What was she doing?
With her emotions firmly in the driver’s seat, Rhianna wasn’t thinking clearly. On one level, she knew it was a trap. If she gave Cael what he wanted, all would be lost, but rational thought was overpowered by emotion as the pitiful image of her father flashed in her mind’s eye. Cael had threatened to kill her dad if she didn’t bring him what he wanted. She had a feeling the ancient warrior-druid didn’t make idle threats.
She clutched the Eye of Balor and cursed the day she first laid hands on the jewel. There was no other choice. Either she let her father die at the hands of a savage monster or she tried to strike a bargain with the resurrected druid.
Rhianna reached the end of the alley and turned the corner, entering a large, abandoned parking lot. Rows upon rows of cars sat inside the industrial space. Commuters on their way to Manhattan dropped off their vehicles in the lot for the day while they took the ferry into the city.
A spooky mist was forming in the lot, fine tendrils of fog snaking around the maze of automobiles. Rhianna had a strong feeling that the mist was the work of the fiend who had kidnapped her father.
Terrified but driven, she pressed on, moving deeper into the lot. Her shoes crunched over the gravel and echoed eerily. Goosebumps bloomed across her arms. The temperature must have dropped twenty degrees since she stepped out of Lord Irish’s loft. It felt like icy fingers were raking her skin.
The mist rippled then parted suddenly, revealing two figures silhouetted at the center of the parking lot. The moment she spotted her father, her heart sank. He looked even worse in person than he had in Cael’s astral projection. His shirt was filthy and torn, his face a bloody, distorted mask.
Rhianna could feel tears welling up and another emotion, too… Anger. For a moment, she forgot how terrified she was. She wanted to hurt the druid… badly.
Cael yanked Sharpe’s head back and pressed his dagger against the man’s throat.
Rhianna’s voice shook but her anger was stronger than her fear. “Let go of him.”
“When you give me what's mine,” Cael said.
Dr. Sharpe tapped into a last reserve of strength and shouted, “Don’t do it!”
His words died on his lips as Cael’s blade dug a little deeper into the vulnerable flesh of his exposed throat. A fine line of blood ran down Dr. Sharpe's neck now, a second scarlet mouth forming below the first.
Rhianna gave herself an internal push and stepped up to Cael. She held the Eye of Balor aloft in a trembling hand.
Cael appraised both the gem and Rhianna. “I am beginning to see why my brother is fond of you.”
Cael held up his palm, revealing a Celtic rune symbol identical to the one on Rhianna's hand. THE MARK OF BALOR.
“It appears we have both pledged our lives to Balor. Soon your sacrifice will mark the beginning of my Lord's reign here on Earth.”
Cael reached out and the Eye flew right into his waiting palm. His fingers closed around the gem and it ignited with unholy fire. A terrible power had been reunited with its master.
Every fiber of her being urged Rhianna to flee, but the slumped form of her father helped her stay the course. “I gave you what you wanted. Now let go of my father...”
Cael’s answer was to ram the Eye of Balor into the parking lot’s pavement. Crimson forks of crackling energy sparked off the gem, blasting into the asphalt. The ground shuddered and shifted under the mystical onslaught, unearthly beams working their dark magic.
One by one, shadowy shapes morphed from the asphalt. Five crude figures peeled themselves from the manmade cement landscape and rapidly gained ferocious detail. The original gargoyles were carved from Irish soil; sand, silt and clay sculpted by dark forces beyond the imagination of man. These new horrors reflected the characteristics of the substance that spawned them. Formed from gray cement, their bodies were streaked with paint from the parking spaces.
21st Century urban gargoyles.
Rhianna gasped in open-mouthed horror as the black dragons circled her, their heavy bodies advancing with lethal intent. Each advancing step was marked by a slight ripple in the ground as their bulk negotiated the maze of vehicles. Massive wings sideswiped cars, shattered glass and warped metal.
Cael regarded his minions with icy satisfaction and slipped the Eye of Balor into its rightful place, the empty cavity of flesh that had held the gem centuries ago. The light emanating from the gem intensified, a dark coronation. Cael had reclaimed his rightful place as master of the gargoyles.
Rhianna’s voice quivered as she faced him. The jewel in his skull cast a hypnotic spell, but she pressed on. “Let go of my father!”
“As you wish.”
Cael withdrew his dagger and shoved Dr. Sharpe at one of the advancing gargoyles. Rhianna didn’t know from where she drew the courage, but still she rushed to her father’s prone body. The fast-approaching gargoyles tracked her movement with dark eyes. She threw herself over her dad, shielding him as best as she could while fully knowing she was merely delaying the inevitable. The first gargoyle was almost upon her, razor-sharp teeth closing in when...
A blur of steel rippled between Rhianna and the beast, deflecting its attack. Once again, the former king of Kirkfall had come to her rescue in the nick of time.
***
Artan exploded out of the loft, sword up, scouring the alley for clues of Rhianna’s whereabouts. There was no sign of the archeologist. He noted the dark sky and felt the wind pound his face and tug at his body. Black magic was in the air.
The warrior followed the alley into the parking lot and arrived just in time to see the newly formed gargoyles homing in on Rhianna. Facing Cael on her own had been foolish, but Artan understood what love could make a person do.
Before the first gargoyle could close its powerful jaws around Rhianna’s head, Artan set upon the beast. His sword-stroke hacked open the creature’s throat and black blood splattered the windshield of a parked car. The other gargoyles instinctively withdrew, sensing the threat posed by this new opponent.
Artan whirled, savage expression locking on Cael, who darted into the maze of parked cars and allowed the thickening mist to swallow him. Artan spun toward Rhianna. Reassured she was alright, he chased after Cael and disappeared into wafting clouds of supernatural fog that were closing in from all sides.
The parking lot had grown unnaturally quiet and was entirely void of sound. Artan made his way past a row of vehicles, senses alert, sword outstretched. He peered into the dense, coalescing fog. It was impossible to see more than a few feet.
No sign of his brother.
“Cael!” Artan’s voice echoed eerily.
No response.
Artan advanced deeper into the mist-shrouded parking lot, knowing his brother was near.
Suddenly he froze, his face draining of color at the sight before him. An object hung from a BMW's rearview mirror.
A necklace.
Artan reached into the open window and seized the jewelry, wracked by a mixture of rage and sadness. The memory came hard and fast, a knife ripping through his heart...
A druid performed an ancient Celtic wedding ceremony. Artan faced his beautiful Samara, their wrists bound by the piece of cloth that symbolized their union. Artan produced the necklace from his pocket and lovingly draped it over his wife's neck. As their lips came together in an emotional kiss filled with love and passion...
Artan gasped, thrown by the vividness of this memory. The fog wrapped the medieval warrior in its phantom embrace, blanketing the lot like a death shroud, sucking up all sights and sounds, erasing all hope.
An icy voice emanated from the encroaching mist. “Does it bring back memories?”
Artan whirled, sword ready, senses probing for the speaker’s position. The voice had been carried by the wind and there was no sign of Cael.
“Show yourself, coward!” Artan shouted and the fog swallowed up his words. Artan found it impossible to pinpoint Cael's location. The world seemed to be evaporating around
him, afflicted by some terrible sickness that was eating away at reality like a cancer.
Cael’s voice resounded through the mist’s fisheye whiteness. “Samara was a beautiful woman, but I see that you are finally moving on...”
Artan whirled, sword stabbing the air in exploratory thrusts, but his steel found no solid target. Cael was as elusive as a wraith, his voice constantly changing direction in the fog.
“Keep talking, brother,” said Artan. “It makes it easier for my blade to find you.”
“You know why father chose you over me to be king, Artan? He knew he could control you. The perfect son. A loyal dog.”
Fury boiled in Artan as he countered Cael’s claim. “He chose me because he saw you for what you are. A monster.”
The accusation was met by momentary silence before Cael’s voice boomed out again. This time, the voice was closer. Etched with anger. Artan’s last statement had touched a sore nerve.
“A king has to be a monster...”
The fog grew even thicker, omnipresent. Artan was unable to see past the tip of his sword.
“A king needs to be ruthless…”
The guttural shrieks and roars of the gargoyles shredded the silence. Vague silhouettes dipped in and out of Artan’s view. Winged death lurked behind the chalky veil.
“A king can never show mercy...”
Artan heard the flapping of leathery wings.
“Maybe if you understood this, Samara and your son would have lived.”
The words hit Artan with the force of punches. Cael was pushing all the right buttons. He knew Artan's soul. Understood his pain.
Ignore him... He's trying to get to you...
Another sound. Stone brushing against stone.
Much closer now.
Blurry silhouettes flitted through the fog’s thick soup. Artan was forced to rely on his other senses. He draped the necklace around his neck, drawing strength from the pendant and what it symbolized — a love that had transcended time.
He spoke in a low whisper. “Wherever you are, my love, give me the strength to avenge you.”
Artan closed his eyes and the world went pitch black. His surroundings were reduced to a landscape of pure sound. Artan focused, homing in on the slightest distortion of the air. He heard a rustling of wings and caught a whiff of the beast as it burst from the mist...
Death was approaching.
Steel whistled and penetrated gargoyle flesh. Once, twice. Followed by bestial roars.
Artan opened his eyes. His face was now a mask of dark gargoyle blood. The downed beast was obscured by the impenetrable fog, but it didn't matter. Artan knew his blade had tasted blood, but its appetite had only been whetted. His dark look of satisfaction offered a glimpse of the gargoyle that dwelled inside him.
There was a moment of anticipation. The silence stretched. The fog cleared, clouds of white breaking apart. Cars grew visible again and a snarl shredded the air. Artan spotted Rhianna a few feet away, still clutching her dad. He had passed out. Two gargoyles closed in on her.
Artan's blade cleaved one beast in two. An upward slash impaled a second gargoyle. His attackers collapsed just as...
More gargoyles emerged from between the parked vehicles, their wings flapping. Too many to count. Moving in from all sides in a ring of winged death. Lunging, jaws snapping.
Rhianna clutched his arm, nails digging deep into his flesh. He could feel her mounting terror. Artan’s face remained stoic but he knew the odds – he was seriously outnumbered here.
Cael's voice boomed through the parking lot. Artan followed the sound, locating his brother surrounded by winged supplicants. Artan split his focus between Cael and the advancing gargoyle horde, never losing sight of the approaching monsters.
“It is finished, little brother. I have the Eye of Balor and Samhain is upon us...”
The final wisps of fog dispersed and Artan realized in alarm that the sun was already vanishing below the horizon. He could feel Rhianna looking at him, her expression asking the same question he was considering himself.
How could the sun be going down already?
It had been early afternoon when they arrived at Lord Irish’s loft. Artan saw Rhianna scan her phone. It was almost six o’clock.
They had lost four hours.
A dark realization hit Artan. “The mist...”
Artan recalled the tales he heard in Kirkfall about people lost in a supernatural fog. When they emerged from the mist, years or weeks would have passed. At the time, he had thought they were just stories. Now he knew better. The fog was just another form of Celtic magic. Time would slow for anyone who entered its blinding whiteness. The question: why had this spell been cast? Why did Cael want to slow down time? He had the gem. Unless...
Artan suddenly knew the answer. And it filled him with dread.
“You could have destroyed the Eye, yet you chose not to,” Cael said. You could have saved this world, but your revenge was more important. I thought a king protected his people?”
Cael’s words felt like quick thrusts from a knife. When Artan spoke there was an air of defeat in his voice. “My people are dead and I am no longer king.”
A dark smile played over Cael’s face. “Finally you understand that you serve a new master now.”
Artan observed the sinking sun as it washed away the last tendrils of fog. Darkness was falling over the parking lot and...
Artan changed once more. His features distorted, the beast commingling with the man.
He could feel Rhianna watching him in fascinated horror as the magic remade him. The transformation unfolded faster this time around, and there was less pain. He was either getting used to the change or Samhain was changing the rules.
Moments later, the gargoyle had reclaimed the former king of Kirkfall. He held his sword high, moonlight creating the Gothic silhouette of a monster.
Cael’s other minions resumed their advance.
Muscles tensed. Wings flared out. The gargoyle warrior attacked.
Artan took to the air and soared over three gargoyles. He landed behind them, blade lashing out. He drove his sword-point through the first creature's throat and right through the back of its head in a spritz of black blood.
Rhianna watched the aerial ballet of deadly steel as Artan decimated the horde with deft sword strokes. He jumped and floated over opponents, spinning in midair, steel striking out with the lethal precision of a cobra.
Wings were severed, taloned arms and legs hacked off, torsos cleaved. Soon Artan was surrounded by grotesquely frozen death. The former king let out a bone-chilling roar of triumph.
Artan’s monstrous features shifted toward Rhianna. Moonlight washed over his savage visage, which showed uncertainty as his thoughts grew hazy and confused...
No!
Artan could feel the change come over him, reality altering on an almost molecular level. The parking lot warped and twisted like a funhouse mirror. The moon overhead seemed to expand, becoming a churning eye of darkness.
The changes went beyond the visual and impacted even his other senses. Sounds took on a strange buzzing quality, becoming the chittering of a million insects — a hymn of darkness. Smells grew stronger, the coppery scent of Dr. Sharpe’s blood intermingling with the revolting stench of the monsters’ gory remains.
Rhianna’s lips were moving, but Artan couldn't make out any words. It looked like she was screaming at him. Human language had lost its meaning. He was perceiving reality like a beast now, his intelligence and humanity swept away by the dark tide of Samhain.
Artan understood why Cael had slowed down time.
A final humiliation remained. One last gargoyle would have to serve at the druid’s side for his victory to be complete. Cael had been right. No one could resist the dark call of the gargoyle on Samhain.
Artan turned to Rhianna. Her beautiful features dissolved before him, melting like wax, erasing all forms of human individuality, leaving only muscle, blood and bone. A faceless meat pu
ppet. She had ceased to be human. Now she was... PREY.
***
Rhianna could see the light seeping from Artan’s eyes. As if the real Artan had left his body and something dark and sinister had taken over. She recalled his earlier words.
As Samhain approaches, the darkness inside me grows. Every time I change, I lose a little bit more of myself. In time, the curse of Balor will corrupt me.
The medieval king was waging an internal war, a desperate battle between man and beast for control over his soul, and the beast was winning.
Artan had ceased to exist. There was only the gargoyle now.
His attention snapped toward Rhianna. His eyes were vacant chips of ice oozing malevolence.
Rhianna backed away from the gargoyle. “Artan...?”
He closed in, advancing with evil purpose.
“Artan, what's going on?”
There was movement behind her. It was Cael. In his gargoyle form.
Artan grew still, face to face with his enemy, but instead of launching into an attack...
Artan knelt before Cael.
“No one can resist the call of the Otherworld on Samhain. Not even the king of Kirkfall,” the warrior-druid said.
Rhianna's spirit sagged as Cael's inhuman laughter echoed in the night. Within seconds, the gargoyles were upon her and her world went black.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LIGHTNING RIPPED THE sky, sizzling bursts of energy that crackled with evil intent. Thunder detonated and the trees of Fort Tryon Park swayed wildly as furious gusts of wind howled through the park. Nature had turned its wrath against the city.
Rhianna was awakened by the spatter of fat raindrops. She had no idea how long she had been out. Her return to consciousness was both tentative and filled with urgency. A part of her wanted to let the blackness envelop her once more but she knew if she gave in to that temptation, the darkness would become permanent, a place from which there was no return.
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