by Anton Strout
“Hey!” I called out to them, but with the dull murmur of the crowd all around us, it was hopeless.
“Detective Rowland!” I called out, louder this time. “Maron!”
The two of them were wary-eyed and looked about ready to jump out of their skin, but hearing the formality of their names gave them something to latch onto in all the chaos. When Maron caught sight of Rory and me, his face relaxed, but Rowland wore her now-familiar scowl.
“Is this your doing?” she shouted across the crowd, whose entire focus was on all the gargoyles off in the distance.
“Nice to see you, too, Detective Rowland,” Rory shot back.
I laid a hand on her arm to shut her up.
“This isn’t something of my doing, Detective Rowland,” I said. “We just stopped to see what all the commotion was about.”
Maron’s eyes searched out over the crowd. His finger went from gargoyle to gargoyle as he counted them and scribbled in a notebook cradled in his hand. “Any of these creatures yours?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so,” I said. “Although I have met one of the angelic ones.” I pointed to where Nathaniel was moving among the crowd, wings spread wide as he took his time so everyone had a chance to reach out and touch him. “He’s one of the good guys.”
“So what is this?” Maron asked. “A simple meet-and-greet?”
I couldn’t help but shrug. “Your guess is as good as ours,” I said.
“We have no idea,” Rory said.
Detectives Maron and Rowland moved closer, all four of us trying to absorb the entire scene. Far away, Nathaniel’s lips moved, but between the excitement of the crowd and our distance from him, none of our group could make out what he was saying.
“Screw this,” Rowland said, pushing forward through the crowd once again. “We need to know what he’s saying.”
Maron fell in behind her, and Rory and I did the same, passing through the crowd in their authoritative wake. Even in plain clothes, the two detectives still carried themselves as cops, and as they went, people seemed to sense their authority and got out of the way.
When they closed to about twenty feet away from Nathaniel, they stopped. Rory and I followed suit, and were pleased to find we were finally able to hear Nathaniel’s voice.
“That’s right,” he said to the people he passed among. “Get a feel for your future. The Life Eternal is humanity’s next great evolution.”
“The Life Eternal?” Rory repeated in a whisper to me. “Please don’t tell me this is the new Scientology.”
“Let’s hope not,” I said. “Although as far as religions go, I’d say actual physical proof of gargoyles beats out theoretical space aliens on the believability scale . . .”
The gargoyle Nathaniel continued examining the crowd as he went. When his eyes came in my direction, I couldn’t help but slip behind someone taller in the crowd. Even though the gargoyle couldn’t see my features within the artificial darkness of the hood, I feared even the hoodies might give us away. I didn’t want to draw any notice if I didn’t have to, at least not until we had heard what he had to say.
“There are those of my kind who would keep themselves secret from you,” he said. “Doesn’t that make you wonder what they have to hide? I come before you with others of my kind, an angelic messenger sent to give you guidance in these chaotic times. The skies are full of winged beasts, filling you full of terror, no doubt, but I am here to tell you there is nothing to fear. We welcome you among us; we have nothing to hide.”
A smatter of applause broke out among those closest to him, and grew as it worked its way out into the crowd. Cries of “Hallelujah” and praising of various gods broke out here and there across the park.
I sighed and shook my head. “I fear Nathaniel Crane has traded up his human life for a more evangelical stone one,” I said.
The detectives nodded in agreement, but their eyes remained fixed on Nathaniel as he basked in the crowd’s adoration.
“We do not shy away,” the angel said. “We do not fly above you, judging, hiding . . . and why should we? We are the Life Eternal. And those who wish to join us will well have a chance at our kind of life.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I started to tense in anger. I had watched my father give the greater part of his life over to religious zealotry, and listening to this crock of shit out of this gargoyle was more than I could take. I pushed forward through the crowd past all my friends, unable to control myself.
“Oh, really?” I shouted, losing control of my astonished anger. “And how exactly do you plan on going about that, Nathaniel?”
The angel stopped midstride in the crowd and gave a slow turn until he caught sight of me moving toward him. Even though he couldn’t make out my face within the sheer darkness of the hood, there was recognition in his look. “Well, well . . . ladies and gentlemen, this is indeed a rare treat. May I introduce . . . my creator.”
This time it was wild applause that erupted throughout the crowd, the enthusiasm a strange counterpoint to my anger. These followers, these easily swayed, these sheep . . . Their ignorant clapping bliss only enraged me further.
“Oh, no, no . . . I’m not responsible for that guy,” I shouted to the people all around me. “Nathaniel, tell them!”
The crowd parted as the massive form of the angel closed with me, even the detectives backing away to leave only Rory to come forward to stand at my side. Nathaniel stopped in front of me, leaned close, lowering his voice.
“Like it or not, you did create me, Miss Belarus.” His words were calm and calculated, and I hated the truth in them.
“What exactly are you promising these people, Mr. Crane?”
“I only offer these people the same chance that was given to me,” he said. “The Life Eternal.”
“My creation of you wasn’t some grand plan,” I said. “I hate to break it to you, but you were at best a mistake.”
Nathaniel grinned. “What you call a mistake, I call divine intervention,” he said.
“You can’t expect these people to take you seriously,” I said.
“Look at them,” he said, raising his hands straight out over the crowd. “We walk like gods among them, each and every person wishing they could become like us. And through their servitude, they will get that chance. They, too, can take the stone form and live forever.”
The crowd erupted into wild applause once more.
Rory scoffed. “If you think Alexandra’s going to start churning out more gargoyles like she’s some kind of factory, you are very sadly mistaken, pal.”
“How quaint,” he said, looking at her. “You think we need your little friend for that?”
There was so much confidence, so much hubris in his voice, I wanted to drop the nearest building on him.
“Don’t you?” I asked.
Nathaniel shook his head, and turned his back to us, his wings almost knocking over the detectives at the side of the open circle. The gargoyle’s people crowded in around him like remoras to a shark as he walked away from us. Several of the other gargoyles moved through the crowd to assemble behind him. At about twenty feet away, he turned back to us.
“Think of yourself as a chef,” he said. “There isn’t one be-all and end-all way to properly prepare a meal, is there? There are many variants of recipes for each dish. So it is with the taking of the stone. If you won’t serve us, rest assured, we will find a way of our own.”
“Good luck with that,” I said. With the secrets of the Spellmasons known only to me, I knew the guy was screwed. Now if only these people knew it . . .
“Of course,” he said, his words having a dark whimsicality to them, “we could always make you.” Nathaniel switched his focus to address the sea of humanity. “People of New York City . . . if you so desire the Life Eternal, your first act will be to secure these two wom
en.”
Rory reached for the art tube across her back, but I stayed her hand.
“Don’t give anyone ideas,” I whispered to her. “You pull that glaive guisarme out here, our detective friends will probably go for their guns. We don’t want anything escalating too quickly.”
I checked the detectives, praying they didn’t do anything rash. When I caught their eyes, the crowd behind them was already getting restless as they sized us up. Thankfully, the two detectives didn’t go for their guns, instead choosing to run over to us while the mob was still contemplating how invested they were in doing Nathaniel’s bidding to earn the Life Eternal.
As an initial answer, a trash can crash-landed next to us with a clattering of cans, crumpled papers, and breaking glass. And not to my surprise, it had been someone in the crowd and not one of the gargoyles. In fact, the gargoyles had taken a position of observation farther away as if waiting to see which of their gathered humans might take us down.
Sadly, the trash can wasn’t the only thing thrown at us. As mob mentality took the crowd over, anything and everything they had in their hands or that they found came flying in our direction. Bottles, cans, books, and bits of stone from the park itself rained down over us.
A full plastic cup of soda struck Detective Maron in the chest, the lid and straw popping free as its contents spilled out, soaking him. Both detectives reached inside their coats, but I reached out and grabbed both their wrists.
“Unless you’ve got bullets enough to take down this entire crowd, I suggest you keep your guns out of sight.”
The two of them hesitated, but their hands remained inside their coats, still poised to draw.
“With a growing crowd like this?” Rowland asked. “Don’t worry. Other cops will be arriving here in no time.”
The mob was closing in on us quick, the faces of our fellow New Yorkers filled with a hatred for us then. We were to them, after all, in defiance of an angel.
“No offense but NYPD’s response time will be too damned late,” I said, dragging the two detectives by their wrists. “Follow me.”
Rory didn’t need any prompting and was already backing away from the oncoming press of people.
Pushing my power out around me like a plow, I started west crosstown, hoping to clear a path toward Eighteenth Street. Our magic hoods would keep our identities concealed, but a display of power was what we needed if we were going to escape the hundreds and hundreds of people bearing down on us. The pavement below my feet resisted my power, but I was far too in need of an escape, not to mention feeling damned well determined. As we walked, the painted labyrinths below tore apart as chunks of pavement cracked and rose up on either side of us, driving the crowd back. My intent wasn’t to hurt anyone, merely keep them from getting at us. Exacting control of my power proved impossible. Finessing it as the entire population of the park moved in on us was far too distracting to keep plowing a steady path.
Several cries arose from the mob as large chunks of the pavement slipped free from my manipulation and rolled off into the people all around us, all of it moving at a velocity meant to scare, not harm.
“Sorry,” I cried out to no one in particular.
“Sorry?!” Rory said, her back pressed to mine as she used her now-assembled pole arm to swat at anyone who dared cross into the wake of our escape path. “Lexi, they’d tear us apart if they could!”
“I know,” I said. “Doesn’t mean we need to stoop to their level, though.”
I shut up and redoubled my efforts to plow through the crowd, and as we approached Eighteenth Street just off Broadway, my continued attempts at finesse finally paid off. The stone of the broken pavement pressed out of my way and drove the crowd back, forming a short wall that proved difficult to climb for the few insistent pursuers who tried to scale it. Still, several people managed to come over it and run after us.
“We’re not going to make it,” Detective Rowland shouted from behind me, and I turned to see her pulling her gun out.
Immediately the crowd roared, a mix of fear and anger that added a new and nervous energy to an already nerve-racked situation.
“We are going to make it,” I shouted back to her, not even able to start arguing about her foolishly pulling her gun.
“We’re not,” Rory said, which surprised me. I had expected to hear something disparaging from the detectives, but not my best friend.
“I hate to say it,” she continued, “but there’s simply too many of them. They’re going to swarm us.”
“Not if I can help it,” I said and sprinted forward, the pavement of the road spilling before me like I was Moses parting the Red Sea.
We crossed over Broadway and started onto Eighteenth Street heading for Fifth Avenue, leaving the open space of the park behind, but not the mob of people. They streamed behind us into the canyon of buildings rising up on either side of us, the roar of the crowd becoming deafening.
“Keep running,” I shouted to the only three people not intent on killing me, and stopped. Rory and the detectives passed by me as I spun around to face the crowd.
“Lexi, what are you doing?” Rory asked, stopping right behind me.
“Just a little construction,” I said, raising my hands high above my head as they went through a series of somatic rituals as fast as I could switch their positions. I forced all of my will forward in me, the rush hitting me like a brain freeze after an ICEE, and whispering my family’s ancient words of power, I brought my hands down onto the pavement.
There were only two outcomes possible: either my hands would break as they slammed against the pavement of the road with all my might, or the entirety of the road would give way to my power. I had to count on my will in this. I could not hesitate in what I was about to do, although every bit of my rational mind told me to kiss my hands good-bye.
I fell to my knees as I brought my hands down, and just as I felt the scrape of pavement against the skin of my knuckles, the road buckled and my hands sank into it. I might as well have been thrusting my hands into a sink full of water given how effortless it felt, but I didn’t take the time to pat myself on the back just yet. That was the easy part.
My will ran down my arms like an electrical charge. From sidewalk to sidewalk I bent and buckled the entirety of Eighteenth Street. I imagined snapping it the way you’d shake out a rug, and the road rose up in response like a grand wave. Cars flew, rolled, and crumpled as the street bent and twisted like a Dalí painting. The front line of the mob stopped short as the pavement wave rose up, the next few rows of still-charging people slamming into their front line.
My last sight of the crowd as the pavement wall rose higher and higher was of them scrambling over one another as they tried to retreat. With every inch I raised the wall, the pressure in my head grew and grew, but I was determined. Higher, I thought. Higher. We needed something that the crowd would think twice about even attempting to scale.
As the road rose up to about the third floor of the buildings on either side of us, a cloud of dust filled the street and something in the pressure within my head gave way. Dizziness overtook me and I slumped forward, my arms pulling free from the pavement, my face hitting the solidity of the street.
“Lexi!” Rory cried out, and was down next to me on the ground in seconds.
With care she eased her hands under me and rolled me over, sitting me up. My head spun but before I could bonk myself real good again, Rory had her arm underneath both of mine and lifted me to my knees.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I think so,” I said. “I feel a bit disoriented and shaky, a bit scraped up, but I think I’m fine.”
Detective Maron joined Rory and the two of them lifted me up, holding on to me for a moment until I could support my own weight once more.
“I’m fine,” I said, brushing them both away. “Really. I just feel like I have the worse migrai
ne ever.”
“Gee, good thing that didn’t escalate,” Rory said.
I went to speak but a warm sensation running down my face prevented me.
“You’ve got a nosebleed,” Rory said.
Detective Maron reached into his inner pocket and produced a handkerchief. “Here.”
I took it from him and held it to my nose. When I pulled it away, the entire cloth was bright crimson. My knees buckled at the sight of so much of my own blood. I pressed the cloth back to my nose.
“I think I’ve got some studying up to do,” I said.
The detectives both stared up at the massive wall that separated us from the mob.
“This seems more than sufficient,” Detective Rowland said, managing for once to crack a smile.
Maron whistled. “No shit.”
As the bleeding stopped and the dust all around us began to settle, I dropped the handkerchief and hurriedly pulled off my backpack. I opened it and pulled Bricksley free from it, both detectives giving me a wary look.
“What the hell is that?” Rowland asked.
“It’s my stone golem extraordinaire,” I said. “Bricksley.”
“Bricksley?” Maron repeated.
I nodded.
Rowland sighed. “I don’t even want to know.”
Maron took off his dust-covered coat and shook it out. “So that Nathaniel is one of the good guys . . . ?” he asked.
Detective Rowland broke into a coughing fit over where the dust was still kicking around against the pavement wall, and I joined her, searching along the massive stretch of it.
“If he’s one of the good guys, I’d hate to see the bad ones,” she said.
“He’s not a good guy, apparently,” I said.
“Really?” Rory asked as she fought to catch her breath. “How could you tell? Was it the ordering those people to attack us?”
“Did you check out any of the gargoyles who were with him?” I asked.
Rory shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. “I was too busy thinking about our chances of dying.”
