 2)
THE MASKED MAIDEN
The Aria Fae Series
Book 2
H. D. GORDON
Copyright © 2016 H. D. GORDON BOOKS
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 resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the 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 publisher of this book.
For the readers, because I’m not sure where I’d be without you.
CHAPTER 1
The knock on the door came so early that the sun had not yet risen over Grant City. It was the time right between moon fall and sunrise, the shadows holding fast to the edges and corners of the streets and buildings.
I dragged myself out of bed, snatching my staff off my dresser and crossing the measly ten feet from my sleeping place to my studio apartment’s front door. With blurry eyes, I stood on my tiptoes and peered through the peephole.
And my heart stopped dead in my chest. Suddenly, I was wide-awake.
For a moment, I could only stand there, staring at the door, stunned over what lie beyond it. For thirty whole seconds, I scarcely breathed.
The knock came again. With a lump the size of Texas in my throat, I threw the locks and opened the door to the caller.
If it was difficult with the door between us, it was impossible to breathe with only a foot of open air separating us. I could only look at him, my reddish-brown hair a definite mess atop my head and my eyes no doubt puffy with sleep. Feeling vulnerable in a way I hated, I crossed my arms over my chest and raised my eyebrows in question.
But there was nothing I could do to stop the flare that lit my cheeks when his eyes ran the length of me, and I felt very exposed when I realized I was only wearing a long t-shirt and thick, fluffy socks.
“Aria,” he said. “Are you gonna invite me in?”
There was a part of me that railed against this idea, a part of me that said to turn him away, this ghost of my past, but that part was clearly overruled with my next word.
I stepped to the side of the doorway, my breath still a touch stalled in my chest. “Fine,” I said, and let him inside.
CHAPTER 2
His face betrayed nothing, but I was an aura-reader—most often referred to as an Empath—and I could see the judgment and disappointment that flared in his air when he ran his eyes over my living quarters.
Feeling both angry and hurt, but only willing to own one of those, I folded my storable bed into the wall to make more space, forcing the thing up with a little more vigor than was necessary.
I grabbed some sweatpants off a chair, and teeth gritted, I pulled them on and turned to face him. “Why are you here?”
He gave no show of it, but this cold address hurt him, and against my better nature, I was glad to have done so. It didn’t even touch the amount of hurt he’d given me.
“How have you been?” Nick asked, his strong jaw clenching the way it always did when he was uncomfortable. It was his only tell. I should know.
I gave a short laugh. “Alive,” I answered. “As you can see.”
Nick nodded and grew silent. He was having a hard time looking at me, as I used to have with him. Right now, I was too angry to be bashful.
“I’m here on assignment, of course,” he said at last, his dark eyes meeting mine.
Another short laugh from me. I chastised myself. I was showing too much of my hand, my emotions gaining the better of me. I wanted desperately to appear indifferent.
“Of course,” I said, my voice even.
“I’m here on behalf of the Brokers,” he added.
“And why else would you be?”
Nick swallowed, but his handsome face gave no indication of perturb. “The Peace Broker superiors want me to request your assistance on an assignment.” He looked around the small apartment. “You’ve become quite familiar with Grant City in the past few months, haven’t you?”
Now my anger hit a new high, but I bit down on it like a dog on a bone. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”
Nick gave me a look like I should already know the answer to this, and I begrudgingly supposed he was right.
“Do you remember the Scarecrow?” he asked.
A chill ran down my spine, but I did my best to keep its effects from my face. “Of course I remember him,” I said, and my voice came out a bit too soft for my liking.
Nick’s face was grim now. I had always thought him most handsome when he looked this way, and wished that I didn’t still. His Scottish accent was always more pronounced when he was worried. It was one of his few tells.
“He’s escaped The Pen, Aria. We were only just made aware of it. We figured he might be coming this way.” A pause. “Your way.”
I wandered over to the small window, staring out at the brick view that had become familiar in the past four months. Turning back to face Nick, I said, “Then it falls on the Brokers to catch him—to fix it. This has nothing to do with me.” I couldn’t help my next words, whether they revealed my hand or not. “Why the hell would I help you, anyway?” I asked. “Why the hell would I help them?”
Nick Ramhart smiled, and I remembered that it was not when he was grave that I found him most handsome, but the rare moments when he was not.
“Because if you help us catch the Scarecrow,” he said, “the superiors have agreed to consider a reinstatement for you. They’ve agreed to consider revoking your banishment.”
“What?” I mumbled. It was all I could manage.
Nick came forward and took my hands into his. The feel of them was so familiar that it made my heart ache. “Aria,” he said. “If you do this, you could have a chance at being a Peace Broker again, a chance at coming home.”
CHAPTER 3
Nick left shortly thereafter, giving me time to ‘think things over’, along with a magical medallion that would shield me from the power of the Scarecrow’s magic. I slid the necklace holding the medallion over my head, but could hardly find sleep after this, and didn’t even bother trying. In twenty more minutes or so, the world would wake up anyway, and I would need to get ready for school.
I paced my small apartment for a moment before impulsively going over to the window and throwing it open. The cool early morning air rushed in to greet me, along with the smells of the city that I had somehow grown used to over the past few months. Grabbing my jacket and shoes, I pulled them on and returned to the window.
My apartment was on the top floor of a four-story building, and I climbed out onto my fire escape and up onto the metal railing. Balancing on the railing, I leapt up and gripped the ledge of the rooftop, pulling myself up and over.
I landed lithely on the roof, making my neighbor, Thomas Reid, shake his head in amazement. “I’ll never get used to you doing that,” he said. “But good morning.”
I took a seat on a wooden crate beside Thomas, eyeing a brown paper bag he had between his shoes. “I’m not su
re if it’s a good morning,” I said, “but here we are.”
Thomas sighed, staring out at the city beyond. His voice was deep and soft when he spoke, the way I’d come to know it to be. “Every morning we wake is a good morning,” he said. He reached down beside the crate he was sitting on and handed me a pink thermos.
“What’s this?” I asked, the smell of coffee making me close my eyes and inhale deeply.
Thomas smirked, his hazel gaze flicking over to me. “It’s your very own coffee cup.”
I threw a dramatic hand over my heart after taking a long sip of the blessed dark liquid. He even knew I liked it black. “Thomas,” I said, my voice rising slightly in pitch. “You didn’t have to do that!”
He didn’t laugh. He was not the laughing type, but a bit of golden-yellow touched his aura, which revealed to me his amusement. “If I didn’t,” he said, “you’d just keep drinking all mine.”
My jaw hung open. “You said you didn’t mind sharing.”
“And I don’t. I just thought you’d want your own cup.” He reached for the thermos. “I’ll take it back if you don’t want it.”
My hands jerked out of his reach. “If you value your digits, you most certainly will not.”
Thomas dropped his hand and almost smiled.
I clutched at the pink cup, more taken with this small gift than most people would be. I was not accustomed to receiving gifts. There were no holiday or birthday celebrations within the Peace Brokers. Such things were considered frivolous and wasteful.
“Thank you,” I said, my mood plummeting again as I thought of what Nick had told me this morning.
Thomas seemed to sense the change and pulled a breakfast sandwich out of the bag between his shoes, handing it over to me. This was not unusual of him. Though I hadn’t known him long, Thomas Reid had become a frequent in my life in the past four months. He was my neighbor, but also my friend, and the rooftop of our building was the place he came when he wanted to get away from the world. It had become mine as well, and since he never asked me to leave, I kept coming. The food he always had was a good motivator, too.
