by H. D. Gordon
Written in blood surely drained from the accompanying body, in letters large enough for me to read even from this height, was this message:
Masked Maiden,
Come out and play. If you don’t, they’ll find another each day.
~S
I was hardly able to absorb this when someone grabbed my shoulder. To my utter dismay, for a moment, I was too terrified to move.
CHAPTER 32
My training kicked in, and I spun around fast, breaking my captor’s hold and flipping him onto the ground with a move that Sam would definitely have called badass.
Less than a spilt second later, the sole of my boot was pressed against my attacker’s throat.
I removed it with haste, however, as I saw Nick Ramhart staring up at me, slight amusement on his handsome face over my reaction.
“Jesus Christ!” I whispered down at him. “You scared the crap outta me!” With a shake of my head, I held a hand out to him. He grasped it and found his feet.
Rubbing at the spot on his back that had absorbed the brunt of his fall, he raised an eyebrow at me. “Well, I wouldn’t have touched your arm if I’d known you were going to throw me to the ground,” Nick said. “Jumpy, are we?”
“What the hell do you think?” I snapped back. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, obviously.”
I deflated a little, trying to get a hold of myself. I’d already flipped out on one man in my life tonight, and the steam I’d been running on all day was coming to its end.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just tired. I think I’m going to head back to my apartment.”
Nick was leaning over the ledge now, taking in the scene below, his wide shoulders suddenly rigid beneath his black and gray leather Broker’s jacket. “Go on, then,” he said. “I’ll stick around a little longer and see what I can learn.”
Feeling all of a sudden as though all I wanted was to crawl under my covers and hide, I nodded and followed orders. Doing so made me flash back to the life I’d left with the Brokers. Following orders from Nick Ramhart had once been a given, and now, it felt more like a decision.
Then, another awful thought crossed my mind, and my soul slipped further down into the darkness with which it was so familiar. If I’d still been with the Brokers, the little girl in the alley would still be alive. Instead, the Scarecrow had escaped and followed me here, and now I’d have to live with the loss of a life so young on my conscience forever.
Realizing he was still waiting for me to respond, I said, “Thanks, Nick,” and retreated to the other side of the rooftop, preparing myself for the leap.
I was just about to take off when Nick stopped me with five sweet words. “We’re going to catch him, Aria,” he said.
My weathered and wearied heart gave a squeeze in my chest. I looked over my shoulder and nodded, because I didn’t trust my voice.
Nick’s eyes were dark and dangerous, his large, muscled body ready for a fight, hyperaware of his surroundings at all times, like the soldier that he was. “I promise,” he added. “He’s going back where he belongs.” A pause. “I won’t let him hurt you. Not again.”
Now my throat felt tight enough to choke. It was all I could do to give another short nod before I turned and leapt over the side of the building, hot tears meeting with the cold night air that kissed at my face.
***
On the following day, December 26th, the Chief of Police announced that he would be making a statement that afternoon regarding the recent happenings in Grant City.
That morning, as I lie in my foldaway bed feeling very much like I just wanted to die, I received a text from Sam, calling an emergency meeting, demanding we all meet at the lair to go over things. She also informed me that she knew what I’d done to help her father, and that she wasn’t angry with me, but rather, appreciative.
While this relieved me, I was still in a bad way. With reluctance, I texted her back as I lie there, my body feeling more unenthusiastic and exhausted than it had when I’d finally found sleep.
Admitting to having played a part in whatever change had taken place in her father, and agreeing to meet at the lair at noon, I threw my phone somewhere below on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, seriously considering locating a cave in which I could hibernate for the remainder of the winter. I never would have admitted it, not even to Sam, but I didn’t want to deal with any of this. I’d just assume pretend it wasn’t even there. That none of it had happened.
Then, the Scarecrow’s bloody message came back to me, the image of it painted on the side of the building flashing through my mind like a fiery star across a black night, and of course, the sight of the poor girl, set up at that table the way the little girl had once most likely arranged her own dolls.
I threw the covers back and hopped out of bed, snapping myself to attention and demanding that I get control over my dang mind. Our minds, after all, are the only things we have true control over, and I was allowing mine to rule me. I needed to toughen up if I had a hope at surviving this.
Easier said than done.
I showered, dressed, boiled some eggs and buttered some toast, and promptly devoured the meal. I didn’t have the space or the funds for a table, so I’d taken to climbing atop my narrow kitchen counter and eating there. As I did this, the shiny silver box Thomas had given me, and I had yet to open, caught my eye.
Leaning over, I snatched up the box and turned it over in my hands. My heart raced as I peeled back the tape securing the wrapping.
My fingers hovered over the lid, and I ran my tongue out over my lips, releasing a slow breath as I pulled it open.
A small gasp escaped me, the antique necklace inside quite literally taking my breath away. My eyes stung instantly, salty tears pricking at them. My hand came up and pressed against my mouth, my insides in knots and my mind stalling out.
Set in rose gold and dangling from a matching chain, the necklace held a circular pendant about the size of a quarter. A tiny piece of stained glass was captured there, so intricate in its composition that one could only wonder upon seeing it.
On this tiny canvas, an artist had created a piece that was tipped in the deepest of indigos, and faded down to the loveliest green. The colors of the Earth, every Fae’s favorite. A black tree with swirling branches spread itself out in the vibrant colors of the stained glass, almost like upturned roots.
I loved it. It was perfect.
I sat there staring at it through blurry eyes as the first of the hot tears spilled over and burned a path down my cheek. With fingers that shook, I pulled the necklace out of the box and slipped it over my head.
Swiping away my tears and sliding on the metaphorical mask I seemed to be wearing a lot as of late, I tucked Thomas’s necklace beneath the collar of my shirt along with my medallion, and accepted the fact that it was time to go face the day.
CHAPTER 33
“Police arrived at a chilling scene last night when an anonymous tip sent them to the thirty-second block of Amherst in downtown Grant City. Correspondent Gail Golden is on location and has more... Gail?”
“Thank you, Scott. At around midnight last night authorities arrived here to find the body of a nine-year-old girl, Shaylee Taylor, who was reported missing by her mother earlier this week.”
The television screen went black, and I had access to air again, my teeth clenched tight enough that my jaw ached. I looked over at Sam, who was the one who’d turned it off, flashing her a grateful nod.
We were at the lair. Sam was sitting at the card table with Matt, the remote to the TV in her hand. Nick stood off to the side, his stance rigid and his large arms folded over his chest. He could act tough about what we’d seen last night all he wanted, but he was a Fae Halfling, like me, and as such, encountering such a scene was having its affects.
He wanted to catch the bastard almost as much as I did.
As for Thomas Reid, he was the only one of the merry band that wasn’t present. I had not seen h
im since the night before, when I’d sort of lost it on him. With the image of the poor little girl—Shaylee Taylor, her name was—still fresh in my mind, however, I couldn’t say I was much concerned with my brooding neighbor. I had more immediate issues at hand.
“I have to go to him,” I said, breaking the silence that hung in the sawdust and metallic smelling air of the old abandoned warehouse.
From where she sat, Sam’s eyebrows rose over the thick black rims of her glasses. “I don’t want you going anywhere near this Scarecrow psycho,” she said. Her sharp blue eyes darted over to Nick. “You need to catch this son of a bitch,” she snapped.
Nick tilted his head up as if Sam were a child who’d spoken out of turn. “And that’s what I would be doing if Aria hadn’t insisted we waste time and come here,” Nick replied. He looked at me, his handsome face drawn and exasperated. “Can we go now?”
“Stop fighting, guys,” I snapped. “That’s not going to help anything.” I gave them both sharp looks, and they quieted somewhat sullenly. “The fact of the matter is, I have to go to him. It’s me he wants. We all know that.”
Matt spoke for the first time since we’d arrived. “The Chief of Police is about to make a statement,” he said. He looked at me. “Do you want to see it?”
I waved a hand, thinking in the negative but nodding anyway.
With a deep breath, Sam turned back on the television, and sure enough, there was Grant City’s Chief of Police, Robert Townsend. He stood at a podium on the steps of the city hall, in full uniform, and with a downturned mouth under that thick gray mustache.
“Who’s that woman standing beside him?” I asked.
“That’s the mayor,” answered Sam. “Barbara Briggs. I met her at the Science Fair last year.”
I nodded, and we quieted, all four sets of eyes locked on the screen as Chief Townsend held up a hand to calm the calamity of the reporters standing before him.
“Thank you all for coming,” Townsend began. “As you’re aware, a child was found brutally murdered last night near thirty-second and Amherst. The medical examiner has confirmed the female victim to be nine-year-old Shaylee Taylor, who was reported missing a few days prior. There’s no doubt Shaylee was murdered, likely elsewhere, and then brought to the scene. The family is asking that you respect their privacy during this difficult time, and the public will be updated when we receive further information.”
The Chief paused. Lights flashed as his picture was taken, and the press began to call out questions.
“Chief Townsend, what can you tell us about the crime scene?”
“Chief! What time was the body found?”
“Do you have any suspects?”
Then, another voice, a familiar one, shouted over the others. “Chief Townsend, what is the connection to the murder and the Masked Maiden?”
The camera panned back a bit, and I was not at all surprised to see Gail Golden standing in the front row of the group of reporters, her pencil and pad poised at the ready.
Chief Townsend’s eyes narrowed and his frown deepened, flattening out his gray mustache. “Who said anything about the Masked Maiden, Miss Golden?” he asked.
Gail returned his stare with a dubious look of her own. “Chief, I was on the scene last night, and from where I stood, I caught a glimpse of a message on the wall of the alley in which Shaylee was found.” She paused. “I couldn’t make it all out, but I distinctly read the words Masked Maiden… So my question is, what are the GCPD’s theories on this murder being in connection with the vigilante who has been running around terrorizing Grant City?”
“Oh, no she didn’t,” Sam said, standing so abruptly from her chair that it tipped over and clattered backward.
From the gathered crowd standing before Townsend, mumbles and exclamations were uttered. The chief held up his hand, mouth flat, quieting the gathered once more. As he did so, Mayor Barbara Briggs, a pretty African American woman with a no-nonsense demeanor, leaned over and whispered something in the chief’s ear. He nodded and leaned back toward the microphone.
“Listen up,” said Townsend. “I can assure the citizens of Grant City that the Grant City Police Department is well aware of the vigilante dubbed the Masked Maiden, and that the acts of this individual are illegal and not in any sense condoned. We are actively searching for this criminal, and are not sure of any connections to Shaylee Taylor’s murder as of this moment.”
There was more murmuring and shouted questions from the press, and I could see Townsend’s shoulders growing tighter, his patience thinning.
Mayor Briggs must have sensed the chief’s frustration as well, because she placed a calm hand on his arm, and he gave her a nod and stepped away from the podium.
“First of all,” said the mayor, “my deepest condolences go out to the family and loved ones of the victim, and I want to remind the press present that, above all, Shaylee Taylor’s family deserves respect and privacy during this very difficult time… Now, as Chief Townsend has already informed you, the GCPD, as always, is doing everything in their power to keep this city running safely.
As for this Masked Maiden, the citizens of Grant City have an obligation to condemn the criminal actions of this individual, and we are asking for help from the public with any information regarding the identity of the Masked Maiden. There has been a generous donation from the Cross Corporation, and anyone who provides information or tips that lead to the apprehension of the vigilante will be rewarded with a sum of ten thousand dollars. The hotline number is provided at GrantCity.gov, and that concludes our statement. Thank you.”
With this, Mayor Briggs and the Chief of Police vacated the podium, the lights flashing over their grim faces as the press continued to call out questions.
The television screen went black as Sam shut it off once again. For a moment, the warehouse was filled with silence.
Then, Nick surprised me by throwing up his hands. “See?” he asked, looking directly at me. “I don’t even know why you’re questioning the decision to rejoin the Brokers. It’s pretty obvious that despite what you’ve done to protect them, these humans won’t accept you. They don’t want you here.”
My face heated up with this. I could feel the roses spreading slowly over my cheeks. My eyes shot over to Sam, whose face had, in turn, gone all white.
“Speak for yourself, asswipe,” Sam snapped at Nick. “There are people who want her here, and two of them are right in this room, so watch your mouth.”
Nick ignored her as if she hadn’t even spoken, and Sam’s blue gaze found me. “What does he mean, ‘the decision to rejoin the Brokers’?” she asked. “What’s he talking about, Aria?”
I swallowed past the knot forming in my throat. “I was gonna tell you… The Peace Brokers are considering reinstating me if I help catch the Scarecrow. I think they want me to come back.”
As she absorbed this, Sam’s face was carefully blank, guarded. “That’s what you want?” she asked, as if she just couldn’t believe it.
I let out a sigh and a shrug. “I don’t know what I want, Sam,” I answered honestly.
There was no need to read Sam’s aura; it was plenty easy to tell that these words hurt her to hear. And it hurt me to watch her hurt, but honestly, we didn’t have time for this. The Scarecrow had not been vague. I needed to locate him, or another child would end up like Shaylee Taylor. I could not stand for that. I would not.
The thing about Samantha Shy—one of the many factors that made her a suitable best friend—was that I didn’t always need words to communicate with her. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would say that Sam had her own form of aura-reading ability in that big, genius head of hers.
Without having to say anything, Sam only gave me a look that said this conversation was not over with, but rather on the back burner for obvious reasons. She tilted her head back and pushed her glasses up on her nose, claiming her chair before the bank of computers on the west side of the warehouse.
“All right,” Sam said
, as she began to clack away at the keys. “You guys come up with some kind of plan. I’m gonna see what I can do to find this bastard.”
And, bless her spunky little soul, because that’s exactly what she did.
CHAPTER 34
“If he sees us coming, he’s going to run,” I said. “He’s a coward, and that’s what cowards do.”
Nick swung his Broker’s blade around expertly in his hand, an ancient weapon he’d had as long as I’d known him. “Then we’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t see us coming.”
“You can’t come too close. It has to just be me. If not, he’ll take to his heels.”
Nick nodded. He’d surely already considered this. “But I’m not going to be far,” he insisted. “I won’t let you fall into his hands. Not again.”
“Again?” Sam asked, looking up from the computer screens for the first time since she’d sat back down.
I suppressed a sigh. The particulars of my history with the Scarecrow—yet another important piece of knowledge I hadn’t shared with her. Once again, that hurt flashed across her face before she willed it away.
Walking over to where she was, I placed a hand on her shoulder. “I really need you to trust me now, Sam, okay?” I whispered.
Sam’s shoulders were rigid, and she gave a stiff nod, her attention already back on the screens. “Mm hmm,” she said. “I do. Whether or not you trust me is another matter.”
I swallowed, supposing I deserved this. Outside, the day was approaching twilight, the glow of the sun softening to blues and purples with every passing minute. Beyond the walls of the warehouse, the people of Grant City were finishing up their workdays, thinking about dinner, or maybe a drink. No snow had fallen, but the forecast promised a storm was not far off. The air above the rooftops would be colder this evening than it had been all winter… along with the muscle in my chest.
No matter what Nick said, even then, in my heart, I knew what it would all have to come down to; me against the Scarecrow. My old mentor and new friends could insist on being at my side all they wanted, and I loved them for it, but somehow, I knew I would need to settle this. I would need to put a stop to the Scarecrow myself.
