Locked in Stone

by Tory Michaels

  Cal tapped his watch to send a transmission to Dennis. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “She just…jumped,” the normally calm gargoyle yelled. Cal grimaced as his eardrum threatened to shatter at the racket. “Best I can describe it. That Vicky must be a teleporter.”

  Shit. Teleporters could jump anywhere. “Got a location?”

  “Yeah. She’s in Woodland, a little town about ten miles from here. I should be able to pick up audio on her soon as I reconfigure some stuff.”

  Well, that was something at least.

  A moment later, Tom raced up with his eyes wide from shock. Cal waved in the direction of the van and bolted for it, calling out, “What’d you see?”

  The ghost swallowed hard, floating as Cal ran. “I didn’t know about Vicky. I’m sorry, man. I was with her, like I promised. The witch stumbled into her and they vanished. I couldn’t go with her. I would have if I could. I didn’t even know Giles had a teleporter friend.”

  As a ghost, Tom couldn’t have done anything. None of them had thought of teleportation.

  “Not your fault. Dennis already has a lock on her.”

  The Sentinels and ghost reached the van and piled inside. Dennis, wearing a glamour that turned his appearance human, already sat in the driver’s seat, ready to go. He looked ill as he gunned the engine. Another gargoyle, a local named Niall, sat on the floor with his legs crossed, the laptop carefully balanced. The creature’s big fingers proved dexterous as he tapped away at the keyboard.

  “We’re working on getting ears on her,” Niall growled. “Tracker’s working, but our listening device is still coming back online. Surge from the teleport knocked it out.”

  The wheels of the van squealed as Dennis peeled out of the parking lot. Cal had barely managed to fling himself into the passenger seat in time and grabbed frantically for the nearest “Oh shit” handle available. Two of the Sentinels in the back cursed as they tumbled to the van floor in the abrupt takeoff.

  “Can she interact at all?”

  “Nope. Not until we’re within five miles of her location.”

  So they had no way of telling her they were still with her.

  Damn, damn, damn. He’d known this was a stupid plan. But he’d let Lucas talk him into it. No, hell, he couldn’t even blame Lucas, though he was the one who’d given the go-ahead to the mission. He’d let Rose talk him into letting her play bait. She’d batted those big silver eyes at him, reassured him she could do this.

  And, like a damned fool, he’d taken the risk; for the second time in his life, he’d believed a Sacred Mother when she told him they’d be safe even if he went somewhere without her. He’d gone to Paris, blam. Anniko died. He let Rose play bait. Wham. A necromancer captured her.

  Fuck. His fists clenched in his lap. Damn it, if he hadn’t been softened up by his attraction to her, he never would have agreed to it. He should have talked Lucas into finding another way, but he’d wanted to get to the soul-stone before any damage could be done and maybe, just maybe get a lead on Rose’s sister.

  He ground his teeth and yanked out his phone so he could dial Lucas’s number. His friend was going to have a shit fit that the mission had gone to crap. At least the teleporter hadn’t taken Rose far. Hopefully they could get there before it was too late.

  Because if Rose was surrounded by vampires, with no one to distract them or Giles, it surely wouldn’t take the necromancer long to figure to what she was.

  Cal closed his eyes and whispered, “Be careful, Rose.”

  If they lost her again, the Sentinels were screwed. Of course, that wasn’t anything new. But it would be the second time he would feel like he’d failed.

  When he got her out of this, he’d have to make damned sure he wasn’t this much of an idiot again. For any reason. Feelings or no.

  …

  Rose stood in a cluster of drooling vampires. They didn’t have much in the way of brains, but that didn’t make them less scary.

  Fear ate at her. There were at least six of the critters and the only thing now standing between her and being drained was Vicky’s tiny frame.

  “Back off,” the woman snapped. “She’s not for you.”

  Vamp A, distinguishable only because of his missing patch of hair, moaned and snarled, “Huuuungry, ‘Key.”

  Clearly whatever vampire had transformed him hadn’t bothered finishing the job, leaving the creature closer to a zombie than full-out vampire. Only fully transformed vampires maintained their intelligence and gained all the inhuman perks of the undead. Unfortunately, with lack of intelligence came a lack of appreciation for personal space, Rose noted as they continued to press against her.

  A slice ripped at her back. Rose leaped forward, practically climbing on top of the diminutive Vicky. It didn’t help much since she was already taller than the other woman and the vampires surrounded them on all sides.

  “Eeek, what is this? Where are we? What, where’s Giles?” Wasn’t so hard to pretend to be freaked out, because she was. Totally freaked.

  The Twisted One lost her innocent demeanor, letting out a disgusted huff. “Vampire den, idiot. Giles keeps them as his pets, and after you answer a few questions, you’re dinner.” She buffed her nails casually. “I personally wouldn’t bother screaming, but I suppose you can if the mood strikes you. It’ll just make ‘em hungrier.”

  Vicky’s previously pale, clear eyes turned hard. A miniscule, but not imagined, circle of red ringed the otherwise blue irises. Clearly she was no longer going to hide her demonic heritage. She whistled through her fingers. “Tyrone? Giles? We’re here. Where are you?”

  Seriously, why would Giles want to kill her? She’d never done anything bad to him and he didn’t know she was the enemy of his kind. Heck, she’d delivered hair and toenails to him on multiple occasions. He shouldn’t distrust her, or at least shouldn’t let this little bimbo toss her to the vampires.

  A shudder wracked her body. Her earpiece remained frighteningly silent. She must be out of communication range. The Sentinels would have talked to her if they could, right?

  God, what the hell was I thinking? Damn it.

  Cal would go bonkers and the Sentinels would probably never let her off holy ground again. She glanced around again and swallowed hard. She might not even object to being locked away…assuming she lived that long. Worst part: she couldn’t even blame the Sentinels for getting her into this mess. Nope, that was all on her.

  Good going, dumbass.

  She tried to calm down. Adrenaline acted like an aphrodisiac to vampires. Little tremors shook her finger and she clenched them into fists.

  One of the creatures spit, and the tiny speck that hit her skin hissed and popped as the acid-like substance sank in. She yelped.

  Her heart pounded and something in her snapped. The hell she’d go down without a blasted fight. If the Sentinels weren’t here, she’d do this herself. She was Brier Rose, daughter of Anniko, and no bunch of slavering, blood-sucking dimwits were going to cow her. She yanked the knife she’d tucked away under her jacket and brandished it at them, baring her teeth. “Back off!”

  “Oh, put that away, you silly girl,” Vicky snapped. “You’re outnumbered, twit.”

  Maybe not her best move, but she didn’t want to go out like this. Yeah, chances were she couldn’t take out a half-dozen or more vampires and a Twisted One by herself, but she’d damned well try. And pray that the Sentinels showed up before she became a juice box.

  Please Cal, don’t make me regret relying on you.

  A master vampire glided into the room, fully animated and with all faculties intact. His black hair glistened as if fresh from a shower and a hypnotic aura oozed from every pore. Her mouth went dry at the sight. Master vampires were the ultimate predators. Great. Six vampires, a master, and a Twisted One. Plus wherever Giles was, so maybe two Twisted Ones. She knew he was a necromancer, but Gwen hadn’t exactly trotted out his genealogy tree to show any low-hanging demons in it.

  Not good.
Not good at all. Cal…if I die, I’m gonna kick your ass.

  Or, at the very least, she’d make it her goal in, erm, death to haunt his sorry ass for letting her down.

  Her muscles locked up as the vampire moved toward her, her knuckles turning white from her grip on the knife.

  He looked handsome enough, wearing a well-cut suit and a neatly trimmed goatee framing his mouth. The faint scent of Eau de Death, a.k.a. vampire stink, that clung to him ruined the look though. The pitch-black eyes staring at her didn’t help.

  “Pretty, Victoria. Giles didn’t say she was so pretty.”

  “Yeah, well, keep your fangs in. He wants to talk to her first.” Vicky glanced around, scowled, and then bellowed, “Giles, Tyrone’s hungry. Hurry it up.”

  Rose’s ears rang from the echoing yell as the vampire chuckled and leaned forward to sniff her. His nose brushed her hair and she cringed. Unfortunately, if she actually moved back, she’d step into one of the vampires surrounding them. Fear pushed her into action and she jabbed the knife up against his throat. “Back off, you son of a bitch.” Playing scared just didn’t fit her, no matter how much adrenaline flooded her veins in a need to panic. “I’m here to see Giles.”

  While masters looked like they were perfectly intact, anyone who touched them knew that for illusion. At such close range, his skin had all the warmth of a piece of tissue paper wrapped round a wriggling, soggy frog. A single drop of ichor oozed from where the knife pierced his flesh.

  “Mmm,” he rumbled, seemingly unbothered by the blade threatening him. “Delicious. I wish you were all mine.” His hand shot up and wrapped around her wrist. He squeezed the pressure points with unerring accuracy and her hand involuntarily opened. The knife, her sole weapon, clattered to the ground.

  A fresh gobbet of spit splashed across her bare left arm. Master Vamp’s eyes flashed neon red, the only warning before his hand flashed out and sent the encroaching vampire flying against the far wall. It crashed and bone split.

  The Sentinels better get their asses here soon. Despite no longer having steel in her hand, she lifted her chin defiantly. “Giles. Where is he?”

  “So terribly sorry about my compatriot,” Tyrone purred, taking a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiping it over her cheek and arm. His grip nearly snapped her arm as he squeezed. No doubt as to its purpose.

  Asshole. He’d already disarmed her, did he really have to keep holding on?

  She glared and then flinched when he shot her a look quite similar to the one he’d used just before the other vampire went flying.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. Let’s just provoke the blood-thirsty fiend instead of trying to buy time.

  “Please, feel free to beg or plead for your life. I do enjoy a show with my meals.”

  Thankfully, in the wake of the flying vampire, the other five had cringed and slithered further away. It gave her a precious few feet in which to move and she took full advantage to step back. It wouldn’t take him any time to cross the meager distance if he decided he was ready for dinner.

  “Why would Giles want to feed me to these things? Since when are vampires real?” She flung a frantic, fluttering hand toward the monsters around them. “Witches, I get. But vampires?”

  Her fumbling gestures included clutching frantically at the hem of her tank top, bunching it between her hands. In truth, she just wanted to be close to her knife if this came down to a fight. She refused to be killed without taking at least one of them with her, but she couldn’t make the first move. Her best hope lay in holding out as long as possible. Surely Dennis was tracking her.

  That tracker better be working. I can’t keep them off me forever. Cal, where are you?

  The master vampire tsked. “You doubt what lies before your eyes?” He grinned broadly, showing yellowing fangs in his mouth.

  Vicky yawned and yelled again. “Ty’s really hungry. Giles, move your butt.”

  On the surface, the basement looked normal, albeit quite large. Stone walls surrounded them, and tapestries kept some of the underground chill from freezing the area out. Giles must spend time here. Vampires wouldn’t care about temperature, but a living person, regardless of genetics, would.

  “Coming to see Giles was clearly a mistake,” she whimpered, not needing to fake her fear as Tyrone loomed near. “Please, just let me go.”

  “Ah, there it is. I do so enjoy some whine in the evening.” Tyrone’s voice sounded like a cross between a lion’s purr and teeth grinding. He gave her a sweeping, courtly bow. If one discounted the seventies porn star hair and stench of decay, the gesture might have been polite.

  She swallowed hard.

  The picture of Gwen’s decapitated body flashed before her eyes and the memory sent a fresh wave of fury to drive the terror to one side again. Her jaw firmed and she straightened. She needed answers, and Giles was the only one who might be able to give them to her. Her life and possibly that of her sister was on the line. She’d damned well get what she came for.

  “Where is he?”

  He laughed softly, maple-syrup thick, with no tinge of compassion or pity, just malice. “In good time, my pretty. In good time.”

  Tyrone reached out and she stepped back, or at least tried to.

  She collided with Vicky. Vicky showed no sympathy either, just an evil smirk as she shoved Rose closer to the vampire.

  His finger trailed down her cheek, nails needle sharp. “He wants you, pretty human. Your soul, your information. And then, when you’re nothing more than an empty husk, ready for draining, I will take every last drop of your blood.”

  Oh God. Do not panic.

  A whimper escaped, fear once again eclipsing anger. Of course he’d want her soul. Giles was a necromancer. And if he took it…she shuddered afresh at the notion. He’d get more power than he could possibly comprehend, by taking a Sacred Mother’s essence.

  Tyrone’s cold eyes gleamed before they drifted shut and he inhaled deeply. His thin lips quirked up and he stared once more at her. “Blood. Your blood smells rich. Incredible. And I’ll…”

  “You will back away from Rose Johnson,” came a new, familiar, and strong voice from the stairs behind her. Heavy footsteps trod down as she tried to figure out how to turn around without presenting her back to Tyrone.

  Finally! She mentally threw her hands up in the air and spun around to confirm her voice recognition. What did it matter? If the Sentinels didn’t show up soon, she’d be dead anyway. She’d let Tyrone drain her before she became prey to the necromancer.

  At the foot of the stairs, dressed all in black as he always did, stood Giles Jester.

  “Hello, my dear. Welcome to my home.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sentinel Truth #7: There is no dishonor in retreat if it means you come back stronger to fight the evil that grows across the world. Martyrdom, while great for storytelling, achieves nothing but higher body counts. Caveat: never abandon a gargoyle.

  I’m so dead.

  She’d met Giles before, even shaken his hand and been a bit squicked out by him. Now though, evil oozed off him. The taste of vile magic clung to him.

  Still, she had to pretend like she believed he would help her, that Vicky’s words might be a lie. “Oh, thank God, Giles. Would you tell these crazy people I’m not dinner? And really, what’s with the vampires?”

  “I wouldn’t want to lie to you,” he said calmly, tapping his forefingers together. “Not now, not when your time alive is so very limited.”

  “But why? I thought you were going to help me. You said you would.”

  “Technically, no. I said I would meet you and I have. I’ve never been the sort to look a gift horse in the mouth. Gwen said you were devoted to her, but I didn’t believe her. Not when we used to laugh about your naiveté about my power and her apparent goodness.” He chortled, the sound digging deep into her soul.

  Her legs wobbled and she sat down hard. She’d known Gwen did business with Giles, but she had laughed about her? “You’re lying
.”

  He pursed his lips, held out his hand as if offering to help her up. While Rose did stand, she utterly ignored the offer and hopped up on her own. She got enough of the evil aura without touching him, thank you very much.

  “No, innocent one, I see no value in it. I didn’t know you’d come here. I told Gwen that when she was gone my…hands-off approach toward you would cease. She laughed and told me if she died, I was welcome to you. Said I would find you of great interest. And lo and behold, here you are, and now I will understand why she adopted a nobody from outside our world.”

  He didn’t know she was a gargoyle. At least it was nice to know that Gwen hadn’t totally betrayed her. Laughed at her maybe, but not betrayed her.

  She clung to that thought. She had to find a way out of this.

  “Rose Johnson? Can you hear me?”

  No voice had ever sounded as glorious as Niall’s did in that moment. Yet she held her panic-stricken expression steady. Not really hard considering she wanted to pee her pants. She was outnumbered seven to one. But hearing someone in her earpiece meant the cavalry was near, right?

  As if in answer to her silent question, Niall said, “Just a few moments longer. Our people are circling the house and will drop soon.”

  A new surge of adrenaline slammed through her body and it took real control to not let it show on her face. Help was closing in. She might just survive this. Not out of the woods, but thank God the gargoyles were there. She wasn’t safe, but she would be soon. Gargoyles would never let her down.

  “Tell me, little Rose, why did you come to California to look for me?”

  “I, I didn’t. I was running—flying, I guess—and Sacramento was the first flight I caught from Anchorage. Gwen, she was killed by something horrible. There was blood everywhere.” She squeezed out a few tears for emphasis. “I hired the bodyguard ‘cause I was scared. What if monsters came after me?”

  He chuckled and glanced at the assembled vampires and Vicky. “My dear, sweet innocent. We are the monsters.”