by H. D. Gordon
My eyes went to him where he sat across the table, and I saw that Thomas was watching me. I shifted in my seat, concentrating on eating less like a wild animal brought in from the backyard and more like a lady. As this thought shot across my mind, gold shot through Thomas’s aura, as if he had heard it, too. Thomas had seen me eat on numerous occasions, and he knew I hardly took time to breathe when stuffing my face, so he also knew that I was doing my best to maintain manners.
Much to my relief, the dinner at the Reid home ended up not being so aggravating as the two previous. No one brought up the Masked Maiden, or pried into my relationship with Thomas, or even commented on the fact that I probably appeared a tad too young for him. From what I gathered, the Reid’s were a tightknit, loving, and poised family, and I found myself actually able to enjoy the meal.
As I chewed on a piece of heavenly ham soaked in turkey gravy, a sudden rush of sadness overcame me. It was ridiculous, had no real reason, but there it was, and the strength of it was enough to make my chest tight and my eyes sting slightly.
After dinner, the party moved into the library/sitting room, where a large, blazing fireplace dominated the center of the space, the flickering orange flames casting intimate shadows across the plush carpet.
Thomas and his father retreated to a minibar on the east side of the large room, and I followed my feet over to one of the many tall bookshelves that made up the walls, my eyes running over the numerous tomes.
I was so entranced that I didn’t even notice she was standing there until she spoke beside my ear. “You like to read?” Rosemary asked.
Smiling over at Thomas’s beautiful sister, I ran a finger over a few of the book spines. “Those who don’t are fools,” I answered.
This made Rosemary grin, her perfect white teeth peeking out behind her full lips. “What’s your favorite genre?”
“I go through phases. I read anything, really… What about you?”
“Same,” she answered. There was a moment of comfortable silence. Then, Rosemary said, “Thomas has never brought anyone home before.”
My heart jumped up to my throat. I shifted on my feet, thinking that he hadn’t really brought me, either. I’d just followed him here… like a lost puppy. My cheeks went hot at this awful comparison.
Of their own accord, my eyes went to where Thomas was sharing a drink with his parents and grandmother. He looked even more beautiful than usual, because his love for these people practically gleamed in his normally dark aura. His handsome face was relaxed, his guard nearly gone.
“He’s a good man,” I said, the words slipping free before I even knew I would speak them.
“Yes,” his sister agreed. “The best… Which is why you must be really special. My brother doesn’t waste his time. Not ever. Not with anything or anyone.” She let out a short, humorless laugh. “I was beginning to think he would never find anyone he thought was good enough.”
This made my brow furrow. It was yet another thing that didn’t fit what I thought I knew about the man. He was a recluse, for sure, but I didn’t think he felt above anyone.
“It’s… um… It’s not like that between us,” I said. “We’re just friends.”
Rosemary’s red lips only pulled up in one corner, but she didn’t say anything to this. She just sipped at the drink in her hand.
Shortly thereafter, Mrs. Reid called Rosemary over to a baby grand piano near the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the east side of the room, and after a little nudging, Rosemary was convinced to play a song. It was a tune I’d never heard before, but her voice was soft and low, sweet and pleasant, and I found myself settling into a fluffy loveseat and relaxing in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible.
As I did so, Thomas’s grandmother, Mrs. Evelyn Turner, wandered over to me and claimed the seat beside mine. I bit my lip and tried not to appear nervous as her gaze studied me. Of all the sharp eyes in the room, hers were perhaps the sharpest.
Leaning in close, as if about to share a secret, she said, “Can I ask you a question, dear?”
What was I supposed to say, no? I nodded.
Evelyn grinned as if sensing my reluctance. When she spoke next, her voice was but a whisper. “What are you?” she asked.
My stomach twisted, but I gave a smile. “I’m not sure what you mean, ma’am.”
Her lips pursed in a dubious manner. “You’re not human,” she said.
I nearly choked on my own tongue. My eyes darted over to Thomas. Could he have told her? No, I thought, surely not. My brow furrowed.
“Why do you think that?” I asked.
Mrs. Evelyn Turner reached out her frail, soft hand, and placed it over my own. Her glittering hazel eyes met mine, and in them, I glimpsed a remarkable soul. “Because,” she said, “all the dead folks hanging around you are supernaturals, so I’m guessing you must be one, too.”
CHAPTER 29
By the time we were saying our goodbyes to the Reid family, I was practically bursting with questions for Thomas. It must have been obvious in my demeanor, because as we exited the stately home and approached the curb where his bike was parked, he held a hand up to me.
“Just wait until we get home, okay?” he said. “Please.”
My eyes narrowed, and I ignored the strange sensation hearing him refer to our common dwelling spot as home gave me.
“Okay,” I agreed. “But you are going to spill some beans, right?”
A humorless half smile tugged up his beautiful lips. “Would you let it drop if I said no?”
“Yes,” I said, “but I’d be all like W-T-F about it.”
He sighed, swinging onto his Harley and holding his helmet out to me. When I only stood there, panicking over the idea of straddling behind Thomas Reid, he said, “You gonna rooftop it home, or do you want a ride?”
Taking the helmet, I pulled it over my head and climbed on behind him, hyperaware of every single spot our bodies touched. I could practically hear my heart pounding between my ears.
With a bit of gold ringing his aura, and the manly, intoxicating smell coming off of him, he turned his head slightly to look back at me. “You’re gonna have to hold onto me,” he said, his voice taking on a tone I wasn’t sure how to interpret.
I took a deep breath, and wrapped my arms around his waist, my hands clutching at his firm stomach and my head resting against his large, muscled back.
Then, I closed my eyes and held on tight, because it seemed like the only thing there was to do.
***
I’d never ridden on a motorcycle before, and to say that I enjoyed it would be an understatement. I loved the way the wind lifted my hair, and the warmth that was shared between our bodies as I trusted Thomas with my life.
To my surprise, Thomas didn’t head straight back to our apartment building, despite the fact that it was getting late. Instead, he took me to a small park not too far from the bay, a hidden spot that offered a view of Grant City that I’d never seen before.
When he stopped the bike and turned off the ignition, I hopped off and glanced around. Here, there was just enough darkness to see the stars overhead, and the glow of the city as the backdrop had me standing in silent reverence for a moment.
“What do you want to know?” Thomas asked, climbing off the bike and leaning back against it. His large arms folded over his wide chest.
“Do you see dead people, too?” I asked, deciding there was no reason to beat around the bush. “That’s why your aura is always so dark. You’ve got a unique connection to death, don’t you? And you’ve seen so much of it.”
Thomas looked down at his shoes, giving his head a small shake. “Damn it, grandma,” he mumbled. I could tell from his aura that this was said half-jokingly and meant to lighten the mood, but it didn’t.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“Why would I?” he returned, and I refused to acknowledge how these three words tore at my heart.
“Because I… I’ve told you everything about me,�
� I said, and hated the vulnerable way it came out.
There was a moment of tense silence. Then, he answered, “You’ll probably be leaving soon. I guess I just didn’t see the point.”
My face scrunched up at this. I couldn’t help it. I was getting angry, and I couldn’t help that, either. In the back of my mind, I recognized that it was not him I was really upset with, but rather that this was the straw that would break the camel’s back, and I was the camel.
“Ew,” I said, and didn’t care that I sounded super petulant.
“Ew?”
I nodded. “Yeah, ew.”
I turned on my heels, needing to go before my foul mood and hurt feelings made me behave in a way I’d regret. I couldn’t take this right now. There was too much on my plate. I didn’t need to get all upset over my confusing emotions towards Thomas Reid.
Moving fast, Thomas gripped my arm, halting me. “Don’t just run away,” he said. “That’s childish.”
I jerked out of his grasp. Some part of me—the mature part—knew he was right, and that I was behaving my age, exhibiting my human teenager half.
The other part of me, however, couldn’t care less.
“Yeah, well, that’s what I am to you, right? A child. A freak. Not your kind.” I felt terrible tears beginning to well up in my eyes, and knew that I needed to escape before they could free themselves.
“I never said any of that, Aria,” Thomas said, taking a small step toward me. “You’re not a child. You’re not a freak. And you’re not the only one who’s different than most of those around you.”
His words were sweet. In hindsight, I even recognized that they were kind of perfect, but I was a ticking time bomb, and the fuse had long been lit.
I retreated from his approach, fighting back the tears with all my might. “Whatever, Thomas,” I said. “I’ll find my own way home.”
Using my supernatural speed, I jetted out of there before he could see me cry, the sound of his deep voice calling my name fading in my ears with the distance.
CHAPTER 30
There was nowhere I wanted to go, no one I wanted to see. Really, I had no idea what I wanted in general.
Lost. That’s what I was.
I ran. It occurred to me that that’s what I was good at. When life got tough, I took to my heels and didn’t look back. The only problem with running, of course, was that it’s not an action that can be maintained indefinitely. At some point, one must stop and look around.
Now, I sat atop what I knew to be one of the tallest points in Grant City, an old bell tower with an enormous clock that still ticked and kept time faithfully, despite the long disuse of the building that housed it. A hill sat under the foundation of the old stone structure, adding to the vantage point considerably.
Behind my back, the huge metal bell hung, and I dangled my feet over the edge of one of the four open archways that enclosed it. I rested my head against the stone at my side, staring out at the lights of the city that I’d come to call my own.
In just four short months, I’d become so familiar with the land laid out before me, knew how to get to the bay and to the mansions on the upper east side, same as I knew how to navigate the slums and alleys in between. I knew what day the local grocers liked to have sales, when the farmer’s market was held, and what the schools were like.
Were these things not the makings of a home?
I didn’t know, because by that argument, life back with the Peace Brokers was also home. I knew their inner workings as well as any operative, knew the rules, understood the expectations. Couldn’t I just as easily pack up my things and go back?
You’re getting ahead of yourself, a voice in my head whispered. You still have to apprehend the Scarecrow, and even then the superiors would have to agree to reinstate you.
And would they?
Yes, I decided, after a bit of deliberation. They’d invested a good amount of time and resources into training me, and surely looked at me like an investment. Maybe, I thought, with a certain little jolt, they’d never really cut me free. Maybe this whole banishment thing had been a test. Nick had all but admitted that the Brokers had been keeping tabs on me since my disposal…
From the hands of the giant clock just below my dangling feet, I saw that it was nearing midnight, and decided I might as well be heading back to my apartment. Nick would surely be there, waiting for my return, trying to sway me with his familiar ways, trying to convince me that I didn’t belong here.
But, I told myself, whatever I ended up doing, I would be the one to make the decision, and when I did, I would make it for me. If there was one thing being tossed out of the Brokers had done for me, it was teaching me that I had to look after myself, because no one else was going to.
With these super-inspiring musings, I let out a small sigh that was carried away on the night wind, and took to my feet, standing now in the open archway with the metal bell behind my back.
A moment later, I was leaping over rooftops, flying like a shadow through the night. I was only a few blocks from my place when red and blue flashing lights to the east caught my attention, and I paused on the roof of the building I’d just landed on, tilting my head toward the action.
My sensitive ears picked up the gist of the happenings, and more black and whites added themselves to the scene, the red and blue lights flashing brighter against the dark sky.
Like a bug to a flame, I changed direction, deciding to go see what all the fuss was about.
CHAPTER 31
I felt cold, like stone. It was a strange sensation, since my body ran about ten degrees hotter than normal humans, but there was no other way to put it.
Cold. Numb. Shocked. And, okay, yes, scared.
Standing atop one of the nearby buildings, I had a bird’s eye view of the scene, was close enough to hear the chatter of the detectives… and smell the blood of the victim.
The officials had sealed off the area, yellow police tape was strung up and officers kept any passerby or lookie-lous back. So far, only a few of the neighborhood residents were here besides the police, but my ears told me the vans of the news crews were not far away.
And why wouldn’t they be? This was not the average murder scene. This was the type of scene that made mention in national news, and I didn’t need super senses to know it.
One look, that was all it took for me to recognize the handy work. That was also all it took to make my heart stop dead in my chest, to chill the blood flowing through my veins.
As I stared down at it from the shadows of the rooftop, I felt my stomach give a squeeze, and thought that I might be sick.
Why did he always have to paint them up so? Why did the monster always have to position them as if what he’d done was art, as if the brutal murder of a little girl was in some way beautiful, rather that a heinous, soulless act of evil?
He’d set the poor child in an alley, which I now overlooked. He’d taken the trouble of setting up a card table, of draping a white tablecloth over said table, and setting out a teacup and saucer, along with a little glass vase containing water and a single red rose.
He’d painted her cheeks, her unseeing eyes, and the down-turned grimace of her now cold lips. He’d dressed her in a blue nightgown, complete with a matching blue nightcap. Her skin, which surely once glowed with life, was now dead white and slightly waxy. He’d brought a chair along and set her in it before the table. He’d even placed a tea biscuit in her small, stiff hand.
My stomach lurched, and I closed my eyes against it all. My strong nose picked up the scent of formaldehyde, and every hair on my body stood on end as I tried to keep my wretches silent. It felt as though my very soul were breaking, something essential inside shaking loose.
As I fought to keep down all the extravagant food I’d consumed that day, my eyes burned, and salty, hot tears streaked down my face. I gripped the ledge of the rooftop, taking in big gulps of the cold night air as though I’d been held under water.
It was real. It was
happening. The Scarecrow had come. He was here. Of course he was here, because I was here. Some part of me had always known he’d come for me, that our story had not come to an end. And now… look what he’d done to get to me, look what he’d stolen. The life of a child. There was nothing upon earth more precious.
Just as I’d predicted, white vans began to approach the scene, and out jumped cameramen and reporters, their vulture-like nature apparent and disgusting. Or maybe I was just in a bad way, as I usually don’t take such a harsh view of people.
When I heard a voice I recognized, I leaned a little further over the ledge of the building, spotting Gail Golden, my biggest fan, trying to pry information from one of the officers standing near the yellow tape, a pencil and notebook ready in her hands.
“What’s going on here, officer?” Gail asked.
“There’s been a homicide,” said the blue. “That’s all I can tell you. Please, ma’am, step back.”
“Male or female?” pressed Gail.
“Female. That’s all I can tell you.”
Gail was scribbling furiously in her little book. “What time was the body discovered?”
“Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to step back. I don’t have any other details. I’m sure statements will be made when the initial investigation is concluded.”
I rolled my eyes at this, deciding I didn’t really like Gail Golden. My attention was diverted, though, when I heard one of the forensics investigators say, “Hey, Bob, come take a look at this.”
From the conversation I’d witnessed thus far, I knew that “Bob” was Grant City’s Chief of Police, known by the public as Chief Robert Townsend, or “Big Bob”.
Big Bob was a fifty-something man with a thick, gray mustache and a look on his face like he was perpetually slightly annoyed. My eyes followed him as he wandered over to the detective who’d called him, and my heart jumped up into my throat as the detective shined his flashlight on the west wall of the alley. I don’t think a molecule of air passed through me as I took in what was there.
