—1—

The Maiden and the Spaniard

As soon as she stepped on stage, a thunderous applause erupted from the crowd. Hundreds of people flocked from all corners of the world to come see the performance of a lifetime, and it was all cradled on the shoulders of one girl. She stepped into the spotlight and bowed gracefully, her long brown hair dangling above the violin she had in her hands. When the clapping ceased, she turned to the conductor and the full-on orchestra behind her, all of which were watching her in anticipation. She nodded indicating that she was ready to begin and turned back to face the onlookers raising the instrument to her chin, batting her blue eyes that still adjusted to the bright, warm ray of light shining down on her.

She could feel the edges of her lips curl.

She lived for moments like this.

The crowd fell silent as she let the bow rest on the strings and tilted it ever so slightly to draw in suspense. Then, she slowly shifted her weight and leaned into the first note, letting it ring out into the audience and throughout the entire theatre as the rest of the orchestral set followed suit.

Her fingers moved with a precision rarely seen in someone of such a young age. They paced back, forth, up, down the neck like a spider weaving a musical web making the notes almost visible to the naked eye. The slow tempo and augmented harmonies produced from the stringed instrument were breath-taking. The song was a familiar piece, but even to the trained ear, it was as if she was breathing new life into it, the way she slightly swayed her hips from side-to-side to keep time, the way she anticipated the next note and how she closed her eyes ever so often, adding emphasis to a crescendo in the measure. It was intoxicating to watch.

Yes, all eyes were on the musical prodigy, Sophia Alexander, the crowned jewel of the esteemed Alexander aristocrat family of London. She had been touring for two months now, and at the pinnacle of her travels, the last show of the year was to be played in her hometown amongst many familiar faces and other high-class members of society from all over the globe. Her mother and father sat off to the side, faces glowing, so proud of their little star, wiping a stray tear from their eyes. Words could not describe how elated they were of their little Sophie. Only seventeen-years-old. Time sure does fly, but she had accomplished so much in such little time. Ever since they could remember, they knew their little girl was destined for greatness, playing the piano and violin at five, the classical guitar and viola at six, the flute and cello at nine, every instrument she touched, she knew how to play, a gift only the most deserving were given. And oh how they thought she deserved it. Everywhere they went, they would exclaim how proud they were of their little girl.

And Sophia knew this.

Boy, did she ever…

But as she was up on the stage, gracing the audience with her rendition of the famous piece, her mind wondered. She had no need to concentrate on the song. It took one glance at the piece in a practice room a few weeks before the performance, and she had it memorized completely. And another two days of practice on the instrument itself and it was nothing but muscle memory. No, her mind wasn't on the music. It probably wasn't even in the confines of the theatre. It was far past the ceiling, into the sky, and up dancing along the surface of the moon. People told her time and time again that she gave life to her music, but in all honesty, there was no life in it at all. It was all a façade, a farce. She knew how to get people's attention. She knew how to technically play the song to where it would seem pretty, throw a few chromatic adlibs in an unsuspecting measure and they swore she had rewritten the entire damn composition.

To be completely honest, she was lonely up on that stage. She was tired of playing the game, pretending like she cared about being famous, being in the spotlight, being the second-best violinist, right next to that Wes Evans fellow. In fact, she had met him on many occasions and shared the stage with him, performing duets or simply taking turns shocking and wooing the crowd. As she watched on, she couldn't help but wonder; how he could act just…she didn't know to properly put it…so damn cool in front of these people? Was there any type of emotional conflict going on in his mind like hers? She would often wonder if it was merely a phase she was going through, some type of teenage adolescence, her throwing a fit or something insignificant like that.

No.

It was deeper than that.

Much deeper…

The way she felt seeped deep into her bones.

It was a prayer that she could only dream of it being answered, a song in her heart with one word and one note, playing loud and strong for someone, anyone to hear.

Deliverance.

The climax of the song was coming.

Time to let them have it…

Her fingers flew across the neck of the violin in a series of complicated enharmonic scales that she decided to throw in five minutes before the performance for added flare. And they loved it.

Oh how they loved. The second wave of applause was even louder than the first. It had begun before the song was even over. When the last note rung out, she stepped back and addressed the orchestra and conductor by motioning to them with her hand. Without a second thought, the entire ensemble stood to their feet and joined in with the eager crowd in thanking Ms. Sophia Alexander for gracing them with her music.

She smiled softly, rather embarrassed by how excited they were.

No matter how many times she played, she never got used to all of the faces praising her name. It was awkward. To her, she was nothing special; even so, she bowed respectfully and waved back. She even caught one of the many thorn-clipped roses that made their way onstage.

Maybe she was being selfish.

This wasn't entirely bad.

People appeared as if they liked her, her parents adored her, she was living a very comfy life, and she traveled the world. Most people would kill for something even remotely close to a life like that. There was no need to desire anything else, right? After all, she had been living this façade for seventeen years. Why complain now? She would just have to hunker down and accept it. No matter how long she played that one heart-string, no one was going to hear it.

As the applause began to die down, she suddenly felt a presence, eyes, watching her in the distance, not like the normal crazed fans, whistling and shouting in admiration. It felt different, warm, like they were calling out to her. Why was she feeling this all of a sudden? She found herself scanning the faces of the crowd, trying to pinpoint where the spectacle was coming from. Her eyes darted left, then right, seeing if anyone was out of place, but to no avail. The spotlight shut off above her, and she was rushed off the stage by a group of rather large men.

She sighed in frustration.

She didn't like her body guards, not in the least. They were pushy, bossy, and much too overprotective for her tastes, but they indeed had a job to do. In almost no time at all, they had made it down three flights of stairs and to the door of her changing room. She sighed again and went to turn the knob, but stopped short turning back at her caretakers.

"Please tell me you aren't going to stand here by the door while I change."

The three men, all of them wearing sunglasses, simply looked at one another and collectively stepped three paces backwards away from her.

Without another word, she stepped inside and locked the door. She made her way towards the violin case sitting on the dressing room counter and carefully placed her prize possession inside. Even though she didn't like playing most of the music she performed, she still loved the violin. Aside from the guitar, it was her favorite instrument.

Now the guitar, THAT was the instrument she enjoyed, not exactly fit for her line of work, but whenever she had time, she would go up to the confines of her room and pull out the dusty blue 1976 Stratocaster she had saved up to buy and plugged it into an amp and turned it up to the point where the windows would shake and rattle as she slid up and down the fret board.

She almost laughed out loud thinking about it.

"No time for daydreaming I suppose. Mum and dad will get worried if I take too long."

She walked over to her suitcase and pulled out the evening dress that her mother had bought her back in Paris. It was a droll shopping spree at best, highly unnecessary in her eyes, but of course, what does a teenage girl like herself know when it comes to the finer things in life, says her mother? She was far too young to know what's what and what wasn't.

But in reality, she didn't really care about anything of that sort. She was usually cooped up in her room writing a song, not gallivanting about, purchasing $700 dresses and purses. She had far too much music to write. It had become such an obsession, that her parents would sometimes have to force her out of her room to enjoy some company with other people.

As for the dress in her hands, she didn't really like the greyish color all that much; but nonetheless, it would make her mother happy if she wore it. She walked back over to the mirror and took a good long look at herself. Her freckled skin and cheeks shimmered underneath the lights, nervous sweat from the performance no doubt. As long as she didn't smell, it was fine. She leaned in closer and moved the bangs away from her cerulean eyes and batted them a few times to see if any mascara was running.

Nope, still fine…

Hold on.

Eyes.

Those eyes that she felt, where were they coming from? Or was it just the heat of the moment? No, she had never felt something like that before. It was as if the onlooker was up on stage with her. She was first going to blame it on the beaming flood light, pouring it's rays atop of her head, but it was far too distinct to be mistaken. And the weirdest thing about it was that the stare wasn't off putting or out of place. Oddly enough, it felt…compassionate, sympathetic even. Truly there must've been a reason for her feeling them. It was like she was being spoken to. And she could legitimately trust whoever it was.

Trust?

Wow, that was a bold thing to say.

Listen to yourself Sophie, you sound foolish.

Even though she was in the public eye more often than she would like, she was not the most sociable person in the world. Many of the families and friends her parents associated with were very superficial, had no substance, and always, ALWAYS, talked about money. They found their identity in it.

And she didn't stand it, not in the least bit.

Even if she suddenly found herself being unable to play music for some unknown reason, she would, of course, be overwhelmed with sadness for a time, but she never found identity in it. It was a beautiful gift she was proud of having and was not shy about sharing, but the most important thing for her was to find herself amongst the pages and pages of sheet music she would memorize and play day after tiring day. She liked music because it was romantic, scary, unpredictable, not because it was an occupation. She liked pizza and she liked to travel and meet new people, real people, with their own concerns, their own lives, listening to their own stories. She knew what she liked and what she didn't.

And she didn't like the superficial, stuck-up, snobby, rich folk she found herself surrounded by all the time.

She sighed heavily. She had found herself sighing more now recently.

She was doing it again, playing that one damn, heartstring.

There came a knock on her door.

"Miss, are you about finished? Your parents are calling for you."

Her bodyguards, of course…

"Yes, yes, I'll just be a moment," she huffed as she began to strip her performance attire. "Keep your shirts on."

"Oh, my dear, you were wonderful."

"Yes indeed, quite the immaculate performance. Why, I dare say, it was the best one yet."

"Marvelous, simply marvelous."

Her parents knew how to flatter someone, but even living under the same roof as them every day, she still was not used to being praised and adored so much. It didn't mesh very well with her character, but of course, she smiled and agreed with whatever they said. They had abandoned the theatre to sitting out amongst the fandom in the dinning hall to enjoy each other's company and some fine food.

"Oh, stop you two," she waved them off scanning the menu. She wasn't even hungry to begin with. She had eaten before the performance. "You're embarrassing me. It wasn't that big a deal. I just played like I usually do."

"Nonsense," her father, Edgar Alexander chimed in, glowing smile curling up his rather impressive moustache. "You're such a modest child, but sometimes, we must say how we feel. I honestly feel that we don't tell you enough how proud we are of you."

"Quite right," her mother, Gloria added, overlapping her husband's hand with hers. "I know you're growing up to be a strong independent young lady, but we assure you, we'll always be proud of you no matter what."

Sophia couldn't help but smile. She could admire their passion. Where they got it from, she would never know. When they wanted to get a point across, they drove it all the way home.

"Ok, ok, fine. Thank you. I love you both. But this flattery will get you nowhere, you know? It sounds to me like you're just trying to butter me up. I still want us all to go to the United States for the summer as soon as this tour is over and done with. I want to go travel there, see the sights. We hardly ever do that nowadays since you two are so busy with work."

Her father was in Parliament and her mother was a renowned fashion designer and critic. Naturally, their occupations kept them from being at home. Most of the time, they were hardly around to see her perform (which is why the three guards were implemented from time-to-time). Flying in a private jet by herself to places like Japan or Italy was nothing new for her. It was quite normal. But when her parents did find time to come to one of her engagements, they showered her with affection. It was rather embarrassing to have such rambunctious and enthusiastic parents, but she wouldn't trade them for anything.

The couple gave each other a troubled look.

Uh-oh, Sophia knew that look. It was the 'give an elaborate excuse as to why we can't do a certain thing' kind of look. Her father was the first to speak up.

"Um sweetie, it's not like we don't want to. We really, really want to go, but you know our business, how we run things. It keeps us away sometimes—"

Her mother stressed as well, "—and we wanted to let you know as soon as possible, but we felt like we should wait until you finished the concert…"

Oh, God, they were finishing each other's sentences? This was a definite no.

She chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. She was looking forward to a trip with her parents for a change, but it would have to wait. Duty calls. Who was she to oppose it? When she got older, she swore to never be as busy as they were, to not have time to sit and enjoy an afternoon with her children…if she were to ever have any.

God forbid.

As they began to drone on-and-on about how they were terribly sorry for not informing her sooner, it happened again. Her concentration was slowly being jerked away from her parent's rather extensive explanation back to the sensation she was feeling earlier. The thought that she was being watched was returning, this time, there was absolutely no mistaking it. The presence was close, very close. Her eyes began to scan the area once more over the top of her menu, but no one was giving her the vibe that they was staring at her, trying to get attention, goading her in a manner.

No wait. Wait!

There he was, off to the right, over her father's shoulder, sitting in the corner next to the window. It was a young man, had to be about her age, sunburst skin, face glimmering in the darkened candle light, curly black hair, and the slightest trace of stubble on his chin, hazel eyes unwavering.

Jesus, those eyes…

He was staring so intently at her, his gaze fixed on her before she even knew where he was.

But why? The longer she stared back at him, the more everything else began to fade away, the clanging of dishes in the distance, the ambience level of mutual conversation, it all began to blur. It was like he was drawing her in; wanting to tell her something only she would understand. By then, it was like they were the only ones in the room.

She shook her head slowly baffled, "I don't understa—"

"Dearest, are you listening?"

She blinked a few dozen times, waking her self out of whatever trance she was in, "H-huh, what?"

Her parents shot another worried look at one another, "Honey, are you alright?"

Before she could answer, her eyes glanced back over to the young man sitting at the table only to find that he was gone; she quickly bobbed her head awkwardly in every direction trying to pick him out amongst the crowd and eventually, she pinpointed him. She only caught the back of his head, but he was exiting the dining hall, slipping through a back door.

Follow him. You're going to lose him!

"Uh, um…ah, y-yes, I'm fine. It's fine. We'll, um, we'll talk about it as soon as I get back," she managed to spit out an excuse before rising from her seat, every fiber of her being betraying her.

What the hell was she doing? Why was she about to follow this guy?

Her father looked at her quizzically, "Where are you going?"

She was already two tables away before she turned around and gave a half-hearted answer, "Um, bathroom?"

And with that, she was gone, leaving Edgar and Gloria at the table completely stunned. He sat back in his chair and sighed, "Well, that was odd."

His wife nodded in agreement, "Quite, I thought the bathroom was in the other direction."

This was a bad idea.

What the hell was she doing?

After weaving her way through the crowd of tables quickly bowing and shaking hands, the people sitting obviously impressed by her performance, wanting to thank her over and over again, she had quietly stepped through the back door she had seen the mysterious individual go into and found herself in a darkened hallway as the door closed behind her. She looked to her right and the hall disappeared into the darkness. To her left was an opened area that lead out onto a veranda.

There he was.

She could see the shape of his silhouette from her vantage point. He had his back to her, obviously admiring the extravagant view. The stars were finally out after a few cloudy days and some rain. But the view was the last thing on her mind as she sneaked closer. Her body was betraying her racing mind with every step she took. What she was doing with dangerous, possibly life threatening, but she was in fact doing it, and she couldn't believe she was. She didn't even know this guy, who he was, where he came from, not his name, not anything. Her mind kept telling her to back away, but something about him, drew her in like a distressed trout on the hook of a skilled fisherman's reel.

Before she could even reconsider the gravity of her actions, the fact that she had followed a complete stranger out onto a balcony that only the streetlights below and the moon above were lighting, he turned around to face her. How did he even know she was there? She could have sworn she had made no noise.

Their eyes met and he smiled contently, obviously happy that she complied with his silent request to meet with him. His charming grin made her blush, much to her relief that the dark covered her rosy cheeks as she took an apprehensive step forward. She didn't notice from the table, but now that she was close enough to see him, she found him quite dashing, he cleaned up quite nicely dressed in a simple tuxedo with the tie loosely hanging from his open collar and his shiny black shoes glistened in the moonlight. It was like he had come straight out of a spy movie.

"I-I apologize for the intrusion," she didn't know what to say, playing with one of her bangs nervously, twirling it around her finger. Now that she was here, what now? She figured that there was enough room between them that if things went sour, she would turn tail and run for her life, but the more she looked at him, the safer she felt. Standing there, she felt like there was literally nothing threatening about him.

You're just staring back, say something.

"I'm Sophia by the way. I…don't know if you knew."

He simply smiled and tilted his head as if he was studying her, still not breaking eye contact.

"I uh, noticed you…noticing myself, I mean, me. I, uh…sorry, this is unlike me to follow after, um…strange boys."

What the hell was she talking about?

"No, I mean…I just thought that you might want to talk. Did you want to talk? I could be mistaken..."

He nodded.

"…because if not, then I can just…oh, you wanted to talk? Oh, that's good. What, um, what did you want to talk about? Was it something important?"

He nodded again.

"Oh, good, right then, fire away."

Her words slowly faded into the silence that soon followed. It grew even longer as he simply stared back at her, not uttering a word. He put his hands behind his back and rocked backwards and forth on his heels finally breaking eye contact with her and began to admire the scenery once more.

Well, this was awkward.

What was he doing? Now that she thought about, he hadn't said a single word since she saw him, not introduced himself, no name, not coughed or sneezed, nothing. She was all for the silent, dreamy type of guys, but this was ridiculous. Why wasn't he speaking? He was the one who said he wanted to talk in the first place. Or at least, that's what she thought. He wanted to talk, right?

He then reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a single piece of paper and a pen and began to furiously write on it. Sophia looked on both curious and wary of what this sudden progression meant. Dotting the last of his writing, he extended his hand and gestured to her that he wanting her to take it, shaking it in the air. In turn, she stepped closer slowly and removed the sliver from his hand hovering it above her eyes so she could see him out of her peripheral as she read the message.

He had nice handwriting, a combination of cursive and stationary.

It read:

My name is Hush.

I am sorry.

I cannot speak.

I am a mute.

But I did want to meet you.

For that, I thank you.

You sounded amazing tonight.

I am a big fan.

What?

Mute?

She looked up at him. He wore a soft smile, still shifting on his heels.

He was being serious.

This was a first for her. She had never actually met a mute in her life, so her initial reaction was hesitation, unsure of what to say, then guilt for thinking even the slightest bit poorly of him.

And his name, obviously a play on words due to his disability, but it actually suited his suave disposition.

"Oh my, I'm…I'm so sorry Hush, correct? Forgive me. I had no idea."

He shook his head in earnest letting her know it was fine. A few more moments of silence passed again as she summed up her thoughts of the new revelation that her dashing young admirer was unable to talk back to her.

How was she supposed to talk to him? Did he know sign language? Wait a moment; did he need to know sign language? He said he was a mute, not deaf. Well, knowing sign language would be useful. Wait; but she didn't know sign language. How would he knowing sign language be useful here?

You're staring back Sophie!

"…Sorry, I'm out of sorts today for some reason. However, I apologize for the misunderstanding. But thank you." She smiled kindly, "I'm glad you liked the song. It was sweet of you to mention."

"You are welcome."

She froze.

That was an audible voice, but in her head, husky, thick, low-toned Hispanic accent. Her eyes met his once again. He had stopped rocking on his heels now, his appearance a bit more serious.

What was going on? Was she hearing things? She took a hesitant look behind her, but no one was there. Where did that voice come from?

"Can…you hear me?"

She jerked back around to meet his eyes again, "Is…is that you?!"

He nodded vigorously, "Yes, it is. How are you?"

"How am I? How in heaven's name are you doing that?! How come I can I hear you in my head?!"

He put a hand to his mouth as if stifling a laugh. Was he laughing at her? How could he be laughing? It was a legitimate question worthy of being taken seriously. Any normal person would freak out of hearing a deep, resonate, slightly attractive, voice come out of nowhere.

She stomped her foot in frustration, "Answer me, I said!"

He straightened up, inner-voice still audible to her just like she would be hearing anyone else, "No, not your head, technically, it is more so that you are hearing me with your soul."

She blinked in confusion, "My soul, what do you mean? You're not a telepath or anything?" this was amazing. Physically, he was unable to speak, but through some sort of magic or something unexplainable, he was able to communicate with her.

He shook his head, "No, I am not a telepath. Like I said, you are not hearing me with your mind, but your soul. I can only do this with certain people, people with special gifts."

She raised an eyebrow, "What…do you mean special gifts? I'm afraid I don't follow."

His entire demeanor changed in an instant, "You may be able to fool others, but you cannot fool me. You know exactly what I am talking about. You are a gifted young woman in more ways than music."

She caught on immediately.

No, not this.

She took a cautious step backwards. The gravity of his words came crashing down on her.

This was bad.

This was very bad.

She couldn't stop the tremble in her voice, "Who…who are you. What do you want?"

The young man took a step forward, noticing her apprehension, "I came all the way from Madrid to speak with you, Sophia Alexander. I knew it the moment I saw your performance on the television. Your soul was practically calling out to me, and I had to answer it." He took another step towards her, hands extended, "I am a meister and I am in need of a partner." He pointed directly at her.

"I would like for you to become my weapon."