Reader's Review: "Behind The Mask" by J. D. Cunegan

Synopsis from Amazon:

It’s hard to be a hero when everyone’s out to get you. Once upon a time, Jill Andersen considered herself a hero. Not just because of the badge handed to her by the city of Baltimore and the pledge she once made to protect and serve. Her secret life, as the vigilante Bounty, had allowed Jill to protect her native Baltimore in ways her day job never could. But all that has gone to hell now. One case pushed Jill past her limits, to the point where she made choices she can’t take back. As a result, the entire city is on the lookout for her. Allies can no longer be counted on. People who were once in her corner might very well be trying to bring her down… to say nothing of those she has crossed along the way. But that is the least of Jill’s problems. A shadowy figure emerges among the chaos, and his link to Jill’s past has the potential to be her ultimate undoing. Jill thought every link to Project Fusion has been settled once she solved Dr. Trent Roberts’ murder almost one year ago, but if she’s not careful, her past might just kill her.

>>>>>>>>>>>

My Review:

Full disclosure, it's been two years since I last read a Jill Andersen book. But here's the good news: I fell right back into all the feelings, everything was just like I remembered, and I got hooked on this installment just as easily as the rest of them!

Where to begin, though? Let's start with the basics: The characters. Cunegan shines with his diverse cast, who each respond to different situations with an authenticity that makes them seem real when you read their names. Everyone from Jill herself, to Ramon, Juanita, Richards, McDermott, even David Gregor (the snake!) all have their own quirks, the way their mind works, the things they say, and their tendencies--and Cunegan's writing shows the shine and polish that comes of years of practice. They are the leaders of the story, but the whole thing doesn't revolve around them. Every choice made by these characters comes with its own set of consequences, and very often those consequences affect other characters, and when you put all that together into a book, it tells a story.

Then there's the plot. As I stated at the very beginning, there's a whole-series arc that connects the books in a long-running "game" between the protagonists and the antagonists, and Cunegan's sense of continuity really is the thing that enables the reader to pick up the next book a full two years later and still feel like virtually no time has passed.

But it's not all about the series--one has to keep the individual story for the book moving, or it leaves the reader feeling like something is lacking. There was no lack of interest here! The surprise appearance of a "copycat vigilante", coming right on the heels of Jill's very public admissions in the last book, tests the relationships of her allies and seems to play right into the hands of the enemies trying to take her down--but it also gives the reader a glimpse into what Jill is like when she can just set aside her badge and become Bounty... but also what she could potentially become if she goes even further and sets aside her own moral code as well. It's a master storyteller that can provide a high-stakes superhero adventure while also giving the reader meaningful food for thought in the process!

Behind The Mask lives up to its title: there are a lot of "masks" and "un-maskings" happening here, and glimpses beyond the front that these "masks" try to hide, and the exposure that results as the "masks" begin to crack, and more and more people see what lies behind it: a true hero? Or a dastardly villain?

It should come as no surprise that I would give this book a full *****5 STARS***** and add to it the Upstream Writer Certified DEFINITELY RECOMMENDED endorsement. I'm a big fan of Cunegan's work, and I cannot wait to find out what happens in the next book!

Further Reading: (Also By The Author/ Crime Investigations/ Urban Fantasy/Superheroes)

The Jill Andersen Series--J. D. Cunegan
       -Bounty 
       -Blood Ties 
       -Behind the Badge 
       -Behind The Mask *(This Book)

-Notna--J. D. Cunegan 

Judah Black Series--E. A. Copen
       -Fortunate Son (prequel novella)
       -Guilty By Association 
       -Blood Debt 

Stories of Togas, Daggers And Magic--Assaph Mehr
       -Murder in Absentia

       -In Numina

The LouisiAngel Series--C. L. Coffey
        -Angel in Training 
        -Angel Eclipsed 
        -Angel Tormented

Manhunters--Jesse Teller
       -Song

-Beasts of Babylon--E. A. Copen 

The Grave Reports--R. R. Virdi
        -Grave Beginnings 
        -Grave Measures 
        -Grave Tidings (novella) 
        -Grave Dealings

Serial Saturday: "The Clan of Outcasts" Season 3, Part 8 (2 of 2)

Part 8

"Disappearing Acts" (Part 2)

"Where is it?"

Damaris wanted to pull out a handful of his thick, dark hair as he dug through the cabinet. He'd already pulled out every drawer, looking for the etched board he had designed for the cake-topper. This wasn't the first thing he'd lost today--it seemed every time he went to make a dish, the ingredients themselves weren't where he left them, and he'd had to improvise at breakfast because they didn't have any of the oranges he had planned to use for the pastries. His favorite cast-iron pan was missing, too, so he had to be extra-careful when frying the eggs and he ended up almost burning the bacon because the flimsy pan didn't distribute the heat from his hands correctly.
Oranges and pans were one thing, but the cake-topper? That was the last straw!

The young man stood in the middle of the disorderly space and tapped his chin. What else could he use for the top of the cake? His eye fell on some extra baking chocolate leftover from tonight's dessert. A smile crept over his face as his thoughts worked over a new plan.

Damaris anchored his stance as he held the bowl of chocolate chunks in his hand. Summoning a faint whisper of heat, he carefully tilted the bowl over the parchment, letting a thin stream of melted chocolate drizzle out and form the word Zayra in elegant, looping cursive. Once he had the letters formed thick enough to stand on their own, he set the parchment on ice blocks to harden, and surveyed the massive tower of cake covered in buttercream, meringue, and macarons before him. A light touch on a glossy meringue button, and the surface crusted perfectly into the crunchy, flaky texture he needed it to be. Damaris stepped back and sighed with relief. Everything was ready for the celebration tomorrow.

"Damaris?" Anahita called from the kitchen door.

He was too excited, he met her at the foot of the stairs. "Come see!" He pulled her by the hands over to the chilly corner where the cake would stay cool until it was ready for the big reveal. "I just finished it."
Anahita gazed upon the wonderful masterpiece and her mouth even dropped open a little bit. "Oh my!" She gasped, her eyes drinking in all the exquisite details. "Damaris, that's beautiful!"

He blushed, flicking little sparks between his fingers as he did whenever he felt nervous. His eyes traveled down to her own hands. "What," he quipped, "no ink-stains today?"

Anahita's eyes squinted, and then she noticed her hands and understood his meaning. "Oh!" She laughed lightly. "I was just in Princess Zayra's parlor, as usual, but though I waited for almost an hour, she wasn't there. I think she's getting more anxious, thinking that no one wants anything to do with her birthday." She summoned a glob of water from the air to wash away some crumbs from the counter in front of her. "So many times, I've felt the urge to tell her, if only to help her feel better!"

Damaris chuckled, thinking of seeing the Princess' face when she laid eyes on the birthday cake that was designed especially for her. "Do you think she'll like it?"

Anahita smiled and grasped his hand. He relished the cool touch of her skin against his. "I think she'll love it!" She tilted her head. "Didn't you make a cake topper for it, too?"

Damaris rubbed the back of his head. "I, well... It's missing, somehow--I must have carried it somewhere, or someone else found it, or something... I don't know. But instead, I made a new one!"
The young girl glanced at the stained bowl still sitting next to the washbasin. "Out of chocolate?" she guessed.
Damaris walked to the icebox. "Yes! I have it right--" He stopped.
"What is it?" Anahita asked, crossing the kitchen to join him.

Damaris just stared numbly at the plain ice-block. "It was right here!" He wailed. "How is it gone already? Who could have taken it?"

Anahita stood on tiptoe, but she couldn't see all the way to the bottom of the container. "Did it melt?" she guessed.
Damaris gave her a concerned frown. "It's ice, Ana--how could it melt chocolate?"
The young girl shrugged. "I was just trying to come up with the likeliest option."
Damaris threw himself to the ground next to the icebox. "What am I going to do?" He wailed. "The party is tomorrow, and there's nothing on top of my cake!"
Anahita came to sit next to him, her knees curling against him. "I think it's beautiful just the way it is," she whispered into his ear. "I say it doesn't need anything more."

Damaris rolled his eyes. "You really think so?"
Ana smiled. "Yes I do! You've done an amazing job getting everything ready for the party while also not neglecting your daily cooking duties. You deserve a fun treat!" She rummaged in the pantry and brought out a small jar of hard, round kernels. "How about some popcorn?"
Damaris grinned. "That sounds great... except..." He winced, feeling his hopes dash once again.
Anahita frowned. "What, did you use all the butter in that frosting?"

Damaris flicked his fingers, and sparks flew once more. "Not that, but... I can't find my cast-iron pan."
Ana squinted at him. Damaris was always so protective of that treasured item, it was impossible to conceive that he might not know where it is. "But how?" She asked. "Are you sure you haven't--"
Damaris rolled to his feet. "I know exactly where I left it last!" He snapped. "It hasn't left the kitchen, I'm sure of it!"
"What's so-- Oh! That's beautiful!"

Now Anahita jumped to her feet as Queen Azelie herself graced the kitchen stairs with her presence.
The lanterns made her red hair gleam with a sun-like glow as she admired the grand cake. "Damaris, you've really outdone yourself!" she declared approvingly.
Damaris gave a light bow, smoothing his unruly hair with his fingers. "Ah, do you think she'll like it?"

Azelie was no longer looking at him. She frowned as she took a few paces to the side, and then she blinked, as if it had been no more than a brief stagger. "Oh, hm? I mean, yes, the cake is absolutely perfect for the party."

Anahita shuffled nervously, but Damaris watched the young queen carefully. He stepped forward. "Is something wrong, your Highness?"

Azelie finally met his gaze and smiled. "Oh, no, it's probably nothing--just a voice I keep hearing..." She trailed off and gestured to her head. "My Gift, you know; anyway, it's probably just stress, with the party tomorrow and those strange goings-on in the garden--"
"What's happening in the garden?" Anahita asked.

Azelie fell silent, her gaze relaxed and aimless, focusing on nothing in front of her. She gave a small sniff, straightened and said, "I think I'm going to find Beren." She turned back to ascend the steps back into the main part of the castle.

Anahita dashed forward. "I'll go with you, Your Majesty!" she offered. Just before the door closed, Damaris heard her asking, "Have you seen Princess Zayra today?"

Alone in the silence, Damaris sighed. He surveyed the kitchen with a calculated gaze. So many nooks and crannies. Places to hide, his years of living on the street told him. Places to keep things where people would tire of looking before they ever found it. But who would be taking things out from under him? He made his way to the shadowy cellar. If it was there, he would find it. He cradled a small flame in his hand, careful not to let its light disturb the balance of the cool, dry environment. There were too many special and irreplaceable foods down here.

A rustling caught his ear, and Damaris froze. His last breath hung in a cloud in front of his face as he snuffed out the flame in his hand with a clench of his fist. Something about the shadows at the back of the cellar unnerved him. He watched it closely, wishing he could just blink and see in the dark like Denahlia could.

Maybe then he would have seen the thing that had those massive hands that reached out and pulled him into the darkness, snuffing out his consciousness as easily as he had quenched the flame.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The Harbor of The Realm was not a clean place, by any means. Men and women flocked back and forth, burdened with large crates and packages, fresh from a long voyage with hardly any space for a decent wash, jostling against one another in a single-minded effort to reach their destination. Caged and leashed animals growled and howled at the lack of space, people shouted in each others' faces to be heard over the clatter of carts and shouting porters and swinging ropes and swaying ships.

Denahlia kept her arms pressed tightly against her sides, her hands clasped behind her back as she stalked down to the docks. She didn't typically come down here if she could help it, and for that reason. Out of everybody milling around the busy Harbor, she had the widest berth. One look at the jagged scar over her right eye, and even those who didn't know her at all shied away.

Once she reached the doorway of the Harbor's most reputable lodgings, the Phoenix Inn, and made sure to clear her face and put on a smile before entering.

If the docks were crowded with people, noise, and smell, the Inn wasn't much better--only more of everything in an enclosed space. Denahlia cast a passing glance over the raucous crowd shouting and laughing and singing and toasting each other, remembering with a shudder the day she had met Troy in a corner booth here, while he sat bandying words with the drunken Peacekeeper, Rayne. It had been known only as "The Dockside Tavern" then. Now, she paid special attention to the wait-staff: the barmaids fielding off groping hands and trying to keep everybody supplied at all times, and the barmen who practically paced from the kitchens behind the bar out around the dining hall and back again. Unoccupied tables shone brightly from a fresh wash, and it looked like people were in general enjoying the food.

"Well, Madam Watch!" Tewks, the proprietor of the Phoenix, greeted her from the door of his office, tucked at the back of the building. He had broad shoulders and glossy dark hair, which he wore in a neat ponytail down the back of his shoulders. He bowed his head in greeting. "To what do I owe this honor? Care for a pint and a friendly chat?" He signaled a passing waiter. "Charley! A pitcher and two glasses to my office, please."

"Yes, boss," Charley muttered, and Tewks gestured over his threshhold. "Come inside where we can hear each other better, and sit a spell."

Denahlia entered the small room, noting the dramatic reduction in noise as she did. She remained standing. "I just came down to see how our guests were getting on," she said.
Tewks caught the gleam in Denahlia's good eye--her left one, and he nodded. "The newest arrivals? Eh, they're not the worst lot we've had in here, I'll grant you! A few of the crew seem to be the sort that like to start fights, but the Quartermaster keeps them in line pretty well."

While Tewks spoke, Denahlia ran her fingertips over the back of her palm, scrolling through the personnel files she had on the pirates. "Goddry? Is that the name?"

Tewks bobbed his head. "I might've heard the Captain mentioning it more than a few times. He seems to depend on him a lot."

Denahlia opened her mouth to say something more, but just then, a painful jolt radiated from the implant on her wrist. Such a signal could only mean one thing: Perimeter breach near her private office. She turned to the door. "Thanks for the update. If you see anything worth mentioning--"
Denahlia had to double back as Charley entered with a tray laden with a cool pitcher and two empty glasses.

"Oh, beg pardon!" he stammered, setting the tray on the table and ducking out as quickly as he entered.
Denahlia held the door and stepped out just as quickly.

"Wait!" Tewks called after her. "Aren't you going to ask about the other stranger?"

Denahlia froze, turning back to face the man. "What other stranger?"

Tewks shrugged. "The first strange man to arrive this week. Said he'd taken a job for someone in the area, and they'd recommended my place. About the only person to drive business to my place, as opposed to those big flashy, cheap accommodations closer to the docks is you and your staff... I thought you knew..."

Denahlia felt the urge to find out more about this other person--if Tewks cared enough to mention him, then there was definitely something concerning about him--but by now the perimeter breach had been upgraded to a series of emergency signals from Hayden.

She ignored Tewks and made her way up to the back trail through the Harbor, the jagged, stilted path of alleyways and abandoned corridors that was the quickest way from the far end of the Harbor up to her offices perched on the highest vantage point.

She heard Hayden's frantic begging, and the savage snarl of an animal from just outside the courtyard surrounding her office's lower entrance. The perimeter sensors flashed red on a frequency she could only see when she glanced between two outstretched fingers. Unauthorized persons detected. The only thing missing was the series of protective measures that Denahlia usually had keyed up when she did not want to be disturbed. Whoever was behind the snarling animal should be grateful that Denahlia hadn't considered herself in any danger at the moment.

Inside, she saw Hayden plastered against the courtyard wall, begging for his life, while a sleek grey wolf snarled and snapped at him if he so much as batted an eyelash--and the poor young man was so terrified he was fairly quaking in his boots. On the other side of the courtyard, watching with a feral gleam in her eye and a smirk on her face was the Alpha herself, Velora.

Denahlia flicked in the direction of the wolf, sending an invisible electric charge through the air. The animal skittered sideways with a yelp of pain. Velora's eyes instantly narrowed on Denahlia.

"All right," Denahlia smirked. "You've got my attention; now your pet can stop terrorizing my assistant."

Velora's lip curled in a sneer, but she signaled to the wolf, who immediately dropped its head and slunk into step beside Velora.

Hayden staggered away from the wall, brushing off the debris and muttering in relief.
Denahlia nodded toward the gate. "I've got this, Hayden. You get on back to the docks." She waited until she had entered her office first and disengaged the digital locks. Only then did she acknowledge Velora with a gracious nod. "Come on in; to what do I owe the pleasure?"

The dark-haired Forest Warden seemed as guarded and ill-at-ease as the predator padding along beside her. Her gaze traveled over every inch of the room and she sniffed several times before speaking.
"What can you tell me about a man with metal arms?"

Outwardly, Denahlia maintained her cool, disaffected posture. Inwardly, she cursed the day she ever laid eyes on Markus here in the Realm. She should have just gone away and left him without saying anything! "Well, I'd be careful shaking hands with him, for one thing!" she replied. "You don't get a lot of people with metal arms around here, that's for sure!" First Erlis coming around asking about dragons, now this?
"I'm not in the mood for games, Denahlia!" Velora snapped. "You are the only one I've ever heard of with a Gift that's not actually a Gift--"

"Don't remind me!" Denahlia had to remember to constantly be sour about that fact, as she had been before she had known exactly what was giving her eyes these heightened abilities. It wasn't always easy, channelling that former part of herself that felt so bitter at being out of place. I have a place now! her inner voice screamed. I know who I am, and where I truly belong! But she could never be there, not while she had a duty and a life hear in The Realm. It wasn't meant to be.

"I'm just saying," Velora grumbled, "when I've got people coming to me talking about someone who has super-human abilities without actually being Gifted... I have to assume--"

"That they're somehow connected with me," Denahlia slouched back in her chair and folded her arms. "I see how it is."

"Do you?" retorted the dark-haired wolf-shifter. At her feet, the wolf rose from a seated position and abruptly sauntered over to the window while Velora kept talking. "Because lately I've begun to notice that perhaps you don't see as clearly as you once did--"

"Who's seeing whom?" A third voice entered the conversation, and the wolf poised for attack with a snarl, claws and teeth bared, hackles raised.
Velora was on her feet, too, in a defensive stance similar to the wolf's.

Denahlia sat forward as Markus waltzed through her open door, as if he wasn't the subject of curiosity for several different groups who were all on edge about something that Denahlia couldn't figure out.
She felt all the righteous indignation of an older sister as she berated him. "Markus, what have you done? You show up, promise to stay out of trouble, and all of a sudden I've got people in my office asking if I've seen a dragon, and now she," she jabbed a finger at Velora, "is asking about you specifically--"

Markus beamed as if Denahlia had just informed him that Velora was a devoted fan. "You don't say!" He held up his hand as if going in for a handshake--but it was his artificial left arm. "Markus Firron, a pleasure to--"

It was most fortunate that he'd kept his right side protected, because the simple movement was all it took to throw the suspicious wolf into a frenzy. It lunged at him, catching his sleeved arm in its jaws--and then flying across the room as Markus merely shook it off like an errant bug.

"Sable!" Velora cried as the wolf collapsed. She turned back to Markus and murder flamed in her eyes.

Denahlia held out her hand, palm toward Velora. "STOP!" she commanded, and just like that, Velora found herself frozen in place, much like she'd been when she first met Justin after he'd received a telekinetic Gift. An invisible weight dragged her whole body, compelling her to sit back in her chair facing Denahlia.
The former Hunter glared at both Markus and Velora. "There will be no fighting in my office," she declared. "You two will behave like civilized adults, or I will throw you out personally--and don't think I can't!" She flipped her hand over, palm-up, and Velora felt the ground give way a little underneath her, as if she was going to float out of her seat at any moment. Did Denahlia have telekinesis, too? Velora had seen her do a lot of things with her eyes, but this was new... How could it be new? Was Denahlia working for another Shadow who had "upgraded" her Gift just like Troy did?

Just as easily as it had slipped into place, the weight slowly eased off of Velora, and she felt once again in command of her body. She dared not check to see if Sable was all right. She sat, waiting for Denahlia to speak.

Denahlia didn't keep them waiting long. "First, allow me to introduce both of you to each other, and you will shake hands," she nailed the metal-armed man with a look, "properly. This," she gestured to Velora, "is Velora, the Forest Warden appointed by King Jaran, and the person largely responsible for the security of the entrance to Wildhaven. Velora," she nodded toward Markus, "I'd like you to meet Markus Firron, my cousin. He's from the Outer Realm, where his parents raised me before I came to the White Castle to serve on the security forces under King Balwyn."

Markus balked, but he caught the disapproving look in Denahlia's eye and held out his right hand. Velora seemed reluctant to touch it, as if she thought it might be some kind of fakery, as his right hand was. Markus held up that hand, proving to her that it was indeed mechanical and not flesh-and-blood. The pair shook hands, and Markus couldn't resist quipping, "Charmed."

Velora sat on the edge of her seat, her spine drawn up straight. She looked between Denahlia and Markus. "So... neither of you are Gifted," she said. "But one has mechanical parts," she glanced toward Markus, "and the other..." her gaze trailed questioningly over to Denahlia.

Denahlia gestured to her face. "Mechanical also, at least somewhat. Anyway, the bottom line is, we're all friends here, and there are apparently some misunderstandings that I'd like cleared up." She pointed to Velora. "You were saying something about a man with mechanical arms causing trouble? Who brought you this report?"

Markus started forward. "I would never--"
"Acht!" Denahlia silenced him with a raised finger. She pointed. "You will get your chance," she growled at him. "For now, you listen."
Markus flopped back.

Velora cleared her throat. "It wasn't a report, exactly," she began slowly. Her eyes shifted back and forth, as if she was trying to figure out the right way to say something. "If you must know..." she trailed off and cast a furtive glance toward the door.

Denahlia read her movements. "This office is secure," she said, entering the coded sequence on the desktop. Immediately, the lights shifted, and the door swung shut on its own. "Nobody is hearing this conversation but us."

Velora frowned a little, looked a bit scared, but she nodded. "I don't know how close they want me to guard the information, so just don't go blabbing it outside this room without my say-so, but... We might be on the brink of war with the Elves."
Denahlia frowned. "Brink of war? I thought the Elves preferred not to trespass in our dimension, so long as we stayed out of theirs!"

Markus shifted uncomfortably, and Velora snorted. "Yes, well, that was before they decided that your cousin here was responsible for stealing one of the dragons for which they were providing sanctuary--"
"I didn't steal her!" Markus exploded. "I rescued her!"

Denahlia glared at him. "You didn't tell me that the ugly fellows you took her from were Elves!"

"They weren't!" Markus protested. "They were scruffy, human, ordinary traffickers! They must have been the ones to steal from the Elves! It wasn't me!"

"Then why would they tell me that they're holding my man hostage until I turn over to them the metal-armed man who not only stole the dragon under their protection, but her newly-hatched offspring as well?" Velora challenged. "Apparently the offense is now great enough that the High Prince considers it pretty much an act of war, and he's given me an ultimatum or he's going to march on the Realm with enough forces to subjugate us all, Gifted or no!"

"That wasn't my fault!" Markus roared, rousing Sable in the corner and prompting her back onto her feet, where she stayed a rational distance from the menacing arm. "I didn't even know Hadrian had laid the egg, much less that it hatched! You have to believe me!"
Denahlia moaned and let her face drop into her hands. Every encounter with Markus seemed to undo all her efforts at setting up a normal life, and make things so much worse! "Markus," she spoke in measured tones, "Where is Hadrian now?"

To her chagrin, her cousin only shrugged. "She flew off as soon as we crossed the boundary again, her and the Wyrmling. My guess is that she's going to find somewhere in this dimension that's reasonably safe to bond with her offspring, before returning to the Elves of her own volition. Dragons don't like to be under someone else's compulsion. If they follow someone else, it's entirely their own choice."
"Well this dragon and her drive for independence," Velora spat, "just might cost one of my Rangers his life, and make war with the Elves a very real possibility! What do you say to that?"
Markus pinched his lips and huffed. "I say--" He stopped abruptly, as if suddenly unable to speak. He blinked in confusion.
"What is it?" Denahlia asked.

Markus spoke, but his voice was hollow. "We've got more important threats than a diplomatic incident on our hands," he said.
"A man's life is more than a diplomatic incident!" Velora complained.
Markus wasn't just trading barbs anymore. "And a King or Queen's life is more than a Ranger's, wouldn't you say?" he challenged.
Velora blanched. "What?"

Markus turned to Denahlia. "That job I told you about earlier?" he hinted. "The clock just went on it."
Denahlia raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"Meaning the assassin must fulfill the assignment within twenty-four hours or he's next on the hit list."
Denahlia swore as Velora furrowed her brow in alarm. "What job? What assassin?"

The Harbor Watch was already deploying messages to the White Castle garrison and to Hayden at the harborside, while preparing her own arsenal to bring with her up to the castle. She loaded her twin pistols and slipped them into the holsters on her hips. "Markus got wind of a black market hire, someone commissioned to murder one of the royals."

"Not specifically murder," Markus corrected. "There's something important they have to retrieve, and they must use any means to get it--including murder."
"Not on my watch!" Denahlia smiled and her eyes gleamed in the fading twilight. "We've got to get up here."

Markus nodded, adjusting the hood of his jacket. "I'll go with you. I know what to look for--"

"No," Denahlia put a hand on his shoulder, and held his gaze. With a low voice, she said, "Hayden means well, but he can be too trusting, and there are just too many things that I don't altogether trust right now. I need you to stay here, sync up with my tech like you know how to do, and watch over the Harbor till we get back."

Markus huffed and glared his disappointment, but his cousin didn't budge, so he stepped back with a shrug. "Fine, I'll wait here."

Denahlia tapped the side of her head, and she felt the electronic connection buzzing just under her skin. A glance from Markus told her he felt the same thing. She nodded to him and smiled. "I'll be in touch."

Velora fell in behind the dark-haired woman, her frustration at losing Gavin set almost fully aside. "I'll come along," she said. Turning to the wolf, she ordered, "Sable, alert the pack. We must defend the castle tonight."
The wolf gave a short yip in response and vanished into the lengthening shadows.

<><><><><><><><>

<<<< Previous           Next >>>>>>>

Serial Saturday: "The Clan of Outcasts" Season 3, Part 8 (1 of 2)

Part 8

"Disappearing Acts" (Part 1)

Three Years Ago...

Coronation ceremonies were long and pointless unless you were the one getting something placed on your head, decided Zayra.
She fiddled with the carved ribbing along the wooden scepter in her hand. It was part of the formal accoutrements of a princess, along with the tiara set upon her head. This was nothing compared to the long golden scepter borne by Azelie, nor the grand golden diadem gracing her gleaming red hair--she looked even more queenly than she ever did as the Paragon.

Zayra shifted uncomfortably as her Gift thrummed along her arms, driving her muscles to reach out and lay hold of Azelie, to sap her of all her inexorable beauty. She'd complained in Zayra's hearing before about the way her Gift caused people to perceive her as "perfection incarnate", that everything she did was absolutely the perfect way, and everything fit her perfectly, and no one gave her a hard time--while Zayra would gladly receive such sentiments, as opposed to being shunned for the occasional fits of aggression, or the lapses back into the cold, calculating manipulator she used to be.

The cool hand landed on her shoulder, and she focused on its touch, leaning her head over so that he could raise his fingers and caress her cheek while all eyes focused on the new King and Queen.
Steady and soothing like a gentle river, that was Beren for her. He neither feared her nor judged her for the outbursts, and since the wedding he'd even taken to reminding her of the little things to be grateful for when she felt her patience grow short.

Thanks to Beren's subtle motivations, Zayra had found a moment of clear-headed charitableness to voice the issue that she'd seen plaguing the kingdom.

"It's the Gifted people that are coming forward, now that the Seramis family is back on the throne, and the Abnormals have withdrawn and they're no longer meddling in the affairs of the Realm," she had said to him a week ago, when Beren was still the "sitting King" while everything was still settling and recovering from the massive upheaval that had just happened.
"Yes?" Beren had barely looked up from all of the mounds of policy changes and tax raises the Royal Council had instituted to solidify their power over the people, coupled with the amendments and decrees the Clissander twins had used to take over--an unwholesome mess of power-grabbing and over-complication for anyone to try and decipher, much less an actual king who didn't need all that legislation to effectively wield authority that was rightfully his! "What about these Gifted people? It's a good thing they're practicing their Gifts more openly, right? We'll finally get the integrated society Father always intended."

Zayra wagged her head. "Haven't you been reading the reports from Edri about the state of the garrison, the Peacekeeper forces, and the dungeons? The whole criminal justice system was corrupted when Kaidan and Javira convinced the Council that it was in everybody's best interest to either try to control the Gifted, or get rid of the ones they couldn't control, by trumped-up charges or outright imprisonment." She gestured over to her own desk, piled high with such reports and maps and letters of her own. "Integration is a marvelous sentiment, and I'm all for allowing the Gifted to live and work and thrive on their own terms, but you and I both know that, as much as we'd like everyone to get along, there are those Gifts that are more of a hazard for the standard living communities, not because the Gifted one is a threat to anyone, it's just the nature of the Gift. Some Gifts make people uncomfortable, and others are useful but can get very much out of hand unless you already know how to protect yourself against them."
"Like Jaran's 'leck-trick power?" Beren suggested with a smirk, trying out the new-fangled terminology that Lizeth's studies had developed.

Zayra chuckled at the memory. It had taken patience and careful repetition to introduce the concept of "electricity" to their vocabulary, but at least now they could understand better how Jaran's Gift was about more than just bolts of lightning and flickering glowlamps.

"Yes, that," Zayra had replied. "Or someone like Erlis, who keeps sprouting dragon-scales at odd times, if she's been healing too constantly without proper rest. It's something we've learned to live with, because we understand the Gifts, but there are still so many unGifted who might react badly to someone who could transform into a dragon at a moment's notice."

Finally, Beren had turned away from his desk, and faced his new wife, giving his undivided attention to the situation she presented. "All right," he said. "You've identified an area that definitely needs work if this is going to be a functioning kingdom. Have you come up with any possible solutions?"
Zayra nodded. "One that will actually solve a secondary problem as well." She pulled out a map of The Realm and pointed to the Wilderness, the wide, barren eastern region that covered almost a third of the entire kingdom. "This land has been wasted for so long, used for banishment and isolation--but it's good land. Korsan lived there long enough to know. Instead of shunning it and using it for a dumping ground or treating it like it doesn't exist, though, what if we used that land," she overlaid the map with another she'd drawn, with quadrants parceled out over the whole area, "as a safe place for Gifted people whose neighbors have turned them out, to live and thrive and work on controlling their abilities, or just to conduct themselves the way they like without fear of harming those around them, since they would also be Gifted."

A smile played around Beren's face as he looked at the map. "Gifted people can learn to equip themselves with their Gift, rather than suppress it or hide it," he said. "And unGifted people can learn to see the Gifts for their unique abilities, instead of fearing all Gifts as dangerous merely because a few of them are."

"That's our cue," Beren's whisper tickled her ear, drawing Zayra back to the present. She heard the crier announce their names, and she stood amid a flood of applause, putting on a smile while the presence of so many different Gifts--most of them suppressed, for the sake of the crowd--tugged at her psyche, made her body feel like a fly trapped in a spider's web, being pulled in many directions and yet unable to move. She curled her fingers around Beren's hand, and he understood her desperation, intertwining his fingers with hers for a more secure grip. At last, they could withdraw and prepare for the grand feast. At least when she was eating, those impulses managed to disappear.

She nudged Beren as they walked down the hallway into the Great Hall of the White Castle. "Have you given the Wilderness Haven any more thought?" she asked softly.
He chuckled. "Zay, it's only been a week! I've had a lot of other things on my mind."
Her clear eyes fixed on him. "Well, I haven't!" she pointed out.
"I think it's a great idea," he murmured as they took their seats beside the new King and Queen of The Realm. "But now that Jaran is King I want to run it by him first."
The tension climbed, and Zayra felt her heart racing in her chest, pounding all the way up to her skull. "Why? He's your younger brother--"
"Because he's king, Zayra; these things need to go through the proper channels."
"Proper channels? Why couldn't you have started something back when I told you? He wasn't King then!"
"Zayra..." Beren's eyes flashed a warning to her, but Zayra was already feeling the burden of suppressed Gifts, and trying not to lose control.
"Must we always play second fiddle to those two, now? We're the elders, and we have plenty of power and rights on our own--"
"Hush, my love," Beren gave her hand a squeeze. "We will talk later, I promise."
Zayra glared at the lovely Queen sitting resplendent in the seat of high honor. That should have been my seat, the old voice she couldn't quite ignore whispered to her heart. The Paragon takes all of it for herself. She takes and takes, with no one to stop her... She's always in my way...
>>>>>>>>>>

Present Day

Princess Zayra paced one front of the map of Wildhaven. Her birthday was tomorrow, and Beren hadn’t said a word! Every year, he wouldn’t even think about her birthday until they all celebrated his; every year, he swore that he wouldn’t let her birthday pass him by this time; every year, the day came and went.
Zayra stamped her foot and shook her fist at the portrait of the two of them, painted just after their wedding.
“I’m not getting any younger, you know!” she snarled. “And neither are you! We only have so many of these days left!”

“Oh!” Zayra whirled around at the sound of the voice, but she only had a quick sighting of the red hair and twinkling eyes before Queen Azelie herself turned heel and walked briskly back the way she had come.
“No, wait!” Zayra bundled her voluminous skirt in her arms, and made a few steps after her. “I need to talk to—“ the hallway stood empty.

Zayra rolled her eyes. “Great, just great! Everyone’s avoiding me. What have I done to scare everybody off, then?” The crushing shame of doing something to alienate people without even realizing it threatened to close in around her.
It’s not like you’re enemies or competition anymore, the voice slithered in again. For pity’s sake, you’re actually family at this point! Why does she still avoid you if she’s the one wearing the crown? Is she afraid that you’ll take it from her?

“That’s just ridiculous,” Zayra muttered. She marched down the hallway to give Azelie a piece of her mind, Queen or no.

She saw a flash of red hair, but it was only Javira, coming in from the gardens. She stopped and bowed to Zayra. “Good morning, your highness.”
Zayra sneered, well remembering how this one sought to control her when she was weak and too overcome by her Gift. “What do you want?”
Javira blinked. She’s probably wishing she could still read my thoughts! “I was, um, looking for the King. Have you seen him recently?”
Zayra snorted. “No, I haven’t seen him at all since breakfast. Haven’t seen my husband, either!” Just the mention of him made her heart pound faster. What was going on? “But whatever it is, maybe I can—“

“No.” Javira didn’t even let her finish before turning her down. “I just need to talk to King Jaran.”

“Fine!” Zayra huffed, and flounced off toward the side of the castle. What business did Jaran have in them garden, anyway, that couldn’t involve someone else? It had been three years—there wasn’t an affair going on with either the King or the Queen, was there? Did Javira see something and wish to either confront or inform?
Not knowing was the worst feeling.

“Madam!” A guard called out behind her and Zayra stopped. She turned to address the soldier coming up behind her. “What is it?”

The broad-shouldered man had a young face, yet his hair was completely white. He carried a large round jewelry box studded with diamonds and rubies.
As before, the person speaking to her seemed very keen on speaking with someone else. “A package just came, and I’m instructed to give it to the Queen.”

Zayra stared at the box. “It’s almost the anniversary of their coronation,” Beren had said. Someone was giving Azelie a gift for becoming Queen, while nobody paid any attention to her own actual birthday?
Zayra reached for the box. “I’ll bring it to her—“
The soldier’s hands never left the box. “I’m sorry, your Majesty, but my orders were to—“
“YOUR ORDERS ARE TO GIVE IT TO ME NOW!”

Zayra stumbled back, overwhelmed by the flood of Gifted energy that had exploded out of her. She hadn’t meant to assert herself into this situation that probably didn’t involve her, but the box was in her hands now, and the white-haired soldier stood before her with a blank expression on his face. She delivered her command, feeling like the Mad Queen all over again. “Return to your post and forget this ever happened.”
Immediately, the soldier pivoted about-face and returned from whence he came.

The surge of power ebbed, and in its place it left only guilt. Hadn’t she promised never to become That Person anymore? Zayra scurried away time her private parlor and closed the door securely behind her.

Looking at the box, she recalled the guard’s words. “I’m instructed to give it to the Queen...”

“I was The Queen,” she whispered to herself. “I was Queen for much longer than Azelie was! I was better at it, too. I’m more a Queen than she ever could be.”

Zayra bit her lip and drew back. What was she even saying? What treasonous lies just slipped past her lips? Zayra left the box on the small table in the middle of the room and turned to the door. She needed to find Beren to calm her down again.

“On the other hand...” She found herself retracing her steps to the ornate gold box that gleamed in the morning sunlight. “Azelie hardly wears any jewelry anymore, after everything she went through as the Paragon. She’d probably never wear something like...” Her fingers flipped open the clasp, and Zayra viewed the contents of the jewelry box. “This,” she finished, pulling out the gorgeous red pendant on the long golden chain.

Put it on, Whispered the voice. Just the once. Then you can put it back and no one will be the wiser. Just to feel like a Queen again. Not just a princess—a QUEEN.

The chain felt cool around her neck. The clasp clicked closed behind her neck and the weight of the pendant settled over her bodice...

The parlor stood empty and still, as empty as the box that lay open on the table.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Velora stood in the middle of the clearing, Sable at her side. She called up every ounce of her wolffish senses, smelling, tasting, hearing, sight, to try and find where her ranger had gone. The trail of his mad dash behind the Wyrmling ended right where she stood, with nothing to tell her why, or how, or where he’d gone after that.

A rushing whirlwind nearly swept her off her feet, and when it cleared, a tall man with long honey-colored hair stood beside her.
“Anything?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not even a flicker of the Wyrmling. I’ve combed the entire forest, from the lower reaches of the Harbor to the Wildhaven boundary line.”
Velora narrowed her gaze. “Wildhaven? Show me.”

The Wind-Gifter led Velora down through the forest paths till they reached the tall hedges that marked the edge of the Gifted community.

“See this?” he waved his hand, and a compact breeze stirred the leaves. “Everything stops right here. I can stir the winds on this side, and I can reach across and stir on the other,” he thrust his hand into the hedge to demonstrate his point. “But I cannot extend back to one side from the other.”

Velora winced when she saw the shimmery gold threads Spruce taught her to look for. They wanted her to keep it secret from as many people as possible, for as long as she could—so why were there so many things that just kept crossing from their domain into hers?
“It’s a portal, Tristan,” she explained.

He stopped in the midst of tying his hair back. “A what?”

Velora paced along the barrier, careful not to cross it. “Gavin must have followed the Wyrmling right through it, which means he’s—“

“What part of The High Prince is ready to declare war on the mortals so you’d better not do anything to set him off is so impossible for you to understand?”

Velora stopped short of colliding with Spruce as he stepped out of the unseen veil into the seen world before them.

Tristan cried out in surprise, but Velora crossed her arms. “That wasn’t my fault!”

“But it was your man!” The Elf seethed. “He’s made a mess of the magic that protects us, so unless you want to suddenly be responsible for the unimaginable evils that might spill out through the breach, I suggest you find a way to fix what is broken.”

Velora clenched her fists as Tristan melted into the background. “How do you expect me to fix it? I have no magic—you have your Wyrmling back, why do you also keep Gavin prisoner?”

The Elf crossed his arms. “You can start by handing over the man who stole the dragon in the first place.”
“I don’t know anything about that!”

“Then, my dear Warden, you had better learn, because he’s just stolen the Wyrmling as well, so if you don’t find this man and the dragons he stole, then Aspen will have his war, and he’ll start by executing your ranger.”
“HE WOULDN’T DARE!” Velora snarled, feeling the wolf within her lunging and snapping, longing to sink her fangs into his skin, to claw his face to ribbons. She’s show him an execution!

Spruce only shrugged. “That’s the situation. You have no more leverage, I’m afraid.”

Velora glanced to the side, where Tristan waited at a respectful distance. “Fine,” she snapped at Spruce. “What can you tell us about this man?”
Spruce shrugged. “He moved faster than any mortal we had ever seen, even the Blessed. He seemed to have metal arms, though I don’t see how that could be possible—“

“I’ve seen it before,” Velora answered, before the Elf prince could pry. “Tristan,” she beckoned the wind-warper forward. “Go high and see what you can find. If there’s a dragon here, it will like the winds.”
Tristan nodded and leaped away.

Velora turned back to see Spruce watching her closely.
“Don’t screw this up,” he muttered, and slipped back through the veil.

Velora rubbed Sable’s head and groaned. Gavin would be the sort to accidentally stumble his way into an inter-dimensional incident!

“A man with metal arms, huh?” she mused aloud. They didn’t have many of that sort in the Realm, and someone who could behave like a Gifted (or “Blessed”) person, without actually being one...
Velora headed toward the northwest road, beckoning to the wolf beside her. “Come, Sable. I think it’s time we had a talk with our renegade Harbor Watch.” After all, she thought, She did disappear for about a year and came back with upgrades and improvements and many devices that no one in the Realm could have ever thought possible—her “Gift” isn’t quite a Gift. “Maybe she’ll know something about our mystery man.”

<><><><><><><><>

<<<< Previous            Next >>>>>