by Amy Sumida
“Everyone who can hear this get to the west end of Linari Street now!” Slate shouted into his radio then tossed it into the Jeep.
Slate's jacket went next but he didn't have time for more than that. With a grimace, he shifted, ruining his suit and shoes. Fabric tore and drifted away as a massive gargoyle stepped out of the debris; muscles bulging everywhere. Slate spread his wings, curled his claws, and roared at the Troll.
The Troll bellowed back.
Binx and Aaro—also shifted—dove for the Troll's legs, taking him down in a tumble that vibrated beneath my feet. A parked car crunched under the impact. Slate pounced onto the Troll's chest, landing on his feet. Claws lifted then came down in deadly arcs. I gasped and pulled back in my seat, shocked by the violence. I'd had a brief thought of singing before I'd seen how easily Aaro and Binx had downed the Troll. It was apparent that he was infected and should be subdued. But Slate wasn't subduing him; he was going for the kill.
“Slate!” I shouted as I left the Jeep. “You'll kill him! Slate! He's just infected. It's not his fault!”
The Troll rolled, taking all three of the Devon brothers with him, and ending with Slate on the bottom of the pile. I flinched as the Troll punched Slate in the gut with the force of a battering ram. Okay, maybe Slate hadn't been trying to kill the Troll. They were rather hard to kill, with skin nearly as resilient as a Gargoyle's.
Another bellow came from further down the street. I lifted my gaze toward the sound. A female Troll barreled toward us, spittle flying from her open mouth, hair streaming in a tangle behind her, and fists lifted like sledgehammers. She batted cars out of her way like toys as drivers abandoned their vehicles.
Fuck a duck! At first, I thought I'd said it; it had been my voice after all. But it wasn't me; it was RS.
The exclamation jolted me out of my daze and drove two thoughts into my mind. One; I needed to sing. Two; RS had been conspicuously silent during my meeting with the seer.
Another bellow joined the female's and the road started to tremble with the pound of Troll feet. Before I could panic, help swept in from above. Slate's Gargoyles had arrived.
But that didn't mean I couldn't help them.
The happy strings of Sheryl Crow's “Soak Up the Sun” seemed an inappropriate soundtrack for the battle before me but I let the music fill me along with the magic. I needed this; something uplifting. Something light. And if it stopped a Troll battle, even better.
I sang about looking on the bright side no matter what horrors you're faced with. About letting go of headaches and heartaches and all other aches because they're only yours if you claim them. I sang about a type of freedom, perhaps the best kind; the freedom to allow yourself to be happy. But what I truly needed from the song wasn't its upbeat ambiance—upbeat even with an underlying sadness—it was the sunlight the lyrics referenced.
There's a misconception about Trolls. Humans myths say that they turn into stone in sunlight. That's not quite true. They don't like the sun—it's one of the reasons Trolls prefer to live underground—but it doesn't kill them or even turn them briefly to stone. It's more like that lazy feeling you get when you're lying in summer sunshine. It seeps into their bodies and relaxes them until they can't resist having a nice lie-down. Their systems slow into a state of hibernation that paralyzes them. It's a weakness, most definitely, and if it happened to them, say, in the middle of a fight, it could be a fatal flaw. But I was trusting the Gargoyles to not abuse the advantage I gave then and do their duty as guardians of the Zone.
With the first words of the chorus, the faux moonlight of the Zone brightened into the strength of day. Although the full-spectrum bulbs Slate used could provide nourishment to plants, it couldn't affect Trolls. It wasn't real sunshine. But my magic changed that. The light warmed and sharpened; its rays transmitted the true power of the Sun. The Trolls stopped bellowing. Their hands lowered and their steps slowed. Just as a crag of them—that would be the term for a whole fucking lot of Trolls—rounded a corner, every one of them fell to their knees then back on their butts in a daze. Troll faces relaxed into smiles as they laid back on the sun-warmed streets and closed their eyes to soak it all in.
Into that stillness, I heard Slate roar. He was mid-swing. I don't know if his momentum couldn't be stopped or if he simply hadn't realized that the Troll beneath him was asleep, but his claws raked across the Troll's throat and blood sprayed in an arc that foretold death.
Everyone else was still. The other Gargoyles had heard my song and knew what to expect. They had stood down as soon as they were able. But their leader now stood over a dead Troll; blood on his hands and face and body. Blood everywhere.
My song sputtered to a stop.
Slate panted viciously, shoulders hunched and wings trembling. He swung his head to meet my gaze and the silver of his eyes glowed against the veil of blood that coated his face. Slate bared his teeth and his entire body shook. He looked menacing and more than a bit insane. I stepped forward, unsure what I would do but certain that something had to be done.
“Kyanite!” I hissed.
I've got you, my love.
The Reggae beat of No Doubt and Lady Saw's “Underneath it All” started to fill the war-torn street with its mellow grind. My magic, still settling after our last performance, came roaring back to life. I started to sing gently about a woman wronged. The lyrics hinted at dark acts that made her wish for another lover, but she clung to her man because she believed that beneath the monster laid a hero. I saw that monster now but unlike the woman in the song, who was likely clinging to a man she shouldn't, I knew that Slate truly was a good man beneath all this madness. I knew that if he could just see himself now, he'd snap out of it. So, I would be his mirror.
I called to the real Slate with my music, begged him to push aside this monstrosity and step forth. Showed him with my eyes and words and magic what he was doing; who he was becoming. I filled my voice with more than my magic; I filled it with my truth. I offered Slate my trust. Bared my loyalty and love. Told him I'd stand here beside him until he remembered who he was; the man I loved. We'd conquer this monster together.
I held my hands out to Slate as I sang, pushing the power into him as well as my strength. It didn't take long, though it was longer than I'd expected. I felt the magic shiver between us and the madness slowly withdrew from his face.
Slate blinked, refocused on me, then looked down at himself as if he didn't know where all the blood had come from. He shifted back to human but the expression didn't change. He looked lost.
I let go of the music and my magic. Sunlight faded back to moonlight and Slate was left in the spotlight of a streetlamp.
“Slate?” I called to him.
He blinked and shook his head as if to clear it. His gaze met mine and he gave me a grateful nod. Then he took control.
“Get those Trolls chained and into jail cells!” Slate yelled at his men who were watching us with wide, shocked eyes.
The Gargoyles sprung into action as Slate turned and stalked to the Jeep. Aaro and Binx followed grimly, exchanging worried looks. Slate didn't climb in the back but took the driver's seat. Naked. Aaro and Binx took the backseat without protest, and I got into the front passenger's seat with a concerned look at the Zone Lord.
“I know, and thank you for your help,” Slate said under his breath. “But please don't say anything. I can't take it right now, sweetheart.”
I nodded, and Slate started the car.
Chapter Fourteen
My contact charm rang seconds after we exited a shop we'd stopped at to get the men some new clothes. I slipped it into my ear and answered.
“We're here,” Torin's voice came through. “Where are you?”
“Getting in the Jeep,” I said as we did just that. “Can you meet us at the spot where Gargo was buried?”
“Yes.” A pause. “Elaria, are you well? Safe?”
“I'm fine. I'll see you soon.” I pulled out the charm and glanced at Slate.
“I'm fine too.” Slate glanced at me and then in the rearview mirror at his brothers. “I... had a moment of... frustration.” He shook his head and let out a shaky breath. “Part of me knew it was over, that the Troll was asleep, but another part...”
“It's okay.” I put my hand on Slate's thigh and squeezed. “It's been stressful. You were shifted and in the middle of battle. Bloodlust got the better of you. It happens.”
Slate swallowed roughly and nodded but didn't say anymore.
“I told the men to prepare the body for any relatives who might claim it,” Aaro said tonelessly.
Slate remained silent. He navigated the roads swiftly but without Binx's recklessness. We were soon driving past the city limits and onto bare dirt. The Zone had been carved out of stone but a layer of soil had been imported to coat most of it, giving the underground sanctuary a surface feel as well as the ability to support plant life. The soil in this area had been packed hard by the pound of feet and the roll of tires but a section of it had been flattened by machines... after the Gargoyles had filled it in and plugged the hole that Poseidon's army used to infiltrate the Zone.
Filling that hole had been a process. First, the underground river of seawater had to be blocked. Slate hired an Ice Witch to freeze the water. I might have been able to help him with a song, but my other magics are Fire and Light so ice is more difficult for me, and Slate didn't want to stress my magic when the RS was so unstable. After the ice formed a frozen dam, the Gargoyles chipped most of it away and replaced it with cement. Then that was topped with rock and soil. Now, the packed dirt was nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the barren area—an open space at the end of the cavern—but I had bled too many times there to ever forget it.
So had Slate. He pulled the Jeep to a stop beside the filled hole, finding it unerringly, and the headlights spotlighted the barely discernible edges. The rest of my men were waiting for us along that faint edge; they too knew the perimeter of Gargo's prison. I climbed out of the Jeep and went straight into a group hug. As I held them, I breathed them in; Torin, Declan, Gage, Banning, and Darcraxis. The men I loved. The combination of their scents did something to my body that had my muscles melting. They were my sunshine. I let out my breath on a long sigh and pulled them closer.
“El, what's going on here?” Gage, my griffin mate, asked, his eyes still within a calm, hazel range but his voice wary.
“Darc told you about Gargo's blood?” I countered his question with my own as I stood back, out of their arms.
They all nodded, some of them glancing at Slate and giving him a second nod as he walked up.
“The blood is driving the Zone residents insane,” Slate answered for me. “It started with the Felinae, who are evidently more sensitive to such things.”
“And we just came from a Troll fight,” I added.
“Trolls?” Declan's amethyst eyes went wide. “Are we going to have to repair your zone again?”
Slate grimaced. “We got it under control before they could do too much damage but if we don't get this infection cured soon I don't know what will happen.”
“What do I need to do?” Darcraxis settled his sparkling sapphire stare on Slate.
Darc is the tallest of my men but when he had been a God—a full God with all of his power—he'd been even taller, a giant really. This body was technically a miniature version of himself. Looking at him made that fact laughable. Darc was anything but miniature. Even his stance was impressive; his broad shoulders straight and ready to handle whatever we asked of him. He wasn't as thickly muscled as Gage—with his Griffin-build—but Darc's body was still muscular and even at rest it looked capable of anything. He shook his raven-black hair out of his face with a casual toss and lifted his chin confidently.
I almost believed he'd be okay.
“It was Elaria who was given the instructions.” Slate deferred to me.
“Given by whom?” Torin asked.
“A Naga seer we consulted,” I answered. “All the seer said was that we needed Darc's blood to counter Gargo's. I'm assuming that means he needs to bleed in the same place that Gargo did.”
“Rather simple,” Banning, my Blooder (aka vampire) prince, noted with a frown. He crossed his arms—nearly as impressive as Darc's—and his sleeve lifted to show a tattoo of my face. Technically it was Fortune's face, but it was the same one I wore in this life.
“God magic is usually simple,” Darc said, settling his stare back on me.
“It makes sense; that's how they intended to free Gargo,” Gage reminded us. “By draining El...” his voice faded as he realized what he was about to say. “Fuck, are we going to have to drain all of Darc's blood?”
The men turned their stares on Darcraxis. Even Binx and Aaro, who stood a few feet away, waited for his response.
“I will not allow myself to be drained completely,” Darc reassured us. “If more is required than I'm able to give, I will pause and recover before bleeding more.”
“Fuck,” I repeated Gage's sentiments. “Fuck,” I added another for good measure. “I don't like this. I can't stand here and watch you bleed out, Darc.”
“I can't stand by and watch Slate's people suffer for something I'm partially responsible for,” Darc countered.
“This is not your responsibility,” Slate said firmly. “Your help is greatly appreciated, but I don't want you doing it because you feel guilty.”
“That's not why I'm doing it.” Darc laid a hand on Slate's shoulder. “You're one of us. Family. If you suffer, we all suffer.”
Aaro made an approving and somewhat smug sound.
“Thank you.” Slate laid his hand over Darc's.
Darc turned and looked at the ground. “As I recall, most of the blood seeped into the earth near the hole. Some did get into the water, but I imagine that was diluted by the sea.”
Torin nodded and went with Darc to an area several feet to the right of the filled hole. “About here I think.”
Aaro jumped in the Jeep and drove it closer to the spot, giving the men some light. The beams caught the metal of Darc's dagger as he pulled the blade from a sheath on his belt. That was one thing about dressing like a Shining One, they tended toward a medieval flair and daggers were a common accessory.
“Wait!” I hurried over to Darc. “Let me come up with a song to have ready.”
“A song for what, my fire?” Darc asked with a wry twist of his lips. “I'm immortal and becoming more so every day; your song won't be necessary.”
“Just in case,” I insisted.
Darc spread his hands—one of which held his dagger—in an as-you-wish gesture.
Ky? I posed the question inside my mind.
A song to save a God's life or a song to refill his body with blood? Kyanite asked.
Refill him? I hadn't thought of that.
You can do anything, my love.
Nearly anything, RS huffed.
What's with the tone, RS? I asked.
You heard Darc; he's getting stronger. And you heard the psychic snake too; something will have to be done, girlfriend.
I thought we decided that— you know what? This isn't the time for this conversation. Ky, you got anything for blood?
I have a few options. Tell your lover to make the first cut.
I looked at Darc and whispered, “Okay.”
Darcraxis, God of Water and Darkness, sliced his forearm without hesitation. It was the kind of cut a truly suicidal person makes; one who knows enough to go along the forearm instead of across the wrist. Someone determined to die. I cringed but my husband didn't even flinch. He bled.
It seemed like a river of crimson poured out of Darcraxis, streaming down his hand and onto the soil. For a moment, it pooled there, then, as all of us watched, the Zone drank Darc's blood like a man dying of thirst. Now that it had a taste, the earth consumed the blood as it fell, not even a stain remained as evidence of the amount spilled. And that wasn't the only rapid reaction. Darc's immortality quickly healed his wound,
and he had to keep slicing himself to keep the blood flowing.
He and I shared a heavy look.
“It appears to be working,” Declan said hesitantly.
Almost as if it had heard Declan, the Zone started to tremble. At first, it was a light shiver but it quickly magnified into a full-blown earthquake. Screams and shouting erupted from the city whose residents had been through something similar recently. No doubt, they were afraid that another God was rising. In a way, he was, except this wasn't the effects of his arrival but his suppression.
“Get the men out into the Zone to calm everyone,” Slate shouted into his radio. “The quake is the result of...”
“Of what?” Jago demanded. “What the fuck is going on?”
