by Anton Strout
“And . . . ?”
She sighed, running her fingers through her Cookie Monster blue hair. “She yelled at me for not coming in sooner,” she said. “But not just because of the concussion. Under these clothes, my body is a rainbow of colors, going a bit heavy on the black-and-blue side.”
“That’s not from the dancer side of your life,” I said, pained on her behalf.
“Dancers get injured, too,” she said. “Do you know the shelf life of a dancer? It’s almost as bad as that of a figure skater!”
“You need to take it easy,” I said. “Go home and rest some more. I won’t have you falling apart on my account.”
“Lexi—”
I stood, pulling her up out of her chair. Her legs wobbled underneath her and gave out, but I caught her as she fell forward. It was an awkward grab, her forehead slamming into my chin, but when she looked up at me, the fight was gone from her eyes.
“Fine,” she said. “But who’s going to protect you if that guy comes back around here?”
I smiled. “Not this girl,” I said, tapping her on her forehead. I scooped up her dance bag.
“At least let me sit here and do some puzzle solving in your great-great-grandfather’s books,” she insisted. “I feel so useless.”
“Pretty sure you’re supposed to cut back on the gymnastics both physical and mental,” I said, walking her out of the guild hall. “And given the type of arcane stuff you might stumble across in Alexander’s books, that’s even more reason for you to steer clear for now. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
I led Rory all the way up and out to the front door, even hailing a cab and sliding her into it. She smiled up at me as I handed her the dance bag, but there was worry in her eyes.
“At least call Marshall,” she said. “That would make me feel better about leaving you here all alone.”
“Will do,” I said, and, without another word, I shut the cab door, sending her on her way as the taxi pulled away from the curb.
I could have hugged her for her concern, worrying about me when she was the one who could barely keep her feet under her, but as I headed back into the building, I had no intention of calling Marshall.
Seeing Rory like that was more than I could stand. My body shook with the thought of my best friend since childhood coming to harm in my home over secrets that had been put upon my family generations ago. If she thought I was going to call Marshall in to watch over me and put him in harm’s way, too . . .
Such fragile creatures.
Stanis’s words came to me. In his gargoyle hands, the lives of human enemies would be in danger. What scared me more was that in my hands, the lives of my human friends were, too.
If I was going to keep them safe and out of harm’s way, I needed to step up my research, and that meant doing it on my own. For that, I needed full access to everything at my great-great-grandfather’s disposal.
I needed to be back in his library.
Eight
Stanis
Swooping down out of the night sky, I took in the Belarus Building, a welcome sight after all these months away from it. I had not known I could miss a place like this so much. With the new and dominant voice filling my head, I could only hope that Alexandra was not here even though I longed to see her after so long an absence.
I came down low over the trees of Gramercy Park, then arced up to land on the terrace that led into my maker’s library and studio.
Show no mercy in your search for the stolen secrets until you have found them, Kejetan had instructed.
Tasked as I was, I approached the French doors leading in, tearing them off the hinges. I was relieved to see there was no response from within, which meant the Belarus family was safe from incurring any of the damage I was programmed to do. Curious though I was at the silence of the building as I entered, I was also relieved at the lack of human activity. It would make what I was about to do a bit easier.
Though my true voice called out for me to stop, I tore through shelf after shelf of the books there, knocking volumes of them onto the floor, my claws gouging out large chunks as I went. Pages flew free, drifting freely in the air like leaves on the wind as I hurried through my task.
Despite the outer cloud of destruction and chaos all round me, I felt nothing but sorrow on the inside. All of these were memories of the centuries I had known the family, watched over them.
Moving into the art studio lined with its puzzle boxes and statuary, my thoughts turned more toward my own creation, the years I had spent learning under Alexander Belarus—fundamental lessons in how I functioned, how I could learn, how I could grow.
And now? I had betrayed all that.
The small voice in my head begged for me to stop, but it was not the one in charge now. Destruction while searching was what my masters wanted, and that was what my body gave them.
After a long and violent sweep of the open floor of the building, I had ruined much but found nothing of use to those who now controlled me. I stood in the wreckage of it all, wondering just what I was meant to do next. Lessons in pure destruction had not been something that Alexander had ever thought to teach me even though I had done my fair share of dark deeds against those who had sought to harm the family Belarus.
I had followed my new master’s rules, but I had nothing to show for it. My mind was slowly processing what my next step might be when the sound of footsteps came from somewhere at the back of the building, near the stairs leading down.
“Holy shit,” a female voice cried out behind me, followed by a gasp of hitched breath. I froze where I stood, part habit in a world of humans but also out of shock. The sounds of cautious footsteps followed, the shift of rubble and debris following. “What the hell?”
The footsteps came to a halt when the woman no doubt spied my shape among the shadows, followed by a stifled cry.
“Stanis?”
It had been far too long since I heard my name uttered by anyone other than the my father’s people, but just the sound of Alexandra’s voice saying it calmed me, even among all the chaos I had just caused.
I turned, and there she stood, with her long black hair down over her shoulders, her eyes wide and glistening in the near darkness.
“Hello, my Alexandra,” I said, my true voice coming forward. I did not move, but I did not need to.
She ran to me, throwing her arms around my body and squeezing tight. I returned the embrace, handling her human form with care, and foreign though it felt, I found great comfort in the gesture, even though the bond between us had been broken the night she had released me to my father.
We stood there in the darkness together for a long moment, neither of us willing to break the spell. When had I last touched her? Perhaps the night months ago when I had flown us to this very building to stave off my father’s attack.
“You’re here,” she said, stepping back to look at me but keeping her hands on my arms. “You’re actually here.”
“That I am,” I said.
“I’ve so many questions,” she said. “Where have you been? Who did this? Did you see anyone?”
“Where I have been is a long tale,” I said. “As to who did this . . . yes, I saw who it was. It was I.”
The kindness in her eyes shifted, and I did not need a connection between us to see the confusion in her.
“You did this?” she asked, her voice becoming louder. “Why? Why would you do this?”
I tried to answer, but found it a struggle as my true voice fought with the dominant one that held control over me. As small as my own voice sounded in my mind, I needed it to rise, to fight, but it would not come.
When I did not answer, Alexandra shook her head. “I don’t understand,” she said. She started to shrug her backpack off her shoulders, but I grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
“No,” I said, my true self fearin
g what was in it. “Do not.”
Alexandra gave a dark and unsteady laugh, and I sensed her nerves and anger mixing beneath it.
“Why not?” she asked, hitching the straps back up onto her shoulders.
The dominant voice wanted the secrets of the Spellmasons, but my inner voice was determined to keep them from it. These were new rules set upon me, and like the old ones, I needed to choose my words carefully if I was going to bend the dominant voice away from harming Alexandra.
“I have been tasked to claim what is rightfully my father’s from the Belarus Building,” I said.
“So you tore the place up because Kejetan the Accursed told you to?” she asked. “Did you ever think, ‘Hey, maybe I just won’t do it and say that I did’?”
“I cannot do that,” I said.
“Why the hell not?” she asked.
“Because I have been bound,” I said, forcing my true voice to take control of the conversation for a moment. “I serve another. Listen to me carefully, Alexandra. I must do as I’m told. Exactly as I’m told, which is why I must ask you to keep your bag on your back.”
Another wave of confusion filled Alexandra’s eyes. “Why?”
“You must keep quiet for a moment, and you must keep your bag upon your back,” I said with my true voice, choosing my words with care to keep the dominant one from stopping me. “I think I can guess what might be in that bag, but I do not know for sure. And for your own safety, do not tell me.
“As I said, I have been tasked to claim what is rightfully my father’s from the Belarus Building. That would mean that if Alexander’s master book of arcane knowledge were here, I would have to take it . . . by force, if necessary. I am bound to destroy anyone who interferes with that. But if I do not technically know the book is here, I cannot take it from the Belarus Building. Do you understand me?”
Alexandra nodded, but said nothing.
“So,” I continued, “for both our sakes, I think it is best that the contents of your backpack remain a mystery to me.”
Alexandra kept her hands on the strap of her backpack but did not move to take it off. “I see,” she said when she finally spoke. “You’re playing around with the rules.”
I could not help but smile at that. “You taught me to bend the rules when and where I could.”
The two of us stood there in the silence of the night, in the silence of the familiar building, simply looking at each other, taking a quiet comfort in that.
“So what now?” she asked.
“I must return to my masters,” I said. “I must tell the Servants of Ruthenia that I did not find the book on the premises. That will not satisfy them, but it will buy us both some time.”
All life and color ran out of Alexandra’s face.
“No,” she said, taking my hands. “Don’t go back to them. Stay with me. I’m sure I can figure something out. We can work this out. It’s been far too long. Please.”
The desperation in her voice pained me, but I shook my head. “I must return to my masters,” I repeated, unsure of what else I could say. I stepped away from her, but she would not let go of my clawed hands.
“At least tell me where they are,” she said.
The dominant voice rose in me, not allowing me to betray the location of Kejetan and the Servants of Ruthenia.
“Please let me help you,” she pleaded.
I stepped back farther from her, pulling my hands away from her. “Do not do this. If you interfere, Alexandra, I will be forced to harm you. Do you remember the bargain that I made with my father the last night you and I were together?”
Alexandra nodded as she wiped away tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “You promised that you would go with him, to protect me.”
“Correct,” I said. “And what did I make you do?”
“You made me release you from my great-great-grandfather’s rules. I released you from protecting my family.”
“That is correct,” I said. “But why?”
Alexandra thought for a moment, puzzling it out before answering. “If Kejetan had chosen to hurt us just then, bound by my great-great-grandfather’s rules, you would have been forced to fight him. And you would have kept on fighting until you were destroyed.”
“And the binding that holds sway over me now is much like that,” I said. “Kejetan has set me a task, and I cannot violate his rules. If you interfere, you will push my hand, and I will . . . I will be forced to kill you.”
I saw how the words stung her like a slap, and I felt the pain I caused her deep in my soul.
“Do you remember the last words I spoke to you?” I said, hoping to distract her with something more practical.
“Yes,” she said. “You said, ‘Prepare yourself. This does not end things.’”
“And have you done just that?”
Alexandra gave a grim smile, frustration radiating from her. “Rory and Marshall have been helping me.”
I smiled at the mention of their names. “I am surprised to find I miss them,” I said.
Alexandra gave a dark and pained laugh. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to hear it.”
“And how goes the preparation?”
“Somewhere between promising and impossible,” she said. “You were the culmination of my great-great-grandfather’s decades of arcane study. Spellmasonry isn’t something mastered in a few months. Every time I think I’m making progress, I run up against a wall. I feel like I’m at a dead end. You remember Bricksley?”
“Of course,” I said.
“He’s still up and running. It’s just when I try to do something more grand than that, things sort of . . . fall apart. Nothing stays bound together. I’m getting better at exerting my will over things, but what good does that do if I can’t maintain it? I just end up with a pile of bricks or a poorly molded statue that shatters into a thousand pieces. The only thing that has gone right are the wards I’ve placed on the new building as the contractors work on the structural damage here down in the catacombs, so who knows if the building is even going to remain standing. We’ve got builders down there reinforcing everything, but we can’t live here, really. I’ve moved the family down to—” She clapped her hand over her own mouth
For her safety, I needed to leave before she triggered the dominant voice in me any further. I stepped past Alexandra, heading back toward the torn-off doors of the terrace.
“I am sorry about your library,” I said as I went. “Truly.”
Alexandra ran along behind me, trying to catch up, climbing over the debris that I simply crashed through. “You’re leaving? Now?”
“I must,” I said. Once outside, I let the cool night air wash over me.
“Wait,” she said, grabbing for my arm, but as much as I wanted to feel her touch, I did not think I could bear it. I stepped off the edge of the roof, my wings spreading to catch the wind. I spun back around to face her.
“When will I see you again?” she asked. “Seeing you like . . . this, I can’t take it. I need to know.”
“I am unsure,” I said. “I am subject to the will of others and bound to return to them. This I cannot fight.”
“Tell me what to do,” she pleaded. “There’s no one I can talk to about this, no one who even understands the power at work here. I need guidance.”
“Nothing has changed since I first instructed you on this,” I said, leaping into the air. I looked down at her trembling figure on the terrace below. “Learn what you can. For my part, I will try to do the same. But prepare.”
“Prepare for what, though?” she shouted. “What does your father plan to do?”
“I am not sure,” I said, working my wings to lift me higher into the night sky. Already the dominant voice was directing me back out over Manhattan, heading out to sea and the freighter. “The question is, will you be ready?”
Nine
Alexandra
I’d had nightmares where the totality of my great-great-grandfather’s knowledge was lost to me, destroyed, but no matter how horrific they had been, the reality of his tossed-around studio space felt far worse. The Belarus Building had been my home, but the library and art studio had been my heart, my inner sanctum all my life. To see it as a mass grave of books and art crushed that heart. Then to find Stanis the one responsible only drove a stake through what was left of it.
Seeing him tonight—cold though he was toward me—only reminded me how much I missed the warmth of his protection. Even though I was proving capable of watching out for myself, it had always been a comfort to know he had been watching my back. I missed it more and more in the face of his not being at—or on—my side now. I longed for the companionship of the old Stanis, but all that remained of him, unfortunately, was the destruction he had caused, still plentiful all around me.
Although I had promised myself to keep my friends out of harm’s way, I needed to reach out to someone and called Rory and Marshall. The danger had passed, the damage done, and I doubted this new, corrupted version of Stanis would return—at least not for a little while.
I couldn’t just stand there amid the chaos of the broken room waiting for them. I’d go mad. I needed to feel productive somehow and grabbed up one of the mannequin forms and set about designing a new gargoyle from scratch. It was clear the current one wasn’t going to prove very helpful to us, and the distraction of modeling a wire-and-clay frame for wings was very therapeutic just then.
I was still standing back from the figure, checking the symmetry of the wings, when I heard Rory and Marshall scurrying up the fire escape outside, still not quite able to take in the events of my evening.
“What in holy hell happened here?” Rory asked as she stepped with caution past the broken French doors.
“Are you all right?” Marshall whispered, grabbing me by the shoulders and looking me over.
I nodded. “Physically? Yeah. Emotionally, not so much.”
