When he spoke, his voice was rough. “I must warn you, we have to fly.”
* * *
Silas took me to the southern edge of the city. The cliffs jutted out over a churning sea, one that was silent underneath the blaze of fireworks overhead. Sparks flew into the dark sky, exploding into blues and reds and golds. I sucked in a deep breath of icy air and smiled. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Shadow witches weren’t fond of bright lights. Not usually, anyway. But, here, in the safety of the City of Wings, they pumped their fists in the air and cheered. Maybe because they’d survived. Maybe because magic still swirled through their veins. Or maybe because it was impossible not to cheer when surrounded by so much beauty.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked, leaning against a crumbling half-wall that must have once been a building or a home. But he wasn’t looking at the fireworks. He was gazing with adoration at the city that rose up before us. From this angle, it was majestic. The tower climbed high, brushing against the scudding clouds. The streets were filled with singing and laughter, and the gray stone glistened under the bright lights. From here, the city looked the opposite of dead. It was vibrant.
“It really is beautiful like this,” I admitted.
“No one ever likes to come here anymore. Not usually,” he said, pressing his lips tight together. “See the rubble? There was a fight. The southern tip sustained a lot of damage. But I still love visiting from time to time. Those cliffs down there have a perfect view of the sea, and you can’t even see the city at all from there. It’s a good place to go when I need to think. It’s quiet, still, dark.”
A beat passed. “Why did you bring me here, Silas?”
He pursed his lips. “I didn’t want Kipling to throw the Festival this year. It feels like celebrating in a graveyard. But he said those we’ve lost would want us to move on, as hard as it is. They would want the Festival to continue. For as long as it can.”
The last bit shot a spear through my heart. A reminder that any one of them could fall next. There was nothing to stop them from turning to stone permanently, just like all the other gargoyles who had called this place home. The only way to stop it would be to spread magic through the world once again, for it to come alive as it had centuries before, to fill the world with the power that simmered deep down in my bones.
At least...I hoped it would stop it. The truth was, we only had theories.
As to how we refilled the world with magic? I sighed and turned my gaze to the sea. That was the biggest question of them all, but for now, I was stuck in this place, pretending as if I’d been stabbed in the heart on those midnight London streets. Another cage, only this one was self-inflicted. Somehow, that only made it feel worse. It made the walls feel tighter, the air feel more stifling.
“But maybe gargoyles aren’t the only ones stuck in the past. Eli told me about the books he found you reading,” he said, lifting his eyebrows as his eyes scanned my face, taking in my expression. One I was certain that reflected the pain and longing in my heart. Because as grateful as I was to have this temporary home, it was only that. Temporary.
“After being trapped in a tower my entire life, I don’t want to be trapped ever again,” I said.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Look around you, Rowena. You truly believe the City of Wings is a trap?”
“Yes and no,” I said, hearing the frustration come through my words. “I can’t leave. I can’t go and see new things, explore, experience. It’s not even that I necessarily want to leave as much as I want to feel I have a choice. And right now? I don’t, Silas. Which makes it feel a hell of a lot like it did in that tower.”
“Maybe you have more of a choice than you—”
Silas was interrupted by a hundred screams ripping through the night. Overhead, the whir of blades chopped through the air, and a hulking metal frame blocked out the full moon. Heart jerking in my chest, I scanned the sky and found the unmistakable form of an incoming helicopter, the side decorated with a symbol I would not soon forget.
The symbol of the magic hunters.
Chapter 3
I curled my hand around Silas’s arm as panic clawed my throat. “What’s going on? Did they figure out I’m alive already? Did someone tip them off that they could find me here?”
He grabbed my shoulders in his strong hands and whirled me to face him, his ice blue eyes sparked with fear. “Listen to me, Rowena. They might only be here to check on things. They might not know anything. Not yet. We can’t let them see you. Go to the tower. Stay out of sight until I come to get you.”
“We can’t let them see you either,” I breathed. “You’re supposed to be stuck as stone. You’re all supposed to be stuck as stone. And the witches...what if they panic and use their powers?”
“Your Queen isn’t stupid,” he said quickly before squeezing my shoulders. “Now, go. Run and hide. The other gargoyles and I will be right behind you. We’ll meet you there in five.”
I turned to go, but I’d only taken two steps when I stopped. Run and hide. That wasn’t what I wanted to do. And it certainly wasn’t what I was meant to do. I was the granddaughter of a goddess. A demigod. I couldn’t just slink away, not when we had an enemy in our midst. So, instead, I found a doorframe to duck into and narrowed my eyes as the helicopter landed on the nearest cliff.
Five exited the aircraft. Three men and two women. They all held guns, and black shirts covered their chest and arms, each one inscribed with their symbol.
The magic hunters were in the City of Wings.
The crowd split in half to allow Kipling to pass through. He came to a stop before the hunters, his hands open wide, a relaxed smile on his face. But I could see the tension rippling through his small form. The clutch of his hands behind his back. The knots in his shoulders. The strain in his eyes.
“Hello. Ah, excuse the strange welcome.” He gestured to the silent, wary, and angry faces of the witches who stood behind him. “We weren’t expecting any visitors. My name is Kipling, and I’m the steward of the City of Wings. May I ask what brings you to our home?”
A man stepped out from the small group of hunters, his forehead creased over a pair of furrowed dark eyes. He kept his expression relaxed and calm but the grip on his gun was tight. “We’ve been keeping an eye on things, but we saw the fireworks. Wanted to stop by and make sure there was no magic going on here.”
Kipling’s smile was tight. “You killed the demigod. It’s impossible for any magic to exist.”
“Yeah, well.” He shifted on his feet. “We can’t be too careful. Tell me, what kind of fireworks were you setting off?”
I frowned. I saw what was happening here. They’d spotted the fireworks from afar and thought they might be created through magical means. Luckily, they hadn’t been, and Kipling would be able to show them the proof.
But, I realized, this little visit from the magic hunters meant they had the City of Wings right in their crosshairs. They’d been watching us, too far away to see our day-to-day activity but close enough to spot, say, a gargoyle shooting through the sky.
“The regular, human, non-magical kind,” Kipling said patiently. “I’m more than happy to show you if that would put your minds at ease.”
The hunter scanned the crowd, frowning. “What is all this, anyway? Some kind of party?” His gaze turned suspicious. “Didn’t you lot just lose all your powers? Why are you celebrating?”
The tension in the crowd went razor sharp. All the witches were silent. Deadly silent, their eyes locked on the small cluster of magic hunters. My gaze found the Queen. She stood just to the left of Kipling, slightly behind him, but her presence stretched past the elderly steward. Every single eye on the cliff landed on her tall, thin, and commanding figure. Her dark hair was wrapped tight in a bun, but the whistle of cool wind snatched strands from her silver barrettes and whipped them around her face, causing her to look as though she was surrounded by shadows.
Energy crackled. The hunters shifted on their feet.
And my heart lurched into my throat.
This could end very badly.
Her voice was cool and crisp when she finally broke the silence with her powerful voice. “Today is the annual Festival of Wings, a celebration of this fine city. We decided to celebrate as per usual because while you may have stolen much from us, you cannot break us. And it is none of your concern what we do here.”
The man arched his eyebrow. “A festival of...of wings? You mean the kind of wings that were only possible through your twisted magic?”
The Queen pursed her lips. “If I recall correctly, you hunters, you humans.” She spat the word. “You were the ones more than willing to commit murder. And yet you stand there and accuse us of being twisted?” She stepped forward, the sleek curve of her back going stick straight and rigid. Curling her hands, she lowered her voice into a hiss that was so harsh and low but also as loud as the whirring helicopter blades that had signalled our enemy’s arrival. “You build your weapons. You make your wars. You destroy each other until there’s nothing left. You are far more twisted than we will ever be.”
The hunter’s gaze was wary as he scanned the Queen from head to toe. With a flick of his wrist, he motioned to the others behind him. “Spread out and search the premises. We’re looking for anything that looks even remotely magic-related. Make sure they aren’t still practicing their devilish craft.”
Shit, I thought as the humans drifted into the crowd. Following the lead hunter’s orders, they began to spread out, two of them headed straight to where I still lurked in the darkened doorframe of the abandoned townhouse. Heart thundering, I ducked lower and crouch-walked my way down the nearest alley. If they were going to search the entire city, I needed to find somewhere to hide. But first...first I needed to grab the sword heist plans I’d left in my room. If they stumbled upon those papers, they’d quickly figure out that we planned to storm Scotland Yard for the sword.
And if they figured that out...then they might very well figure out the rest.
I glanced over my shoulder. The alley was still dark and quiet. No hunters in sight. But that didn’t stop me from picking up my pace, and despite the heavy darkness, I could see clearly down the cobblestone street. A perk I’d somehow gained since I’d laid hands on my sword.
Moments later, I entered the Scriptorium and was immediately struck by the beauty and pain all wrapped up in one. The floor-length shelves built into the walls were beginning to fill with books once again. And a soft fire flickered in the fireplace next to the desk where Eli spent most of his days. We’d added a couple of sofas, complete with plush pillows and thick flannel blankets. And the curving walls met in a domed point overhead, the ceiling decorated with intricate paintings that could have only been accomplished by someone on a pair of ebony wings.
But the still stone statue that hunkered in the corner added a haunting atmosphere. Alaric stood exactly where we’d left him, his stone eyes vacant and dead. His skin no longer shimmered, and his body no longer shook. But there was something...some strange aura that emanated from him that I couldn’t put my finger on. And it made something stir in my gut. Something that told me that while he might look as though he’d never return to the world of the living, he could. Somewhere in that stone form of his, Alaric was still there.
I blinked, cursing myself as I came out of my reverie. I needed to get those papers, and I should probably clean up some of Eli’s research as well. With a deep breath, I rushed to my room and grabbed the books before returning to the main room of the Scriptorium, snatching up whatever papers I could find there.
Footsteps clattered on the stone pavement just outside the door of the Scriptorium. With a sharp intake of breath, I tightened my grip on the research and glanced around the room. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere except the thick curtains that hung across the only window. As the door began to creak open, I launched across the room and slid behind the material just as two sets of shoes appeared from behind the door.
“What the hell is this place?” one of the hunters barked out, her voice harsh with disdain. “Looks like some kind of gothic witch living room.”
Which...well. It kind of was.
“I think we’ve hit the jackpot,” the other replied. Male, younger—if his voice was any indication. “If we’re going to find any evidence they’re doing magic, it’ll probably be in here. And I mean, look at all these books.”
“Calm yourself, Joe,” the woman said with a laugh. “We don’t have time to comb through an entire library of grimoires.”
How the hell did they know the right terminology? Not that many of the books in this place were grimoires, but still. There were a few, mostly brought here from the Dreadford Castle when the witches made their big escape. In the rush to leave their old home behind, a few of the witches had raided their library to bring what they could here. I cursed under my breath. I’d completely forgotten about those. While that wouldn’t be damning evidence if the hunters found them, it wouldn’t look great.
“Imagine what we could find in here,” Joe said in a low whistle. “Think if we did find a grimoire, we’d be able to follow the instructions and cast our own spells?”
“Joe.” The woman’s voice went sharp. “It’s fine around me, but you can’t go around saying shit like that to anyone. If the Commander heard you, he’d probably report you to Eris, and we all know how that would turn out. Hint: it wouldn’t end well for you.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He coughed and shuffled further into the Scriptorium. “I was just talking hypothetically. Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to be one of them? They’ve got all that power.”
“Not anymore, they don’t.” Another shuffle, and then a chuckle edged in hate. “Look at this ugly-ass thing.” A tapping echoed against the vaulted ceiling. “It’s one of those gargoyle things that could turn itself into something that looked like a human.”
My breath tightened in my throat as another tap sounded, only this one was louder. They were knocking against Alaric, treating him as though he were nothing but pure stone. And, to them, I guessed he was. Rage shimmered in my veins, and I struggled to hold my body still. But I didn’t dare move an inch for fear they’d spot me in my pitiful hiding spot.
“Hey, if magic still exists like the Commander thinks, do you think this thing is actually stuck as stone or is he just pretending?”
The woman let out a low whistle. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.”
Something rustled, and then a harsh click followed. The sound of a cocking gun. Blood roared in my ears. What were they doing? What did she mean? Surely they weren’t actually going to—
“Alice, I don’t think shooting a fucking stone statue is a good idea,” Joe said. “The bullet could ricochet.”
“Not if he turns back into flesh, it won’t.”
Alaric. They were going to kill Alaric. My vision blurred as tears filled my eyes, and I pushed aside the curtain to see the two hunters staring down the gargoyle shifter, his skin nothing more than sleek gray stone. He wasn’t going to shift, not even if he wanted to. Whatever magic had powered him before wasn’t swirling through his body now. The hunter lifted her gun high in the air, pointing the barrel straight at the gargoyle’s chiseled stone face. Panic rose up in my throat like a punch of blinding pain.
My heart thundered in my ears, and I jumped out from behind the curtains. “No!”
Chapter 4
The hunters whirled toward me, and the gun was now pointed at my chest. I held up my hands, torn between anger and fear. Not for myself but for the witches and the gargoyles and everyone else. If these hunters realized who I was...they’d know magic was alive and well.
And they would start the killing again.
Joe, a tall, bulky twenty-something guy with reddish hair and freckles, narrowed his eyes. “Who the fuck are you and why were you hiding behind the curtains?”
“I was afraid.” The word tasted like ash, and it fell heavily from my lips. Afraid. Like I’d be
scared of these assholes.
The woman’s fingers gripped Joe’s arm, and she dropped her voice to a whisper, but I could hear every word crystal clear. “She has silver hair.”
He frowned. “Sure, but why does that matter?”
“The demigod had silver hair,” she hissed.
“Had. We killed her.”
While they argued about whether or not I was the demigod they all wanted dead, I made slow and steady steps closer to Alaric. Their bullets couldn’t pierce my skin, so it didn’t matter if they shot at me. But even if the gargoyles were shielded from magic in their stone form, that was no guarantee they were immune from physical assault as well.
I had to make sure they didn’t shoot Alaric.
“You,” Joe said, jerking his gun when he spotted my move across the floor. “Where are you going? Stay where you are.”
“Shoot her,” Alice said, her slim body tight with tension. “If she’s just a witch, it won’t matter if she dies. And if she’s the demigod, we’ll know. A gun can’t harm her.”
I flicked my gaze at Alaric when his skin began to shimmer, the silver-gray stone morphing into something more. Something half-way between stone and flesh.
Joe frowned and lowered his gun. “I can’t just shoot an unarmed girl, Alice. Besides, she can’t be the demigod. She got stabbed right in the heart and then dumped in the river. There’s no way she could have survived.”
“Yeah? And where’s the body?”
A long silent moment passed. I should probably say something, but I was too distracted by the slight shifts in Alaric’s body. His arms were flexing now, the muscles flickering as he strained against the stone, as if he were trying to push through a mold.
“Fine.” Alice lifted her own gun and pulled the trigger in less than a beat of my heart. Time seemed to slow as the bullet soared toward me. My eyes zeroed in on the iron, at the way it cut through the air like a knife. And then I shifted two steps to the left and watched it whiz by before it slammed into the wall behind me. A loud crack echoed through the Scriptorium, and a chunk of rock tumbled to the ground.
Carved in Stone_Protectors of Magic_Book 2 Page 2
