The Masked Maiden: an adult urban fantasy (The Aria Fae Series Book 2)

by H. D. Gordon

  The obvious answer, of course, was yes.

  With these thoughts, Nick’s words came back to me: You don’t belong in this world. These people are not our kind, and sooner or later, they’re going to turn against you.

  I wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that the people seemed to be turning on me, or the fact that Nick Ramhart was right.

  My silence on the ride home must’ve spoken for me, because as we pulled up outside my apartment building, my mood felt lower even than when Caleb had picked me up.

  “I’m sorry,” Caleb said, as he put the car in park and looked over at me. “My family is really opinionated, in all manners, but I promise, they mean well.”

  My hand seemed to reach up on its own and settled on Caleb’s smooth cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” I said. “You’re amazing, Caleb. One of the most amazing people I’ve ever met.”

  Only as the words left my lips did I realize they were true.

  This made his dimples appear, his smile sure to break a heart or two before all was said and done.

  We got out of his car and stood on the sidewalk for a moment, the world around us dark and quiet, the fluffy snowflakes catching in our hair, landing on our cheeks.

  Nothing was said for a space of time, and then he kissed me. His hands came up and got lost in my wild hair, and I melted into his touch the way one settles down with a warm blanket wrapped about them. It was easy, loving Caleb Cross. In my life at that moment, there wasn’t much else so pure and simple.

  When we separated, he brushed a wavy piece of my hair behind my ear, his cheeks slightly flushed, and my own surely matching. “Merry Christmas, Aria Fae,” he said.

  A smile tugged up one corner of my mouth, an ache pulling at the muscle in my chest. “Merry Christmas, Caleb,” I said.

  “Are you going to let me help you carry those bags of books up?” he asked.

  I shook my head, opening the car door and lifting the totes with all my books as if they were nothing, despite their weight being nearly fifty pounds. The last thing I wanted was to put Nick Ramhart and Caleb Cross in a room together. I wasn’t sure my mood could stand it.

  Caleb only smiled at this. Despite the fact that we hadn’t talked about it, I knew in my gut that Caleb suspected me of being the Masked Maiden. He was too smart, had seen me do too many strange things, not to know, but he had yet to broach the subject and question me on it. He’d promised me he’d allow me my secrets as a condition of me dating him, and thus far, he’d upheld his word.

  And I loved him for it.

  It’s funny, that word. Love. Humans act as though it’s something that must be earned, something that must take a long time to be fully true. They hoard their love; hold it as though it’s something that is meant for solitaire, as if it’s something that runs out, an exhaustible resource, a privilege, rather than a right.

  As an Empath, I know that there is nothing in greater abundance upon the earthly plane, nothing as accessible, as necessary, and as easy to pass along, as love. I have often thought that if humans could read auras the way my kind do, love would have an entirely different meaning, the world would be an entirely different place.

  So, yes, I loved Caleb Cross. I loved other souls in general, but it was beyond that with him. He’d become my friend, my ally, a comfort, and a source of happiness. When we bare our true selves to each other, the way he had so freely done with me, there was often nothing left to do, but love.

  The sight of true spirit can have no other reaction.

  As he always did, Caleb waited for me to make my way into my apartment building before pulling away from the curb and driving out of sight.

  When I got to the fourth floor, I glanced over at Thomas’s door, as had become my ritual upon returning home. With a sigh, I put my key in the lock of my own and headed into my apartment.

  I needn’t have worried about a Nick/Caleb encounter, because Nick wasn’t even there. He’d left a note on the kitchenette counter informing me that he’d left to get some food before he wasted away, and would return shortly.

  Setting my books down and checking the clock on my phone, I saw that it was only seven p.m., the dinner at Caleb’s having started at four o’clock. Pulling my fold-up bed out of the wall, I was about to plop down on it when my sensitive ears alerted me to the opening of Thomas Reid’s door. My head tilted the way it always did as I assessed the footsteps that followed, discerning that they indeed belonged to Thomas.

  Honestly, it would probably freak my mysterious neighbor out a little bit if he knew how I was totally a creeper over him. I knew the sound of his door, his walk, his motorcycle, and the routine in which they occurred throughout the various days.

  Thinking of this made me remember the gift he’d given me earlier, and my eyes flashed to the still-wrapped box on my kitchen counter. A moment later, the sound of his motorcycle growled to life, and an impulse struck me that was both insane and undeniable.

  Without allowing myself to think too hard, I threw on my black jacket and went over to my window. A handful of heartbeats later, I was leaping amongst the rooftops of Grant City, following Thomas Reid to wherever it was that he was heading.

  CHAPTER 26

  Seriously, though. I’m a total creeper, right?

  But, let me explain, because my reasons for following Thomas Reid that evening were multiple.

  First of all, I didn’t want to be home when Nick returned to my apartment. I just wasn’t in the mood to be told how much I didn’t belong in this world, and how I needed to return to the Brokers. The wounds from conversations at the various dinner parties I’d recently attended were too fresh, not to mention the affects of the broken spirit I’d sucked from Sam’s dad just the previous night.

  Second, I’d known Thomas Reid for a quarter of a year, and the man knew practically every detail about me, but I knew so little about him. In fact, when I tallied it all in my head, the only things I knew about him were that he was twenty-six years old, a former Army Ranger, he had at least one sister, and he liked to sit on the rooftop of our building.

  Other than that, I knew what I’d gathered from his aura and his treatment toward me, but I had no idea where he went during the days, if he worked, where he was from, who his family was, or anything at all about his past.

  I would never admit it, but I’d done a search for him on the internet, and had found nothing. No social media or Google search results, which admittedly only made me like him more, added to his intrigue.

  I supposed I could have just asked Sam to look into him, with her mad computer skills, she surely would’ve unearthed something, but I was still denying any attachment to the man.

  So, yes, I stalked him from the rooftops of Grant City on Christmas evening, following the unmistakable sound of his motorcycle as he cut across town. The night was dark, the light snowfall having ceased, a sliver of a moon hanging above. I pulled my hood down lower over my head as I leapt from building to building, the wind cupping my face in a way that never failed to make my heart race.

  His bike came to a stop in an unexpected place, an area I would never have guessed he’d come to. It was not far, in fact, from Cross Manor. It was such a contrast to the neighborhood we lived in that my brows furrowed in confusion as I was forced to travel on the ground for lack of buildings in this area.

  What was Thomas doing in Brentwood? As far as I knew, it was the most affluent neighborhood in Grant City. Did he have friends here? Did he have friends at all?

  Sticking to the trees and hunkering behind expensive cars like a total weirdo, I watched as he parked his motorcycle in the circular drive of a stunning Victorian home. With a hitch in my chest, I saw Thomas approach the wide double doors and enter them without knocking.

  Voices flowed out from inside, male and female, the whole scene making my stupid heart race and piquing my stupid curiosity. Warm yellow light flowed out, making the snow that had stuck to the ground earlier today glitter with the luminescence.

 
The door was shut behind him, the sounds and limited sights of the interior cut off from my view.

  Had I not been such a curious little knucklehead, I would have returned home just then, maybe stopped a little Christmas-crime on the way before crawling into my bed and curling up with one of the books Caleb had given me.

  But I was nothing if not a knucklehead when it came to Thomas Reid, and I found myself circling around to the back of the house, trying to find a vantage point that would help to unravel this maddening mystery.

  Who’s house was this, dang it? More importantly, who was Thomas Reid, really?

  I was powerless to turn away, like a moth drawn to a flame.

  The land behind the home was manicured and expansive, sloping down to a small lake that looked half frozen and silver in the glow of the moonlight. Much to my delight, the windows on this side of the house were tall and unadorned with shades, offering what I was sure were magnificent views of the land, and a decent view of the interior of the home from where I was hunkered behind a rose bush.

  From here, I could see chandeliers, tall staircases, and the silent scene of an intimate party.

  Through one of the windows, I spotted Thomas’s sister, whose name I didn’t know, but whose face I recognized from our one brief encounter. As lovely as the last time I’d seen her, her blonde hair was pulled up in a loose bun atop her head, and she wore a red turtleneck sweater that matched the color of her lips.

  When she shifted, I saw that she was holding a champagne glass in her hand, and she was talking to someone out of my line of sight.

  Leaning forward and trying to get a better look, I was so distracted that I lost my balance and fell into the unforgiving arms of the rose bush behind which I’d been crouched. Biting my tongue to keep from cursing out loud, I shook dead leaves out of my hair and rolled my eyes at my stupidity.

  In my clamor, I didn’t realize that the back door of the house had opened, or that the dog had been released, until it was too late. Of course, the dang mutt became aware of my presence almost immediately, and barked twice before darting over in the direction of my hiding place.

  I turned to go, ready to blow this popsicle stand, but apparently the demon rose bush from hell had other ideas. Not realizing that my ankle was entwined in the blasted bush, I made an attempt at an abrupt escape, and promptly fell flat on my face, the scraped-up palms of my hands just barely breaking my fall.

  Before I could even process this ultimately unfortunate turn of events, the canine was on me.

  It was a red-nose pit bull, ironically my favorite type of dog, with a head like a gator and jaws just as strong. While most people would be terrified in this situation, I was not most people, and a dog would no more attack me than a rabbit would attack a fox.

  As half Fae, I had a deeper connection with animals, and after a sniff or two, the pit began to lick my face, pawing at me where I lay sprawled upon the ground.

  I tried to find my feet and hightail it, but footsteps followed only a heartbeat later, and then a familiar voice spoke, effectively making my insides shrivel up.

  “Aria?” the voice said.

  I pushed the dog gently away and turned around to face Thomas Reid, my cheeks as red as the roses that surely graced that stupid bush in the right seasons.

  I let out a laugh that was tight and goofy, and somehow only served to embarrass me further, which was hardly even possible.

  “Thomas?” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  It was a joke, but Thomas Reid didn’t laugh.

  CHAPTER 27

  I wanted to die. I wanted to find a hole, any hole at all, and just crawl right inside of it and die. Never in my entire life had I been so mortified, never had I felt more uncomfortable or ridiculous as I did just then.

  In fact, if I didn’t know that it would make me look like more of a dumbass, and that I would only be delaying the inevitable since the man lived across the hall from me, I may very well have just taken off running like a total weirdo.

  As it was, I only stood there, petting the beautiful dog and feeling as though God would be doing me a favor were He to just strike me dead right then and there.

  “You followed me,” Thomas said.

  It was not a question, so I didn’t answer. The most I could manage was a sheepish half smile.

  With a sigh, Thomas came forward and pulled another dead leaf from my hair. His next actions couldn’t have surprised me more if he had ripped all his clothes off and hopped around like a bunny.

  He took my hand, noticing the scrapes on my palm and shaking his head. With a relief that felt enormous, I watched as a bit of gold edged his dark aura, a sign of slight amusement.

  “You hurt yourself,” he said, and with a look that revealed he had resigned to something, he pulled me toward the house, whistling for the dog to follow. “Might as well come inside,” he added.

  My heels dug like hooks into the earth. “Wait, what?” I said. “Who’s inside? I don’t want to go inside. What are you going to say, that you found me in the backyard?” I shook my head. “I definitely don’t want to go inside.”

  I was rambling, and more gold touched his aura, but now, it annoyed me.

  “I guess you should’ve thought about that before you followed me,” he replied, his eyebrows lifting.

  I stood my ground. “I’m sorry about that, and I won’t do it again, but I’m not coming inside.”

  God, I thought, please, strike me down with lightning right now. Seriously.

  “I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you in if you want, but you are coming.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “As if you could contain me,” I said, sounding more petulant than I wanted.

  Thomas gave me a look then that I’d never seen from him before. It was challenging and playful, but dark and dangerous as well, and it made my stomach twist in a way I was wholly unfamiliar with, as if something frenzied were stirring there.

  He took one step toward me, the shadow of his large form swallowing me up. “I guess we’ll have to see,” he said, and scooped me up by my legs so unexpectedly that I was helpless against it.

  Before I could utter a complaint, I was tossed over his broad shoulder, kicking at the air like a child throwing a tantrum. “Okay!” I said. “Okay, put me down! I’ll come inside. Jesus Christ!”

  His huge arm wrapped about my waist immovably, tightening a bit and making every point of contact between us practically burn. “You promise you won’t run?” he asked. “Red and I don’t feel like chasing down a wild little Halfling this evening.”

  I was silent, convincing myself I could outrun them both.

  Then, Thomas sealed the deal with a statement I was sure he knew would sway me. “There’s a buffet of food inside, Aria,” he added.

  With the position in which he was holding me, I had a great view of his butt, which was muscled and plump and looked downright adorable in his tailored suit pants.

  “Fine,” I said, and he almost laughed, making me throw a light punch at his back. “Put me down. I’ll come inside.”

  With a little bump, he set me down on my feet, a half smile pulling up his lips as he looked down at me from his taller height. “As if you have a choice,” he said, and turned back toward the house. “Come on, Aria.”

  Considering once again making a break for it, I resigned to the order and hurried after him. “Are you at least going to tell me who’s inside? Whose house this is?”

  Thomas glanced over at me, and to my surprise, I saw a touch of nervousness in his aura as well. At least I wasn’t the only one.

  “This is my parent’s house,” he answered, “and most of my family is inside.”

  In a truly rare instance from him, Thomas Reid actually laughed at whatever look came over my face at hearing this.

  CHAPTER 28

  As someone who loves food, let me just say that I was becoming an avid believer in the avoidance of dinner parties. At first, when I’d gone to Sam’s place the previ
ous night and seen all the food, I’d thought it was the wonder of wonders, these family dinners, that I’d missed out on utopia for so many years.

  Now, I only wanted to be alone in my apartment with a box of takeout rather than forced to invade another intimate holiday get-together. The food came with a sacrifice of comfort, at least from where I was sitting. I’d never felt more out of place than I had at Sam’s, at Caleb’s, and now, at Thomas’s table.

  There was no way around it. I didn’t belong here.

  Some part of me recognized that none of the people at these parties had been rude to me, or even treated me with anything but kindness, and that my feeling of displacement was mostly in my own head. But the fact remains that the world we each live in is created in our own heads, and this was the state of mine.

  “So, Aria,” Thomas’s sister said, “how did you and Tommy meet?”

  I cleared my throat, trying not to fidget. “We’re neighbors. I moved in across the hall from him about four months ago.”

  His sister, her name was Rosemary, I’d learned, smiled a smile that had surely broken more than a few hearts in her day. In fact, everyone in the Reid family was too beautiful for their own good. His mother was an older replica of his sister, with thick blonde hair and hazel eyes that matched Thomas’s. His father was dark-haired, like Thomas, with a thick, neatly trimmed beard and deep brown eyes that seemed to pierce rather than see.

  His grandmother, Mrs. Evelyn Turner, rounded out the party, and though she was a frail little thing, no younger than mid-eighties, even she had a certain stately and silently beautiful glow that hung about her silver head. Looking at their auras, I could tell that the Reid family was the definition of propriety, of sophistication, old money, no doubt.

  This boggled my mind. It didn’t at all fit the backgrounds I’d conjured up in my mind to fit my mysterious neighbor. Why, with an obvious family fortune and a name that surely meant something to folks in high society, was Thomas Reid living in the slums of Grant City, hiding beneath the guise of a blue-collar anonymity?