by Anton Strout
The past few hours had been a roller-coaster whirl of fantastically awesome to painfully shocking. The last thing I wanted to think about was real estate law and zoning codes or whatever it all involved. I headed back upstairs to the library, book still in hand. There were dozens of references in this notebook about Alexander Belarus and his gargoyle, all of them leading to dozens of other texts hidden somewhere around the room. It was going to take hours to make sense of it all, and in the face of being forced daily into a business suit, I welcomed the distraction from that new aspect of my life.
I went about the busy work of gathering reference book after reference book, my mind turning back to some of the darker thoughts at hand, thanks to my talk with the creature. My brother’s death hadn’t been an accident, I was fairly certain. Then someone in a secret order had tried to kill me—twice—and if not for that creature on the top of our building, who knows if I’d even be alive now. Someone wanted us dead, for whatever reason, but I wasn’t going to go quietly—that was for sure. I had a freaking gargoyle on my side. Even with that surreal bonus, though, I was going to need help, but first I had a lot of reading to get started on.
Sixteen
Stanis
I awoke with my eyes still closed, the image of the maker in my head and his voice still ringing in my ears. The rules, he reminded me, always the rules. They were a part of me—this I knew—but saving the woman the other night by breaking through the roof of the building had brought one of them in conflict with another, and my mind could not quite remedy how to process it, except being haunted by the reproach and disappointment in my maker’s voice, even though he was long gone.
Ready to stretch my hunched form out, I paused. The words I thought were only in my head were not, but instead came from directly in front of me on the roof. They belonged to the maker’s kin, the woman Alexandra. Her voice had the same even rhythm and cadence as his, making it hard to tell her words apart from the ones in my mind’s ear.
When I opened my eyes, she was not alone, a problem for me. Minding the rules, I held myself in place. The blue-haired female and the tall male I often saw her with were there. The three of them stood around mid-conversation by the single door that led down into the building.
“You sure you can’t just tell us your surprise inside?” the man said, shifting from one foot to the other. He rubbed his hands up and down his bare arms. “I didn’t bring a jacket tonight. I wasn’t really ready for the cold snap yet.”
The maker’s kin shook her head. “What I have to show and tell you can’t be done inside,” she said. “I can’t help it if you haven’t switched your calendar over to October yet.”
“Suck it up, buttercup,” the blue-haired one said to the male. “I like show-and-tell!”
“Can we at least make this a speed round, then?” the male said, hugging his arms around his body now, the wind whipping through his scruff of black hair. “I get sick at the drop of a hat. It’s my fragile gamer physique.”
“All right,” the maker’s kin said, holding up several tattered notebooks. “Well, I’ve been doing some research and I figured out what happened to that man—my attacker—in the park. Why it looked like he jumped.”
“You did?” the blue-haired one asked, stepping closer.
She nodded. “Yes, but I need you two to promise me that you’re not going to freak out.”
“Oh man,” the male said, rocking back and forth on his feet. “You asking that only freaks me out more.”
The blue-haired one reached out, grabbed him by the shoulder, and stilled him. “Cut it out,” she said. “You’re making me more nervous than whatever Lexi’s trying to tell us about.” She placed her other hand over her heart. “I solemnly swear not to freak out. I can’t vouch for Marshmallow here, but I’ll try to keep him in line if he does.”
The maker’s kin let out a long, slow breath. “I suppose that’s the best I can get out of you, but, Rory…I really need you to keep it cool. What I’m about to show you, you can’t tell anyone, okay? This can’t be like the time we drove up to Montreal when we were eighteen and you caved to my parents when they saw a Canadian leaf sewn onto your jacket.”
“Fine,” the blue-haired female said, her voice testy.
The maker’s kin turned to the male. “Swear on something you hold sacred, Marshall.”
He thought for a moment before answering. “Okay,” he said. “I swear that I won’t freak out. I swear on my limited-edition original Dungeons and Dragons Red Box set.”
“Okay,” Alexandra said, unsure. “I’m going to assume that’s something really ‘special’ to you.”
“Just tell us, already,” the blue-haired one said in agitation.
“Screw telling,” the maker’s kin said. “I’m skipping straight to the showing.” She turned to face me and walked over to where I stood crouched at the building’s edge. Her mouth turned up in a half smile. “I’m nervous, like I’m introducing a new boyfriend to them.”
“Lex…?” the blue-haired one said. “Who are you talking to?”
The maker’s kin spun around to them. “Arise,” she said.
One rule told me not to reveal myself to others, as it had done so for centuries, yet despite it, I rose up from my crouch to the full extent of my height, wings spread out behind me. The blue-haired one and the male both stepped back from me toward the door, reaching out to grab onto each other in support.
“I’m a big fat liar,” the male said, fumbling to grab the blue-haired woman’s hand. “I need to freak out. You can have my Red Box D and D set.”
She took his hand and stumbled toward me, pulling the man along behind her. “Sweet mother of what the hell is that?”
“That,” the maker’s kin said, “is Stanis. My great-great-grandfather crafted him. Stanis, this is my oldest friend, Aurora. Rory, for short. The man cowering behind her is Marshall.”
“It’s a living effing gargoyle,” the male said from behind the blue-haired woman. “Jesus, Lexi, step away from it! We fight these things all the time in my weekly campaign. That thing will kill us…won’t it?”
“I don’t know,” the maker’s kin said, holding a hand out toward me. “Why don’t you ask him that for yourselves?”
The man gave a sickly smile. “For real?”
She nodded.
He stepped out from behind the other girl, turning to address me. “What are you?” the male asked, then added, “Sir.”
“I am Stanis,” I said, meeting his eyes, “and as you say, I am an effing gargoyle.”
The maker’s kin laughed and I cocked my head at her.
“You don’t need to use the word effing,” the maker’s kin said. “Marshall said that as a statement of surprise more than anything. It’s shorthand for a worse one, actually.”
“So noted,” I said. “I believe I know what one you mean. I have heard that word much these many years, but have not had any opportunity yet to use it myself. It has been a long time since I have conversed, since my maker, Alexander, went away.”
The man took a step toward me, then stopped, looking up into my face, serious. “So to be clear…you do not intend us any harm?”
I thought for a moment. “I cannot say,” I said. “That would depend.”
He narrowed his eyes, one foot sliding away from me in retreat. “On?”
“Do you mean any harm to the Belarus family?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said with no hesitation, and I saw there was pure truth in the word.
“Then I do not intend you any harm.”
The blue-haired one approached me and pressed her hands to my chest, her flesh cool against the stone of my skin. There was no fear in this one, only wonder. “Holy hell,” she said. “This thing killed that man? The one who attacked you?”
The maker’s kin nodded. “Apparently, it was built to protect us,” she said.
“From what?”
“There are those who would harm your family,” I said to her, then turned to her
friends. “I have seen to their protection.”
The blue-haired one patted my chest. “Thanks for that,” she said, and stepped back from me.
“I need no thank-you,” I said. “I am merely functioning as I was meant to.”
“Whatever,” she said. “Nonetheless, anyone who keeps my oldest friend from being stabbed to death in an alley has my thanks.”
“Very well,” I said.
The blue-haired woman let go of the man’s hand and crossed her arms. “So what do Doug and Julie think about all this?”
“I haven’t told them. I don’t think they know and I’m not sure I’m up for that conversation quite yet. Nor was I up for my last conversation with them, either, where I told them that we don’t think my brother’s death was an accident.”
“You don’t?” the male asked.
Rory held up a hand. “Wait. ‘We’ who?”
“Stanis and I,” the maker’s kin said.
“How can you say it wasn’t an accident?” the male asked.
The maker’s kin turned to me. “Tell them about the building on St. Mark’s that collapsed and killed Devon.”
“I have known of that building for a long time,” I said. “I know most of the buildings fashioned by my maker. The stone was sound in that one. It was strong. That building did not come down by accident, I assure you.”
“Someone wanted Devon dead,” the maker’s kin said. “Not sure why, considering I found out today that he’s not even really part of the family.”
“What?” the blue-haired woman said. “I’m sorry, Lexi. Maybe I’m a bit overwhelmed with sensory input right now, but what are you talking about?”
“Some regrettable patriarchal choices on my father’s behalf years ago,” she said. “Male heir to the throne BS and all that. He was adopted. It’s been a rough forty-eight hours, between learning that, that my brother was probably murdered, and the two attempts on my life.”
“Jesus, no kidding,” the blue-haired one said, and hugged her tight, the maker’s kin returning the embrace.
Marshall came toward me, but stopped about five feet away. “So why are people attacking Lexi and her family again?” he asked.
“I do not know,” I said. “I am unsure of a great many things. My past, for one.”
“Which,” Alexandra said, “is why I asked you two here. I’ve been reading most of last night and most of today, when I could find the time.” She held up another notebook, similar to the others but unravaged by time. “I’ve compiled notes from a bunch of sources in Alexander’s library. The man might have been a sculptural genius, but he wasn’t much on organization. There are references to material and other books all over the place. A lot of it seems to reference a master book of arcane knowledge I can’t even find in there, but here’s what I’ve pieced out so far.”
“Wait, wait,” the male said. “What are you trying to do here exactly?”
“My grandfather created him to watch over the family,” she said, then pointed to the half-carved block next to me on the edge of the building. “He meant to carve more. A companion, at the very least. And with people getting all stabby around me lately, I’m all for reinforcements.”
“So you’re just going to make a gargoyle?” he asked.
The maker’s kin looked down at her notebook. “Eventually,” she said. “I’m translating Slavonic and Lithuanian here, so it’s slow going. He talks a lot about willpower at the heart of art, the heart of creation. There are gestures, kind of like a karate kata, but in trying to just get an idea of how any of this is even possible, I decided I needed to understand how he works before I go trying to create something similar.”
“Wow,” the blue-haired woman said. “You’re really embracing this, aren’t you?”
The maker’s kin shrugged. “Are you kidding me? This sure as hell beats reading building code violations.”
“So what’s the first step?” the man added. “I could run down to our apartment and pick up my Player’s Handbook.”
“Thanks, but no,” the woman said with a forced smile. “He doesn’t seem to remember much of his past, other than having always watched over my family, so I searched through the books for something that might help restore his memory and I pieced together something my great-great-grandfather called the Revelation of the Soul. The more he remembers about how Alexander made him and the psychos who are trying to kill me, the better.”
The blue-haired woman gave her a strange look I could not interpret. “And you needed us because…?”
“I have no idea what I’m doing here,” she said. “You’re here to…umm, spot me.”
“Awesome,” the blue-haired girl said with a slow breath and mock enthusiasm.
“We’re here for you,” the male said. His enthusiasm for this seemed to shock the maker’s kin.
“Really?”
He nodded. “I’ve been faking this stuff for years with pencils and paper and dice and the public mocking, so if there’s a chance I’m not just having some vivid hallucination and imagining all this, I say go for it.”
She looked satisfied with his answer. “All righty,” the maker’s kin said, handing the book to the other woman. “Can you hold this open for me? I think I’m going to need both hands free.”
“Sure,” she said, taking the book and positioning herself in front of the woman. “Try not to get us killed, okay?”
“Will do!”
The maker’s kin took a moment to compose herself, focused, then set herself into a series of motions with her arms and hands as words in a language I did not understand came from her. The other two humans watched in silence as she continued through them, a familiar poetry in her movement, all of us no doubt waiting for whatever was going to happen. After several minutes, the maker’s kin came to a rest and the four of us stood there in silence.
“Well?” the male asked after another long moment passed. “Did it happen? Is our large stone friend here healed?”
The three of them were looking at me. “I do not think so,” I said.
“I don’t get it,” the maker’s kin said. “I mean, I felt a little ridiculous going through it, but I really tried to focus here, push my will into it. I went through the series of somatic motions. It’s like learning a whole new world of sign language. I spoke the words, breathing life into them, committing my very self to the art of it. If belief was a definite component here, I was believing the shit out of it. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was definitely expecting something more than nothing.”
“Some cinematic pyrotechnics, at least,” the blue-haired female said.
The maker’s kin stared up into my face, looking me over. “You sure you don’t you feel any different?”
I took a moment to assess myself. “I do not think so.”
“Crap,” she said. “I thought for sure I was doing it right. The words, the feelings, the gestures…”
“If I may,” the blue-haired female said. “Let me take a page from the Book of Dance. There is dance—” She pressed herself up on her toes and spread out her arms like the wings of a bird. She then lunged from side to side before spinning herself around over and over. The motion was fluid, functional.
“And there is dance,” she continued, and did the same moves over again. This time there was a perfect elegance to each of the moves that made her first attempt at them look clumsy in comparison. “Extension, line, poise. It’s not enough to just do the steps. You have to commit to each of them. There is a difference between dancing and being a dancer. If there is also an art to what you’re trying to do here, Lexi, those might be the kinds of things that matter. Try again.”
“See?” Marshall said, giving the maker’s kin a look. “You’re just doing it wrong.”
“I get it,” the maker’s kin said. “First to believe in magic, first to disparage my ability at it.”
The male held up his hands, defensive. “Are you kidding me? As a gamer, I’m eating this shit up. But truth be told, the result
s are a bit underwhelming.”
The maker’s kin sighed. “I can go to just about anyplace in this city for lessons in dance, singing, any instrument I like. Hell, I can take up erotic massage, but what I’m attempting here isn’t something I can go take a class in, you know? Learning something as unique as this?” She tapped the open book before her. “This is it. Notes from my family’s scattered history. I have no idea if any part of what I am doing is actually right or if any of this even really works.”
The man went silent.
“I can tell you,” I said. “It does work for real. I am proof incarnate. You are of the maker’s kin, Alexandra. Do as your blue-haired friend suggested and try again. Her way.”
She nodded, the frustration in her eyes leaving as she drew her focus. Once more she went through the words and motions of her spell. This time there was commitment in every gesture, in every sound, and the build of energy that washed over me told me that something was going right.
The power reminded me of my maker, a sweet sadness flooding me as the long-lost sensation took me, driving me to my knees. His kin continued on, a shooting pain rising up in the center of my being. I fell to my hands as the stone of my chest twisted, shifting its shape, my very landscape altering.
The maker’s kin finished the last of her gestures and dropped to her knees in front of me, her eyes full of concern. “Are you all right?”
“Jesus Christ,” the male said. “You killed a gargoyle.”
“I am fine,” I said, rising to my knees. “I was not prepared for such a sensation. It has been a long time since I have felt…well, anything.”
“His chest,” the blue-haired one said, pointing. “It’s different.”
