It wasn’t fear she felt toward the gargoyle, but apprehension. Somehow she’d managed to end up on some rooftop downtown with a gargoyle come to life.
Too much caffeine and a screwed up work schedule, she thought. That’s all this was. They were messing with her REM patterns big time.
Kate closed her eyes tightly. When she opened them again, her position on the rooftop had changed. She was standing where the gargoyle had been not a moment ago.
Kate looked down at her feet. Instead of sneakers she saw two stone feet with claws. It was as though she were seeing through the eyes of the gargoyle. As though she and the gargoyle were one.
Kate tried to shake herself free, but the gargoyle was in control. Resigned, all she could do was let the scene play itself out. The gargoyles had gotten inside her head at the castle. Now it was her turn to be inside one of them.
Most of the old buildings along the street below were filled with specialty shops, restaurants, and professional offices. She’d never realized how small the maples and oaks would look from this height, which was about seven or eight stories. The combination of the midmorning sun and the light breeze made the leaves swirl in a flurry of gold and crimson.
The two teens below increased their stride, hiking up their baggy, worn pants as they drew closer to an elderly couple shuffling along the sidewalk. Kate felt the gargoyle crouch down and move along the building’s ledge.
It was stalking them!
As the boys traipsed down the street, the gargoyle followed stealthily across the rooftop until it reached the edge of the building. Down the side the gargoyle crept, between two large windows. Kate caught a glimpse of a woman sifting through papers on a desk, unaware of the giant stone creature just outside. And for whatever reason, the gargoyle wasn’t at all interested in the woman.
The gargoyle’s attention remained on its quarry. The boys were laughing and nudging each other.
“Go for it. Shake up the old farts. They’re useless anyways,” one of them said. “Fucking cotton heads. They all smell like medicine and piss.”
Their cruel laughter infuriated the gargoyle—its rage rising deep from within. Kate had to agree. What ass hats! The gargoyle crept closer, closing the distance. It wanted to know what the boys were up to, and there was no doubt they were up to something, and the something wasn’t good.
She was doing more than seeing through this gargoyle’s eyes; Kate realized she was sharing its thoughts, its feelings. And in return, the gargoyle shared hers. She didn’t know how or why they’d become connected, just that they were. Both of them wanted to make sure the elderly couple was safe. The gargoyle’s thoughts were slightly more aggressive than her own, and she was helpless to stop it. Part of her didn’t want to stop it.
The elderly couple made their way along the sidewalk, seemingly unaware of the boys behind them. The man steadied himself with an antiquated wooden cane in one gnarled hand while gingerly holding onto his wife’s arm with the other. She shuffled along in her faded rose-colored dress and a white cardigan that had seen better days, much like her husband’s coat. A small, off-white rectangular purse hung at her side.
The wiry-haired boy reached the couple first, stepping in front of them and blocking their path. He cocked his head like a scruffy dog. “Hey, Gramps! I’m collecting for a charity. Me. You wanna donate?”
The woman huddled closer to her husband.
Kate wanted to see if anyone else noticed the trouble the couple was in, but her vision remained limited to the gargoyle’s viewpoint. For now, the stone creature didn’t appear interested in looking at anything other than the current show on center stage. Even if she could have gotten a good glance around, at this point, it might not be clear to anyone else that the couple was in danger. And then again, maybe no one else cared. Most of the world had grown callous to such things. What could she do, then? Shout down to them? Kate tried, but nothing happened. At the moment, she was just along for the ride.
Stop it! I don’t want to see anymore.
But she was powerless to do anything except watch.
When the old man didn’t answer, the heavyset boy kicked the cane out from his hand and sent the man sprawling to the pavement on his hip. He cried out in pain. Beside him, his wife screamed. The boy snatched the cane from the ground and jabbed it into the man’s ribs.
Someone do something! Doesn’t anyone see?
The gargoyle gave an angry grumble. Kate felt enraged herself and wanted to shout at the boys to stop. She wanted to go down there and help the couple. Eager to respond, the gargoyle lurched forward from the deep shadows in the alleyway.
No. Wait!
The gargoyle hesitated.
The gargoyle heard her!
The woman was crying now, pleading for herself and her husband. Again Kate wanted to lash out at the boys. The couple was in serious trouble, and no one had come to their aid. Her fury fueled the gargoyle, and it moved forward again, slow and ominous.
Someone had to see the gargoyle by now.
But if someone was seeing this, why weren’t they doing anything? How could anyone miss a moving statue?
Because they weren’t looking up.
The gargoyle couldn’t be more than a couple of stories from the ground. Through the gargoyle, Kate smelled the elderly couple’s fear and the heightened adrenaline rush from the young thugs. If there were other scents, she wasn’t aware of them—the gargoyle’s focus stayed on the people within its sight.
In that moment, Kate knew how a hungry lioness must feel when she crouches in the tall grass, sights on a grazing springbuck unaware of the danger nearby. She knew the focus of a sniper’s mind as he readied his rifle, target in sight.
Stone or not, she felt the gargoyle’s power and strength waiting to spring forth, felt the saliva thicken between chiseled teeth and tongue. From within the creature’s chest came a deep rumble as it sank low on the side of the building.
Stone couldn’t have senses, she told herself desperately. It couldn’t taste. It couldn’t hear.
But this one could. It wasn’t just her sight, her saliva, her hearing. She and the gargoyle were a part of each other. The gargoyle awaited her decision, but it wouldn’t do so for much longer. It wanted her approval, but it did not need it.
The heavyset boy glanced behind him, down the street. He nudged the other kid. “Travis, look.”
Travis followed his gaze. The gargoyle finally turned its head to see what the boys were looking at: three burly men, all over six feet. They were crossing the street with long, purposeful strides.
“Hey!” one of the men called. Through his tight T-shirt, Kate could see that he sported muscular biceps and a rippled midsection. Relief washed over her to see that some people still cared.
Hurry!
“Later, Gramps,” Travis said matter-of-factly; his eyes narrowed as he shifted his glance from the men back to the old couple. He gave the man one last hard jab in the ribs with his cane before tossing it in the street. The fat boy hawked a wad of thick spit onto the woman’s face and laughed. Then Travis and his friend turned on their heels and trotted off down the street.
The gargoyle leapt quietly to its feet, ready to pursue the boys, then froze. Kate watched as the men approached. The creature observed them as they helped the old man to his feet and checked on his wife. Silently the gargoyle turned and crept up the side of the building and back onto the roof. A flock of startled pigeons squawked and took flight. The gargoyle jumped effortlessly to the rooftop of the adjoining building. It padded across the roof to the far edge and waited.
The boys’ voices echoed down the alley. “Did you see their faces, Eric?”
“Yeah, I thought they were going to lose their prunes.”
They were just beneath her now. Travis kicked an old beer can, his hands stuffed loosely in his pockets. Eric held pebbles in his hand, heaving them one by one at a small gathering of birds picking at discarded food, sending them squawking. The gargoyle’s legs shifted to
a crouch as it eased down the side of the building, licking its lips.
No.
The gargoyle reached the base of the building and moved out into the litter-strewn alley behind the two oblivious boys. A thin homeless man with a ponytail and scruffy beard drew a frayed blanket closer to him as though to shield himself from the teens.
“What are you looking at?” Eric scolded as they walked past him. He kicked the man’s box of belongings, sending it spinning a few feet away. A pair of tattered jeans and a dirty white T-shirt spilled out. The man waited until the teens were a safe distance away before gathering up his clothing and placing it back into the cardboard box.
“I never want to get that old,” Eric said, chucking a rock at the homeless man.
For a moment Kate thought the two boys were going to vent their anger on the vagrant, but they moved on, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Travis clutched his chest, mimicking the old woman while Eric laughed.
The gargoyle moved closer—within striking distance.
“You hear that?” Travis asked.
Eric shrugged, or seemed to. With all his loose clothing and his thick neck, it was hard to tell. “Hear what?”
They both turned at the same time. Kate caught a glimpse of the gargoyle’s sharp claw as it reached forward, snagging Travis like a fishhook, puncturing his left lung. A rill of blood streamed from the wound, and a large maroon bubble escaped his lips. His eyes were huge and staring.
NO! Kate yelled, but the gargoyle was no longer listening to her.
The gargoyle took the boy into its mouth and shook him like a dog shakes a toy, snapping his neck and back several times over.
Eric didn’t scream, although he did open his mouth. He stood frozen, eyes bulging, a wet stain darkening his crotch.
Kate heard a sickening crunch and tasted something coppery and slightly stringy. Her stomach lurched, and she tried to free herself from the terrible vision. No such luck. She could only watch in silent horror as the gargoyle dropped the dead boy at its feet and focused on Eric, who now wielded a glass bottle, his face white with fright. He threw the bottle, hitting the gargoyle’s leg. The creature leaned forward and snapped its formidable jaws as if tasting the air.
Kate feebly tried a final time to push the sight from her mind.
Close your eyes, she told herself. Just close them!
Thankfully she could no longer see the horrific event. But she still heard it. The next sound reminded her of a soda can crumpling. Except she knew better—it had been the boy’s head.
Kate’s stomach lurched again, and she fought the urge to be sick. A sudden tug snatched her away, and the familiar falling sensation consumed her, freeing her from the vision.
Please! Please don’t let me see another scene like that one. Ever. I just want to be back home.
At first, there was nothing. Then, floating. She was somewhere on her ceiling, looking down at herself as she slept on the sofa. Kate gasped, and with that gasp, she felt herself swoosh down and meld with the slumbering Kate.
When she awoke, the lighting in the room had shifted. She’d managed to escape the dream and somehow stayed asleep for a while. How long, she wasn’t sure. An hour or two? Three?
It didn’t happen. None of her dream could be real. The castle, the man—Declan. Then the gargoyles and those boys . . . But it had felt real. Too real.
Kate got up and searched for her iPad, finding it on the kitchen counter. It was almost noon. The attack she’d supposedly witnessed would have been earlier this morning, and it’d been local. If any of this were real, there would be a report of some kind. The media would be all over the gruesome deaths of two teens.
Her fingers fumbled as she searched for the website of a local news station. Cursing, she hit “Backspace” and forced herself to slow down. What would she look for? Other than the men, Kate wasn’t aware of any witnesses. She didn’t think anyone else had seen the gargoyle. Even if they had, would they admit to it? Typing in “attack by gargoyle” seemed ridiculous. Kate decided simply to scroll through the top headlines. Nothing.
Maybe it just hadn’t been reported yet.
Maybe there was nothing left, she thought. The boys were simply missing.
No. It wasn’t real, no matter how real it felt.
Kate stared blankly at the iPad. What the hell? Was she going crazy? Her head hurt. She pressed the palms of her hands against her temples. Get a grip, Kate, she thought.
All the rationalization in the world didn’t change the fact that she had been there. She had been a part of it. It also didn’t change the fact that Declan had wanted her to see it. He’d said they’d chosen her and that he could see why.
They? The gargoyles? They’d chosen her for what, exactly? To eat thugs?
Ignore it, she told herself angrily. Stop thinking of the place. Stop dreaming it, and it’ll all go away.
Except something nagged at her. It would be impossible to tell her subconscious not to think about Shadow Wood, Declan, or the gargoyles. For that matter, she wasn’t able to stop thinking about it right now. Which meant it would happen again. She’d been inside that gargoyle, and something told her these two deaths were only the beginning. Her mind replayed bits and pieces of the memory despite her best efforts not to think about it: the gargoyle stalking the boys, the clear feeling of contempt. She saw it slink toward them, hesitating when she’d told it to stop.
Oh, shit.
The goddamned thing had hesitated.
Without any doubt, Kate knew four things: One, the gargoyles would attack again. Two, the only way to stop all this was to take control, to go back to the castle and talk to Declan. Three, she was going crazy if she thought this even had a chance of being real. That led to her fourth revelation. “Coffee,” she said to no one in particular. “I need coffee.”
CHAPTER NINE
Ian
At ten to seven, Ian heard a light tap on his door. He answered, somewhat relieved to find Von Hiller standing there. He wore the same suit as earlier, but had exchanged the white shirt for a gray one. His emerald eyes seemed all the brighter in contrast. They had a kind quality that set Ian at ease.
“Declan thought you could use a friendlier escort to dinner than Roland,” Von Hiller said.
“Thank you.” Ian genuinely liked Von Hiller, and he suspected Von Hiller was warming up to him as well. “It is good to see a friendly face.”
Ian put on his own suit jacket and followed Von Hiller out of the room, closing the door behind him. Von Hiller walked slowly down the hall, giving them time to talk.
“I can understand that what Declan has told you might seem strange,” Von Hiller said. “But if you give us a chance, I believe that you’ll find we’re quite welcoming. Well, most of us.”
For Ian, it didn’t matter. He liked it here. Even if Von Hiller said they were strange, and even if he didn’t think much of Roland. The weirdness—the gargoyles, the odd, almost humanlike presence on the stairs—it felt, well, comfortable. He wasn’t sure how long the role play would go on without him and Declan discussing it, but for tonight and the next couple of days he’d enjoy it.
“Where do you get your inspiration?” Ian had once asked Declan. It was a question Ian’s readers asked him repeatedly, and Declan’s answer was the same as his own—“my vivid imagination.” But Declan had just given Ian an entirely different answer: Lord of the Netherworld. Ian wished that he had thought of such a character himself.
“I’m sure I’ll enjoy my stay immensely,” Ian replied.
“I hope you like beef,” Von Hiller said. “The chefs have prepared a wonderful rare roast with Madeira wine and wild mushrooms.” He patted his midsection. “I keep telling them they shouldn’t prepare such delectable meals.”
Ian’s stomach rumbled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the small danish at the hotel before he’d left early that morning. “Sounds delicious.”
Von Hiller’s gaze darted around the hall. Ian looked, t
oo, but they were the only ones around. “There are a few things I want to tell you before we go to dinner,” Von Hiller said.
Ian nodded, indicating that Von Hiller had his full attention. He never knew what new and interesting nuggets of information they were about to bestow on him.
“A word of advice during your stay, if I might be so bold,” Von Hiller said as they made their way toward the stairs. “Be careful if you decide to roam the halls at night.”
They passed an old wrought iron and mahogany display cabinet holding a battle-ready Celtic broadsword and what might be a dragon-slayer halberd. Both appeared very sharp. Von Hiller paused and followed Ian’s gaze. “I wouldn’t want you to run into anything . . . unpleasant.”
Ian glanced back at the swords as they descended the stairs. Yeah, he’d hate to run into that in the middle of the night.
They passed the spot on the stairs where Ian had seen the apparition, and it made him think of the female ghost. According to his hosts, she sounded like something rather pleasant to run into in the dark.
Laughter and talk emanated from the study where he and Declan had spoken earlier. Two women and a man regarded him as he and Von Hiller walked by. Both women were dark haired and athletically built. They wore calf-length dresses while the man wore a camel-colored jacket and casual pants. The man, who had shoulder-length dirty-blond hair, nodded politely before returning his attention to his female companions. Ian should have felt uncomfortable with their gazes, but since he was an outsider, their curious stares weren’t unexpected.
If they were supposed to be supernatural beings, though, he couldn’t tell. Which side of this game were they on? Actors, or guests like him?
“Who are they?” Ian asked in a low voice.
“They hear you, even if you whisper,” Von Hiller said.
Which didn’t answer Ian’s question, but he didn’t press it.
Past the study and the billiard room was the dining hall. Enormous rectangular tables lined three sides of the room. A mammoth fireplace stood against the rear wall. It looked almost tall enough for him to stand in the center of it. As they drew closer, Ian noticed the ornate Celtic carvings adorning the sides of the stone mantel, their intricate swirls and lines intertwining from one carving to the next. On each side of the fireplace’s base were engravings of wolves in various gaits.
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