Incarnate (A Spellmason Chronicle)

by Anton Strout

  “I did,” Detective Rowland said, which didn’t surprise me.

  I would have expected an officer to be taking in all the details they could, especially in a crisis situation.

  “And?” I asked her.

  “I recognized a few of them, actually,” she said. “They were part of the gargoyle crew that showed up the night Detective Maron and I tried to apprehend you and your friends at the armory.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “And what did the serpent-headed one say . . . you know, before you blew his head to dust with a shotgun? He said that they served a new master.”

  “Hold on,” Rory said. “You think this Nathaniel Crane is the guy they’re serving? I thought you and Stanis had him pegged as a petty thief when he had been human. Hardly sounds like leadership material, you know?”

  “That’s the thing,” I said. “I don’t think that angel is Nathaniel Crane. I think that’s what he told me on the night Stanis and I found him because we caught him by surprise and he was outnumbered. Maybe that gargoyle he destroyed right before we got there was Nathaniel Crane and he just used the name when we interrogated him. But that display by ‘Nathaniel’ in the park just now? That’s the kind of gargoyle angel who is leadership material. The way he carried himself, the pomposity. He’s not just a crony in servitude like the rest of them to the Butcher of the Bowery. I think the gargoyle who called himself Nathaniel Crane is really Robert Patrick Dorman. That angel is the Butcher.”

  Rory sighed as she began dismantling her pole arm. “Looks like he’s traded up butchery for playing a minor deity to the masses.”

  “We’re going to need more than just your hunch to go on,” Detective Rowland said. “Procedures and all.”

  “I know,” I said, holding up Bricksley, his tiny arms and legs flailing, his permanently drawn-on smile always bringing me a bit of cheer no matter how grim the occasion might be. “That’s why I’ve got my little friend here.”

  I pressed him up against the hole at the side of the pavement wall so he could see into the park beyond.

  “Bricksley,” I said. “You see that large angelic creature there? The one at the front of the crowd?” His tiny left hand on the end of his metallic arm gave a thumbs-up. “I want you to follow him. See where he goes, what he’s up to. Don’t get caught . . . by him or other humans, okay?”

  Another thumbs-up.

  “Great,” I said. “Then I want you to come home, to our guildhall on Saint Mark’s. Be careful, Bricks.”

  Stupid as the cops might think it was, I hugged the rough texture of the brick golem and slid him through the hole in the wall. The crowd beyond was already turning from it, much of the fight having gone out of them, which was fine by me. By the time the cops would actually arrive, hopefully there’d be less of a riot quality for them to deal with.

  Bricksley—well below eye level—skittered away across the park, vanishing from my sight into the whole of the crowd when he was about fifty feet away.

  “Gargoyles going this public, interacting with the crowd and stirring them up into a bloodthirsty mob,” I said with a shudder as I stood up and shouldered my backpack once more. I started down Eighteenth Street. “I need to talk to Stanis.”

  “Hey!” Detective Rowland called out from behind me. “What about all this property damage?”

  The sounds of car alarms and broken store windows rose up into the night air.

  I turned and gave the two detectives my sweetest smile. “You heard what Rory said. The Butcher thinks he’s a minor deity now. Have the city write this off as an act of God for the insurance.”

  I didn’t wait for a response. A few hours of relaxation with Brad, Janet, and Frankenfurter had done me good, but now? I was back on the clock and there was a gargoyle I needed to see before the sun came up in a few hours.

  Twenty-two

  Stanis

  The opportunity to simply wander the paths of Gramercy Park had been rare over the past few centuries, but thanks to Alexandra, I had my own version of the park at my disposal. I tried to forget the date-night intrusion my last visit had caused her and Caleb, but tonight the park was all mine as I awaited my maker’s kin.

  Nearby the tiny brook babbled, the wind rustled through the trees, and the only thing to disturb their calming sounds came around forty minutes into my wait as the sound of stone scraping against stone caused me to turn. Alexandra stood in the frame of the door hidden in one of the pillars.

  “Glad to see you’re getting some use out of the park,” she said as she shut the secret door behind her.

  “It does me good to come here and think sometimes,” I said. “To get away from Sanctuary, my fellow grotesques . . . everything. I find the tranquility and stillness up here of some comfort.”

  “Things good with Emily?”

  Her question surprised me. It was rare that Alexandra asked about my near-constant companion. “Yes,” I said.

  “Where is she?” she asked, propping herself up on the short wall along the edge of the pathway I stood upon.

  I smiled. “As I said, it does me good to get away from everything at times.” I studied Alexandra with a bit more care. Her eyes were heavy, her hair more tangled than usual. A single flap of my wings would drive her right over the wall into the man-made stream behind it. “You look exhausted.”

  She rubbed the heels of her palms in her eyes and pulled her hair back into a bun. “Long night so far,” she said. “And it’s not over yet. Have your people had any luck tracking down the Butcher?”

  “It has become a bigger project than I had imagined,” I said with frustration.

  “How come?” she asked.

  “These grotesques at Sanctuary are not like my father’s army,” I said. “His men were old-world militia, men raised to fight and follow. These creatures that I have gathered . . . They were lost souls, all of them damaged somehow from their humanity. They come from all walks of life. The transition is not a smooth one for all. Still, there are some who show promise. That monk you brought me from the Cloisters, Jonathan. He considers himself still in the service of the Lord and has been most helpful in trying to help my people cope with their transformations and new life.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “But any ETA on getting them on board?”

  “Every night we are expanding our search parties, but so far there has been no luck.”

  “Well, I’ve had a productive night,” she said.

  “Have you?” I asked.

  “I’ve found mention of an apprentice who briefly studied with my great-great-grandfather,” she said.

  “Really?” I asked.

  Alexandra gave a weary nod. “The mention disappears quickly from my grandfather’s notes,” she said.

  “Interesting,” I said. “I do not recall my maker taking an apprentice.”

  “More importantly,” Alexandra continued, “after a little ‘Time Warp’ action with Rory, we met the Butcher.”

  I was not sure what “a little ‘Time Warp’ action” was, but all questions about it died as I took in the last part of her sentence. “You met the Butcher,” I repeated.

  “Yup,” she said, “and guess what? So did you.”

  “I think not,” I said. “I would remember such an occurrence.”

  “Remember the grotesque we met on the roof the other night?” she asked. “The one who was acting all calm and gentlemanly, carrying that other grotesque’s head around?”

  “Nathaniel Crane,” I said. “Yes. He had just done away with one of the Butcher’s men.”

  Alexandra shook her head at me. “Not quite,” she said. “I’m pretty sure Nathaniel Crane is the Butcher.”

  “I thought we were looking for a Robert Patrick Dorman,” I said.

  “He was lying to us,” she said, her voice darkening with anger.

  “So that angel statue is host to o
ne of the most reprehensible warlocks ever known?”

  “And we had him,” she said, her exhaustion mixing with her anger now. “We even caught him red-handed having destroyed another gargoyle. How did we miss that?”

  “Simple,” I said. “We were looking for someone more . . . openly sinister. Take my father, for example. His madness for power made him obsessive. That obsession led to irrational behavior, which is not something easily hid.”

  “I still should have known,” she said, apparently adamant on the point.

  “Do not beat yourself up too much about this, Alexandra,” I said. “Mad men of power do not rise by luck alone. They are clever. They possess charm; they are charismatic. How else do you think they rise if not by the use of these skills of enticement?”

  “No,” she said. “If I hadn’t been running myself ragged, I would have caught it.”

  “I did not catch it,” I reminded her. “And I do not get this ‘ragged’ of which you speak.”

  Frustration filled her face, her eyes on the verge of tears. She wiped at them with the sleeve of her coat and took a deep breath.

  “I’m really trying here, Stanis,” she exploded, her words coming fast. “I really am. I’ve been head-deep in books today, then running around town. There’s just too much going on. It’s overwhelming.” There was anger and despair in her words, in the way she spoke. Then she looked up at me with a pained laugh as she fought to pull herself together. “But I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, huh?”

  I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”

  “You never need to rest,” she said. “You’re like that Energizer Bunny. You keep going and going and going. Most of my problems exhaust me, but you? You don’t exhaust. You can’t exhaust.”

  “You mistake a need for sleep for exhaustion,” I said. “My mind often fills with exhaustion, and I wish that I could sleep.”

  “But you sleep during the daylight hours,” she said.

  “I would not call that sleep,” I said.

  “No? What would you call it?”

  “Oblivion,” I said.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Even though centuries have passed, I can still remember sleep,” I said, smiling with the recall. “There is little left that I recall from my human life save for sleep. To sleep was to dream.”

  “And now?”

  “With the rising of the sun, it is true my form changes, but there is no sleep in it. It is truly oblivion. My mind ceases to exist. There is not the chance to dream. It is this I miss most of all.”

  Alexandra adjusted herself on the stone wall of the path, looking down at her feet. “What if . . . what if there was a way you could dream again?”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “Before we met with the witches and warlock community of Manhattan, we had met with Warren O’Shea.”

  “This I know,” I said.

  “You don’t know all of it,” Alexandra said. “We have a mutual agreement of sorts going on.”

  “One should never enter lightly into a pact with people of an arcane nature,” I said as if addressing a child. Given her inexperience in the ways of the magical world, perhaps she was one.

  “I know, I know,” she said. “But Caleb was there for it.”

  “That does not give me any additional comfort,” I replied, saying it as evenly as I could, hiding my ire.

  “Nor me, either,” she added.

  I cocked my head. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I confronted Caleb about what you told me,” she said, looking up at me with soulful eyes. “We’re working through this arcane crazy, but as far as the two of us . . . we are over.”

  I did not know what to say to that, and after several moments of silence, I went back to the real conversation at hand.

  “You spoke of a mutual agreement you have with Warren O’Shea . . . ?”

  “You and I are already trying to deal with the grotesque situation here in Manhattan,” she said. “Warren’s problem just happens to intersect with our goals. He wants this Butcher dealt with and so do we.”

  “And for saving this warlock from destruction, what do we get in return?”

  “He’s taken me before the Convocation,” she said. “The witches’ council.”

  “Alexandra,” I said with disapproval in my voice. “You went before them without me? Did you think for a second you did not need protection among their kind?”

  “I had protection,” I said. “Warren had invoked his right of parlay with the head of their council, Laurien. And I brought my own backup. Caleb, Rory, Marshall . . . Besides, you weren’t even around.”

  “I had business of my own,” I said, thinking back to my conversation with Emily and Detective Rowland on her rooftop. “You should be hearing from Detectives Rowland and Maron about that.”

  Alexandra’s face filled with confusion. “What have they got to do with you?” she asked.

  “I went to assist them, like you asked,” I said. “And I may have asked a favor of them in return. Something I had them looking into looked like it might be blood magic, but I could not be sure. I asked them to show it to you.”

  “You should have brought me along,” she said, her voice short and curt.

  “These days it is difficult to find you.”

  “Try harder, then,” she insisted.

  “Forgive me,” I said, not appreciating her tone, “but the world does not revolve solely around your schedule, Alexandra. I have my people to think about, Sanctuary . . .”

  “And Emily,” she said. “Don’t forget Emily.”

  “I am sorry,” I said. “Is that what this is about? Have I offended you somehow?”

  Alexandra jumped down off the wall, pacing with her arms folded across her chest. She shook her head. “No, I . . .”

  I grabbed her by her shoulders, stopping her and forcing her to look up at me. “Easy,” I said. “Take your time.”

  “That wasn’t the only bargain I made with Warren O’Shea,” she said. “There’s an arcane artifact. The Cagliostro Medallion. It belonged to his family for generations. If I can reclaim it from the Butcher, he promised it would be mine.”

  “What does this medallion do?” I said, letting go of her shoulders.

  “Cagliostro was a well-known alchemist,” she said. “It’s said the medallion can turn stone to flesh. I bargained with O’Shea for it, because I . . . I thought you might want to wear it. I thought . . .” With growing frustration she turned from me and walked farther down the path before turning back around. “I don’t know what I thought, okay?”

  Her words hit me harder than anything that had managed to take a swing at me over the last century. “An item like that is a fairy tale, Alexandra,” I said. “No such thing exists.”

  “Warren assured me that it does,” she said. “And I believe him.”

  Alexandra composed herself and came back over to me, wrapping her arms around me.

  “Alexandra . . .”

  “Think of it,” she said, not letting go as she laid her head against my chest. “Really think of it. I never gave it much thought before. I’ve always pushed away the idea because I was with Caleb and it seemed impossible, but after we talked about how Caleb dissuaded you from pursuing me, I had it out with him. I can’t deny it any longer. There’s always been a connection between you and me, Stanis. I just used the fact that you were what you are and I was what I was as a reason to not go there . . . but now, when there’s even the slightest possibility that you could be human again . . .”

  I found comfort in her words, and returned her embrace, always careful to control my strength. Feeling Alexandra this close reminded me of the early days of our meeting, of the bond and connection that had existed back then. While some of it had been due to the connection to her that her gr
eat-great-grandfather had set upon me centuries ago to watch over the family, it had always been more than that, had it not?

  Still . . . I took my arms from around her and gently pushed myself away from her.

  “What of my people?” I asked.

  “What of them?” she asked.

  “I cannot abandon those at Sanctuary,” I said. “Although they may be people of stone, they are still my people. I have sworn to protect them . . . to lead them, to keep them from harm, to offer them sanctuary. Who am I if I am not a creature of my word? My people need me.”

  “No,” she said, her voice shaking now. “Say what you really mean. Emily needs you. And you need her.”

  “I . . .” I stopped myself. “I do not know if that is true.”

  “It’s true,” she said. “You just don’t want to say it in front of me.”

  I could not admit it, but Alexandra was right.

  “Perhaps we should allow this magical community of yours to decide the fate of this medallion,” I said in an effort to maneuver the conversation to a different topic.

  Alexandra laughed.

  “I can’t even get their commitment to help with our gargoyle problem because they’re so tied up resolving their own infighting,” she said. “You think they’re going to be able to decide which one of their factions gets so precious an item? No. I bargained for it with the man who has a rightful claim to it. It’s mine to do what I want with. If I can find the damn thing.”

  I nodded. “As you wish,” I said.

  To my surprise, she threw her arms around my neck and jumped up so I had to catch her, cradling the last of the Spellmasons in my arms. The closeness was not an unwelcome sensation, I realized.

  “What are you doing, Alexandra?” I said, wary.

  “There is a great freedom in speaking about how I truly feel,” she said. “Even if you can’t reciprocate. So let’s get back to work, shall we?”

  “Very well,” I said, her sudden easiness with me almost contagious, relaxing me. “So what next?”

  “I’m thinking a fresh set of eyes—yours—might prove useful in rechecking the last known whereabouts of the medallion,” she said. “How do you feel about a trip up to Central Park?”