Magic of the Gargoyles

by Rebecca Chastain

  When I glanced up, I met the healthy gargoyle’s eyes, seeing her anguish and anger. “I don’t know what to do,” I said, swiping at wet cheeks.

  “You have to help him.”

  “I don’t know how.” Helplessly, I stared at the suffering gargoyle. His movements were weak. He was dying, drained of magic and in so much pain.

  3

  I wasn’t lying: I had no idea what to do. But I couldn’t do nothing.

  I slid magic into the gargoyle, gritting my teeth against the avalanche of pain transmitted back to me. Closing my eyes, I sank into the quartz as I would into a normal project, feeling the pattern of the rock. The hatchling was vastly more complex than any quartz I’d touched before, containing thousands of intertwining striations hosting the intricate patterns of life. Quartz was a hardy mineral in all forms, yet this gargoyle felt like he would shatter in a gust of wind. Too much of his magic—his life—had been siphoned from him. More continued to leak from the raw wounds of his missing limbs. If I had any chance of saving the gargoyle’s life, the wounds had to be sealed. Closing them wouldn’t be good enough, though. Not if he was to have a future. His limbs needed to be regrown.

  “I can’t do this alone,” I said, looking into the eyes of the stone panther. “I’m not strong enough.” But maybe I would be if I used the magic leaking from the injured hatchling. I balked at the thought, then realized that even if I was okay with stealing the injured gargoyle’s magic, I’d be depleting the very resource I was trying to replenish.

  The panther hissed and snapped her tail in rhythmic pops. “Bring Herbert out here first,” she finally said, keeping just outside the pentagram’s circle.

  I reached for the injured hatchling—Herbert—and he twitched, squealing, trying to escape me without any limbs or energy to use.

  “Shh. It’s okay. We’re here to help.” Herbert’s rock body was too light, and my fear for the hatchling’s fading life sent fresh tears dripping down my cheeks. Working quickly, I scuffed five of the chalk lines leading to the earth anchor; then I broke the outer circle.

  The panther growled when I set Herbert down several paces from the abomination that had nearly killed him. She sniffed him, then me. I knelt and touched Herbert’s toucan beak. His eyes were closed now, and I reached out with magic, fearing the worst.

  “He’s alive. Barely. We need to work fast.”

  “Sit,” she ordered.

  I sat, and the panther curled her bulk into my lap, claws flexed against my crossed calves.

  A wellspring of gargoyle-enhanced magic dropped inside me. My stomach lurched at the free-fall sensation before I tapped into my magic and effortlessly pulled three times my usual amount. This is what it was like to be an FSPP.

  With this level of power, I could do anything, even heal a gargoyle.

  The hatchling was quartz. Even without enhancement, and despite being only a midlevel earth elemental, my quartz specialty was near FSPP level. With gargoyle enhancement, I could work quartz like a pentagram-linked earth elemental.

  Using a delicate pulse of woven magic, I coaxed the jagged hatchling’s side to grow.

  The flame within Herbert flickered, and the beast went limp. Frantic, I pumped more fire into him, then traces of the other elements, and waited until he stabilized. The baby didn’t have enough body or life left to grow new appendages, even with my influx of magic.

  I sat back, trying to be analytical rather than emotional. This was a common problem with quartz. There was only so much manipulation a piece could take without the infusion of additional quartz. I prayed the same would apply to the gargoyle and thanked the gods that I was rarely without seed crystals. I placed a pearl-shaped clear crystal on the gargoyle’s still side where his wing should have been and dove back in.

  Coaxing the seed to grow was as familiar and easy as breathing, but connecting the gargoyle’s complex internal networks to the lifeless seed and matching the seed crystal’s growth patterns to the gargoyle’s required all my skill and concentration. Just when I got the hang of it, having stretched almost an inch out of the seed crystal, the connecting fibers from the gargoyle stagnated.

  Puzzled, I squinted at the half-wing lump. Rose quartz ran through clear quartz like veins, ending in a jagged edge. However, where the fibers refused to grow was smooth like the gargoyle’s body. I hadn’t done that. The stone panther hadn’t, either. Her magic was a passive boost to mine, providing no input. Somehow, even while unconscious, Herbert was guiding the design, defining the shape of his wing as I regrew it. In awe, I refocused on the weave of magic. As I guessed, once I switched growth directions to flow toward the jagged edges, the hatchling’s body responded to my manipulations again. Now that I knew what to feel for, I worked faster and finished the wing in minutes.

  One healed appendage out of six made a meager impact on the gargoyle’s suffering. Working diligently, I used seed crystals to grow stubby legs that ended in oversize paws. Then, easing the gargoyle over, I regrew the other wing. With each healed limb, the gargoyle’s pain receded and the life seeping from him ebbed until he was whole—weak, but no longer dying.

  A hollowness opened within me when the panther cut off her magic amplification. I released my magic and swayed against the backwash of exhaustion. The panther pushed from my lap to nuzzle the unconscious gargoyle. I watched the two hatchlings, realizing from their magical patterns that they were siblings, despite their radically different appearances.

  A concussive boom rocked the ground, passing through me with a physical pulse. To the east, a giant fireball erupted against the pale horizon. Screams echoed through the block, too close for comfort. Lightning cut the night sky, followed by the shudder of an earthquake. Magic crackled in the air. Whoever the Fire Eaters had been after, they’d found them.

  “We need to get out of here,” I said.

  The tiny stone panther’s eyes glowed with fear. She seemed torn between fleeing and staying crouched over her brother.

  “Come with me. I’ll keep you both safe.” Anywhere was safer than staying here. Getting outside the blight and back to Ms. Zuberrie’s sounded like a good start. After that, we could work on a long-term plan.

  Rapid-fire concussions rattled the loading dock, collapsing another section of roof in an earsplitting crash. Dust billowed over us. The sour copper taste of rust caught in my throat. I coughed and staggered to my feet after two trembling attempts. Healing Herbert had strained the bounds of my energy levels, physically and magically. But even if I’d been at full strength, I wouldn’t have stuck around in warring gang territory.

  The panther watched me, still looking undecided.

  “Do you know the way back to my home?”

  Finally, she nodded. I released a pent-up breath. I lifted Herbert, now asleep and healing, to my chest. It was like cradling a small boulder. My arms trembled.

  The stone panther loped toward the dock’s northern exit. Rubbing grit out of my eyes, I stumbled after her.

  I tried to remain alert to my surroundings, but exhaustion deteriorated my focus. Keeping the panther in sight and staying on my feet were the best I could muster. Herbert gained weight with each step. After a few blocks, the sound of fighting faded and I paused long enough to stuff the hatchling under my shirt, tucking the cloth back in and cradling my arm under the cotton-covered bulk. With my shirt distributing the hatchling’s weight, he felt a little lighter, and with Herbert hidden from view, I felt a little safer.

  I wasn’t the only person concerned with safety: Costly whole-house wards shimmered over most homes, and the number of blatant traps had doubled in the last half hour. The turf battle rocking the blight had everyone cowering in their safety zones.

  Twice I heard city guards, once on flying platforms and once marching double time on foot. Both times, the panther took us through side alleys so our paths didn’t cross. I had enough wherewithal to be thankful we were avoiding questioning, but mainly I lamented the extra steps the detours demanded of my drained body. />
  An eon later, the panther stopped, and I stared numbly at Ms. Zuberrie’s house. The hatchling flapped up to my studio balcony, her flight path erratic and heavy. For the first time, it occurred to me that healing Herbert had drained her, too.

  Grabbing the banister railing for support, I pulled myself up the stairs. I set Herbert at the foot of my bed, then fell face-first onto my comforter and into blackness.

  4

  “Wake up, girl. There’s a baby gargoyle on the balcony,” Kylie whispered against my ear. I jolted awake. Sunlight streamed through the bay windows, sparkling on the half dozen finished tubes on my worktable. Only six, when there needed to be twelve as of . . . a few hours from now. Impossible. I groaned and sat up. My head pounded. I rolled my shoulders to work out my neck’s kink. Maybe if I got right to work, I could finish most of them before—

  “Crap! Work!” I lurched from the bed. I was hours late. Without an explanation or notification. Silvia Jones had a zero-tolerance policy for tardiness. This was the only excuse she’d need to fire me. Unfortunately, I needed my job awhile longer while I built up my clientele. My gaze fell on the unfinished project again. If I didn’t finish the vials, I wasn’t going to have a business. I needed the referrals this project would bring.

  “Did you hear me, Mika?” Kylie asked. She plopped onto the bed, her blue eyes tracking my frantic movements.

  “Yes. Gargoyle. She’s still here.” I scribbled a note: Battling deadly illness; refusing to go into the light. Maybe Silvia would take pity on me.

  “She? You know about the gargoyle? What are you writing? Wait—you expect Ms. Be-Sick-on-Your-Own-Time Jones to believe that? Let me do it.” Kylie formed a bubble of air magic and recited a compelling plea on my behalf, wrapped it in tight bands of air, and sent it rocketing off to Silvia’s message box. I stared enviously after it. Kylie was a strong air elemental—almost an FSPP. I wouldn’t have been able to create a message bubble that large, and it would have traveled no faster than walking speed once released. “Did you like my emphasis on how contagious you are?” Kylie grinned. “Now, spill. What’s with the gargoyle?”

  Recounting the previous night’s adventure made it feel surreal. While I spoke, I watched the panther hatchling, who was perched on the balcony railing, tight against the house and all but hidden in the eave’s shadow. She sat still as stone, unblinking, unbreathing. Unnerving. Kylie’s mouth was hanging open by the time I finished.

  “Wow, Mika. That was . . .” Her blue eyes grew round. “Do you think the abused hatchling was connected to the Fire Eater attack last night? The Chronicle said they took out four blocks. The casualties are in the double digits. FSPP investigators are involved.”

  “I know it was,” I said. “Where’s Herbert? Did you see him outside?”

  Kylie shook her head. I could see her mind working over everything I’d told her. When I noticed the lump under the covers at her hip, I grinned. Flipping back the covers, I revealed the sleeping form of Herbert. Kylie leapt to her feet.

  “Oh my goodness! I almost sat on him.”

  Herbert’s long stone toucan beak stretched wide in a yawn and his eyes blinked open. When he saw us, he shrieked and leapt into the air. Heavy rose-veined crystal wings buffeted us, and we dove for cover in opposite directions.

  “Open the door!” I yelled.

  Kylie lurched for the balcony door and threw it open. The winged panther woke and spun. One moment she was a statue, the next she was sailing into the room. The panther caught Herbert in her paws and dropped him to the ground, pinning him in place. Kylie and I watched, wide-eyed, as the baby gargoyles snarled at each other. It took several minutes for the panther to calm Herbert, and when she finally let him up, Kylie and I both took a step back.

  “She’s okay,” the panther said, pointing at me with a wing. “She saved you.”

  Seeing Herbert calm down, I eased to the floor and Kylie mirrored me. “I’m Mika. This is my best friend, Kylie. She’s okay, too.”

  Kylie nodded enthusiastically. “I want to help, if you need it.”

  The panther shook her head. “Herbert and I are the last of our nest.”

  “No, Anya. They live.” Herbert’s voice was higher pitched than his sister’s.

  “I only sense you,” Anya said. She lifted her cat face, scenting the air.

  “They’re shielded by the bad man. The one who took us.”

  My heart sank.

  With Kylie doing most of the questioning, we learned that Herbert was one of four hatchlings taken from their wilderness nest and caged. Only Anya, who had been away from the nest when it was ambushed, had been spared.

  “He sold me. For money!” Herbert said. “Humans are evil.”

  “Not all of them. Mika healed you. I helped.”

  I thought Anya sounded proud, and I couldn’t tell if it was of herself or me.

  “Why did you choose Mika last night for help? Why not a full-spectrum elemental?” Kylie asked.

  It was a reasonable question, and I tried not to be offended. I also recognized that tone. Kylie had gone into reporter mode. She may work at the local coffee shop, but Kylie’s ambition was to be a famous journalist, and she was well versed in the requisite story-sniffing rudeness.

  “I don’t know what a full spectrum is,” Anya said. She sat on her haunches, and her wings rustled. In a normal cat, I would have said she was embarrassed. “I thought Mika was a gargoyle.”

  “You what?” I asked.

  “The magic you were doing. It smelled like a gargoyle. If I’d known you were human . . . I don’t like humans. I don’t trust them.”

  With good reason. From what I could tell, Anya and Herbert were only a few weeks old, and their only interactions with humans, other than with me and Kylie, had been horrific.

  “Where are the others?” Kylie asked.

  “In cages.” Herbert’s long tail lashed back and forth, bunching the area rug beneath him. “The bad man is going to sell them like he did me.” The hatchling’s tail stilled and he trembled in place. Anya leaned into him, and a gravelly purr rumbled in her throat.

  “A black market,” Kylie breathed. Her bright blue eyes lit up, and I didn’t need telepathy to know she was seeing her byline beneath the front-page headline. “You can count on us to rescue your siblings,” she announced.

  “We can tell the authorities. They’ll know where to look.”

  “We can do more than that.” Forming complex bubbles of air magic, Kylie spoke into them, whispering, “Gargoyle hatchlings, gargoyles for sale,” and a dozen other phrases, one per bubble. When she finished, each collapsed into a boomerang shape and whirled out into the city, fading from sight almost immediately. Even for Kylie, the rumor scouts formed and moved fast. She gave me wide eyes, and I examined the hatchlings. In his fear, Herbert had leaked a thin current of magic, and Kylie’s rumor scouts had soaked it up.

  “As soon as those return, we’ll know where they’re kept,” Kylie said, recovering from her surprise.

  Information would be good, but I wasn’t going to delay notifying the people who actually knew what to do if they encountered a black magic wielder. So as Kylie got ready for work, I rushed to the nearest guard office.

  Hours later, I dragged myself back to Ms. Zuberrie’s. The excursion had been a waste of time and energy. The guards took one look at me and my midlevel elemental skills and dismissed my recounting of healing Herbert as attention-seeking lies, especially when I told them I’d been in the blight just blocks away from the huge Fire Eater battle. I hadn’t thought to bring the only two individuals who could substantiate my story—Herbert and Anya.

  Despite their refusal to offer assistance, the guards had insisted on following protocol, which required filing a report about my “wild and foolish” claims. After making me wait over an hour, they passed me off to a trainee hardly old enough to be assigned a desk. He spent forty-five minutes trying to trick me into confessing to taking hallucinogens before ushering me to the door with a fi
nal, “We’ll keep your report on file.” It had sounded like a threat, as if the guards were now monitoring my sanity.

  “Stupid bigoted guards.” I stomped up the porch stairs. I was no closer to finding the kidnapped hatchlings and I’d lost precious work hours. I opened the front door to Ms. Zuberrie’s and came face-to-face with my deadline in the form of a stout dark-haired woman with an upturned nose and sour expression: Althea Stoneward, healer apprentice for the prestigious Blackwell-Zakrzewska Clinic and my contact for the unfinished project upstairs. My stomach sank even as I plastered on a smile.

  5

  “I have been waiting,” Althea announced.

  “I’m so sorry. I need a little more time—”

  “More time? We have been more than generous with our deadline. Are you breaking your contract?”

  “No! Of course not.” I eased into the foyer, shut the front door, and cast a furtive glance into the living room and then the dining room, relieved to see we were alone. “I have six finished and—”

  “The order was for twelve.”

  “I ran into . . . time constraints.” After my experience at the guard station, I was reluctant to attempt the truth with Althea. If she thought I was claiming to be an FSPP gargoyle healer, she would cancel my contract and see my reputation ruined beyond repair. “Let me get you the six I finished.”

  Before she could protest, I darted upstairs. When I returned with the six vials wrapped in cloth, her round face was red with irritation and her arms were crossed. I grabbed a vial and thrust it into her hands. She glared, then turned her attention to the quartz. Lifting it to the light, she examined it in silence, looking for flaws I knew she wouldn’t find. Wordlessly, she scrutinized the rest.