Havoc

by Taylor Longford

  But I was ready for a fight. I was SO ready.

  Ripping open my wings, I leapt skyward to meet the harpy, veering and slashing out with my knife as I tore past her. The blade came away with a smear of dark blood on its sharp edge, and I grunted with satisfaction.

  I shot upward in a corkscrew then reefed my wings, and fell straight at the winged demon climbing toward me. I slashed her again on my way down, opening a long tear in her wing and setting her off balance. With one wing out of commission, she had no choice but to descend in an awkward spiral. But she still had her sights set on me.

  "Come on, you wicked old tart," I muttered as I fell to earth, ignoring the deep gash her talons had made in my shoulder. "Come and get me."

  I picked a target below and angled toward it, snapping my wings open just before I reached it, hanging in the air and waiting for her with wings spread so she couldn't see what was just beneath me.

  She saw me hovering below her. I imagine I must have looked like a juicy morsel waiting to be picked off. A smarter creature would have been suspicious. A smarter creature would have stopped to think, "Hey, maybe this is one of those situations that's too good to be true." But harpies aren't known for their exceeding intelligence. She saw me and pulled in her wings, diving at full speed.

  When she was almost upon me, I spun away.

  The harpy saw what I had been hiding. She tried to pull up but it was too late. She was too heavy and going nowhere but down. If anything, she made it worse when she tried to open her wings and put on the brakes. Now, she was no longer traveling head-first toward the earth. So, the center post of the marquee tent took her just beneath the stony plate that protected her breast. It ripped through her heart, traveled up her throat and shot out of her mouth.

  The white canvas billowed in waves as the tent collapsed around her, and the thick post tilted slowly toward the ground. The harpy hit the grass with a heavy thunk as the brass cap sprang from the post and rolled away across the lawn.

  I landed in a crouch beside the monster and lifted my knife, ready to finish her. But it wasn't necessary. The harpy's thick blood poured from her wounds and darkened the grass as she gradually turned to solid stone. The thing was dead.

  "Harpy shish kabob," I muttered vindictively.

  Pulling in a few rough breaths, I straightened my knees and kicked away from the horrible thing as I glared down at it. Harpies. I still couldn't believe it. Where had they come from? We'd lived at the house for four years without any hint of their presence. Now, all of a sudden, we were hit by a whole gang of the monsters? A large gang by all indications.

  I looked down at my hands. The latex gloves I'd pulled on to mix the glue for Sophie's shoe had sealed my barbs and kept the harpies from being able to scent me. And the thick walls of the workshop had stopped me from hearing the initial attack, delaying my arrival on the scene. Otherwise, I would have been carried off with the rest of my pack.

  And Sophie. She would have been captured too.

  While this idea sent an icy chill skirling down my spine, I heard a small sound behind me—like a sudden intake of breath—and knew immediately what it was. Sophie's sweet vibe was already swarming across the yard and overtaking the ugliness of the monster at my feet.

  I whirled around and found her, perched on her toes at the edge of the patio.

  "I told you to stay in the workshop," I barked, flinging my hand toward the end of the house where the carriage house stood.

  "Havoc," she said breathlessly, her eyes huge. "Wh-what happened here? What was that thing you…killed?"

  "Harpy," I spat.

  "Wh-What is a harpy?"

  "Sworn enemies of gargoyles," I told her, stalking toward her with my wings open. The wide spans of black leather framed my figure like a dark canvas. "They attacked and carried off the others. But…you don't believe in gargoyles, do you?"

  "Havoc," she said, pain and confusion swimming in her eyes. "Why are you acting like this?"

  I flipped the knife out of my hands. It flew end-over-end and sank into the ground, the blade buried to the hilt in the grass. "This is me being serious," I growled darkly. "I hope you like it."

  Chapter Twelve

  Sophie crept slowly toward me, her eyes wide. Reaching out a hand, she touched my wing and ran her fingers down the thick spine. "Havoc," she whispered.

  "Gargoyles can turn to stone," I said ruthlessly. "And did I mention that a gargoyle doesn't age when he's in his stone form?"

  "Y-You weren't in England while I was growing up?"

  "Nay. I was right here at the house, up in one of the attic rooms."

  "And you turned to stone for four years?"

  "To be with you," I said. "So I could be sixteen with you."

  "Can…you show me? Can you turn to stone now?"

  "Nay," I growled, impatient with her need for proof as I pulled the clean knife from the ground and strode away. I headed across the lawn, toward the back of the property where I'd last heard Hooligan growling. "Not without the help of the sun's rays."

  She had to skip to keep up with me. "You're…bleeding."

  "Aye. The harpy's talons opened a hole in my shoulder." I closed my wings over the wound. "It'll heal."

  "That's it? It will heal?"

  "Aye. My wings will put pressure on the wound and stop the bleeding."

  "Wings! Havoc, this is all so hard to believe!"

  "Aye," I cut back at her as I searched the inky shadows between the trees. "I'm quite familiar with your lack of belief."

  "Havoc, that's not fair."

  I stopped in my tracks and lifted my eyes to the sky as I counted to ten. "You remember how upset you were when you thought I was treating you like you were dumb?"

  "Ye-es," she answered.

  I brought my gaze down to her face and locked it on her eyes. "Well, just stop and think for a minute. And try to imagine how upset I am that you thought I was a liar."

  "Do you mean when we were in the garage?" she said faintly. "When you told me you were a gargoyle? When you said you had turned to stone for four years?"

  "Aye," I muttered, moving on.

  She followed me in the darkness. "Well, you have to admit you were telling me some things that were pretty hard to believe," she argued.

  My response was a low growl as I continued my search.

  "I mean, obviously, I believe in gargoyles now. Now that I've seen your wings. And that harpy. Unless I'm dreaming. Or hallucinating. You…didn't put something in my drink, did you?"

  I shot her a dark scowl.

  "Okay, so I'm not hallucinating," she said in an undertone.

  Hooligan took up his growling again. The deep, gravelly sounds came from the farthest end of the property. "Hooli," I shouted. "Where are you, boy?"

  The wolfhound's growl grew louder, followed by a bark.

  We found him between two tall Engelmanns, shaking his head violently, his teeth buried in a harpy's neck. My first instinct was to kill the monster. I sprinted the last few steps, falling to my knees and sliding on the grass as I lifted my blade and prepared to bury it in the creature's heart.

  Sophie's instinct turned out to be the better one. I don't know how she kept up with me, but she was right there beside me when I reached the harpy. With a hand tugging on my arm, she stopped me. "No," she insisted.

  I glared up at her. "Are you crazy? This thing has to die."

  "But you don't know where the harpies have taken your family," she argued without blinking. "And this one might know where they are."

  She had a point. I was just having a hard time adjusting to the idea. With an impatient toss of my head, I shook off the blood lust that was reddening my vision. I wanted so bad to kill another harpy. But locking my hand in Hooligan's collar, I fought the impulse and shouted, "Down, boy. Down!"

  I don't know what the big dog had seen take place in the back yard while Sophie and I were in the workshop, but Hooligan wasn't inclined to do any such thing. If anything, he set in with more resol
ve, quite clearly bent on tearing out the harpy's throat.

  "Hooli," I yelled, and wrenched at the dog's collar. "Stop. Stop it now! That harpy's the only link we have to MacKenzie!"

  At the mention of his mistress's name, the big dog hesitated in mid-snarl. His mouth opened and he turned his head to bark at me.

  "That's right, boy. MacKenzie. We have to find her, right? We gotta get Mac back."

  Hooligan barked again, then returned to growling as he made another lunge for the harpy.

  With my hand locked on his collar, I dragged him back a few feet and pointed at the crumpled form on the ground. "That thing can tell us where the other harpies took MacKenzie."

  Hooligan tilted his head and looked at me, acting like, "Hey, I know we're friends and normally I would listen to you but I really want to kill this thing."

  "I know," I told him. "I know. I feel the same way. But we have to think about Mac. And the rest of the pack."

  Finally, he backed up and sat down. But he never stopped growling. Not for one second.

  "Pack?" Sophie questioned.

  "Gargoyles form social groups known as packs," I explained briefly. "It increases our chances of survival. My family and their lasses are my pack."

  Dropping to my knees, I did a quick assessment of the monster on the ground. Her wings were open and tangled around her rocky frame…which was clothed! I grunted in surprise. I'd never seen a harpy dressed in clothes before. This one wore a pair of short woolen breeks and a thin tan-colored jerkin made of linen. Hanging from her belt was a long knife not unlike the one I gripped in my fist.

  The knife was a puzzle to me since a harpy's talons make perfectly adequate weapons. The blade was just…overkill. And since when was a harpy smart enough to effectively use a weapon, anyhow? I slipped the blade from its rough leather sheath and threw it aside.

  Tilting my head, I gazed down at the creature. The harpy wasn't very big. No taller than me. "Must be a youngster," I muttered.

  "Why do you say that?" Sophie asked.

  "The adults run about seven foot," I explained, and waved a hand toward the patio. "Like the others back there. And this one…has hair."

  "She does?"

  "Well, more hair than normal," I muttered. "But then, I've never seen a young one. Maybe they lose their hair later on…when they get bigger…and uglier."

  As I spoke these words, I frowned down at the harpy. The thing is…it wasn't that ugly. It certainly wasn't even remotely pleasant looking but…it wasn't the worst thing I'd seen in my life. And believe me, harpies are the worst things I've seen in my life.

  But I was wasting time. We had a life to save. My heart wasn't in it, but it had to be done. I grabbed the harpy's chin and turned the creature's head, checking out the damage. "Let's get her throat bound," I said. "And see if we can stop her from bleeding out."

  Hefting the harpy into my arms, I carried her across the yard and through the kitchen door. Our footsteps echoed as we made our way down the hall to the living room where I lowered the harpy onto one of the three couches grouped around the television. While I arranged the harpy's wings in the closed position, I sent Sophie to one of the bedrooms for a blanket. "Go with her," I told Hooligan, uneasy about letting the lass out of my sight but not wanting to give the harpy a chance to escape.

  When Sophie came back trailing Mac's tartan quilt, I tucked it around the harpy while I sent my two helpers to rustle up some bandages.

  "Where will I find them?" Sophie asked.

  "In the cupboard at the end of the hall. Hooligan will show you," I told her, watching the harpy carefully and making sure she was still breathing while simultaneously tracking the sound of Sophie's footsteps through the house to make sure she was safe.

  I couldn't help but be uneasy. The thing is…there could have been another harpy around and I wouldn't have known it because of the near presence of the harpy on the couch beside me. But Hooligan's senses were at least as good as mine, and I knew he'd protect Sophie against any threat until I could get to her.

  "Thanks," I said, breathing out a sigh of relief when Sophie returned to the living room with a box of bandages clutched in her hand.

  "You're welcome," she said quietly.

  Parking on the couch beside the harpy, I lifted the monster's head into the crook of my arm and bound her neck, repositioning her rocky flesh and trying to get everything back in approximately the right place.

  Sophie knelt beside me and helped manage the roll of white cloth that went around the harpy's neck several times. I tried to concentrate on my work, but my gaze kept slipping back to the girl at my side—her bruised knee, her scuffed elbow, the dark smudge of grease on her cheek, and the small tear in the skirt of her lovely peach dress.

  "Are you alright?" I asked gruffly, tilting my head toward her knee. "I hope you weren't hurt when I hid you in the workshop."

  "You mean when you stuffed me into that locker?" she asked with a wry twist of her lips.

  "I'm sorry," I muttered, feeling guilty.

  Her voice softened. "My bumps and scrapes are nothing compared to the hole that harpy put in your shoulder."

  Automatically, I shuddered at the thought of the harpy. If Sophie had come out of the workshop a little earlier, the monster might have carried her off. The idea of losing Sophie made me feel sick.

  "I should have known things were serious when you shoved me in the locker. I'm sorry I didn't stay put when you told me to. I'll try to do better next time."

  "You'll try to take me seriously?" I asked with a thin smile.

  She met my gaze and set my heart pounding. "I'll try," she agreed, matching my smile with a small one of her own.

  I tied off the bandage and got to my feet, reaching down to help Sophie up. Her hand was soft and smooth as it rested in mine. And I didn't want to let it go. I turned it over and ran my thumb into the center of her palm, captivated by the silky warmth of her skin. I don't know how long I stood there like that. But eventually Sophie cleared her throat, bringing me back to the present.

  Reluctantly, I let her fingers slide from mine. "Why…don't you get some sleep?" I suggested.

  She looked around and picked out the couch on the opposite side of the coffee table. After tucking the skirt of her dress beneath her, she stretched out and closed her eyes. She was only about six feet away but I sent Hooli with her.

  "Stay with Sophie," I told him. "Guard her."

  It wasn't his first choice of assignments. He'd rather have stood guard over the harpy. A low snarl vibrated in his throat, his keen gaze fixed on the harpy lying on the couch. But he turned obediently and padded off a few paces then curled up on the hardwood floor close to Sophie.

  With that sorted, I lifted an upholstered chair into the space between the couch and the coffee table. Comfortable in the wide chair, I waited for the monster to open her eyes. Like I said earlier, she was ugly. But…not as ugly as some of the harpies I'd run into during my lifetime. That was probably because she was young, I decided. She hadn't had enough time to reach her full potential horribleness.

  I sighed and shifted in the chair. Could there be such a thing as a good harpy? I mean, what if you caught one young enough? With love and kindness, could you raise it to be compassionate…and loyal? Or was a good harpy a paradox?

  It didn't matter, I decided. This one clearly wasn't what you could accurately describe as good. But…I could sense that she wasn't entirely bad either. And that would make it a little easier when it was time to feed her. Because—as distasteful as the idea was—she was getting my venom. It was the quickest path to her recovery. The poison would heal the harpy and make her strong.

  Inexorably, my eyes were drawn to Sophie. And for the next twenty minutes, she was quiet. Her eyes were closed. Her lashes shadowed her cheeks. But her uneven breathing told me she wasn't asleep.

  A strange edgy tension ripped between us like a barb-wired fence. I had this weird sense of impending…something. Like all of the things we needed to say to
each other were locked in a ticking bomb, waiting to go off. We needed to talk. I knew it and she knew it and that's why she wasn't sleeping.

  "Tell me about…your kind," she finally said, her eyes opening and fixing on my face.

  It was a relief to be talking. "Gargoyles," I started quietly. "We're an ancient breed that once shared the earth with humans."

  "Once?" she queried.

  "We're the last of our kind."

  "What…happened?"

  I pushed out a sigh. "If things hadn't gone terribly wrong eight hundred years ago in the medieval town of York, we wouldn't even be here. You wouldn't know anything about us."

  "What went wrong?"

  "Dare was attacked by a gang of harpies on his way to help a friend. When the rest of the pack found out, we raced to his side. But we found ourselves outnumbered when we reached him. I suggested we go stone so the harpies couldn't take us alive."

  "Why do harpies hate gargoyles so much?"

  I screwed up my eyes. "Hate is the wrong word."

  "I don't understand."

  "Harpies actually love gargoyles. But not in a good way. Their number-one goal in life is to capture a gargoyle and force him to share his venom."

  "Venom?"

  Resting my elbow on the arm of the chair, I angled my fist upward. "Gargoyles are born with poisonous barbs hidden beneath their hackles—or knuckles."

  Her eyes widened on my fist. "You have claws underneath your knuckles? And they're poisonous?"

  "To all but harpies," I answered. "The monsters are addicted to the stuff. It makes them stronger, almost invincible. And they think it makes them…less ugly."

  "I see," she murmured. "So, what happened after you and your family turned to stone?"

  "We had chosen a hut with a stone floor to make the change. That way, we could fuse our feet to the floor so the harpies wouldn't be able to carry us off."