by Anton Strout
The tips of Stanis’s wings lay against solid roof on either side of the pool, the rest of him still submerged.
“I know he doesn’t need to breathe,” I said. “But still . . . Stanis . . . ?”
While I waited for Caleb to give me his thoughts on it, I was met instead by a flurry of explosive activity from the pool itself. Stanis’s wings rose out of the liquid stone, their struggling flutter reminding me of birds caught in an oil spill. My heart ached to think of poor Stanis but was replaced by fear for my own safety when his claws broke the surface, struggling to find some kind of purchase.
“Shit,” Caleb said, scrambling off to the right side of the pool, fishing his notebook out of his jacket pocket.
Stanis’s wings twisted and turned, churning the liquid stone around him. One of them grazed Caleb, who was so caught up in his notes that he stumbled back with a grunt before looking over to me.
“We need to finish this,” he said. “I need him a little more docile than this. Actually, a lot more.”
“On it,” I said, watching the roof beneath my feet as I stepped forward, wanting to remain on the solid part of it.
Stanis’s head finally broke the surface of the liquid stone, letting out a monstrous roar. I wanted nothing more than to turn and run for the doors leading off the roof, but I held my ground. If I didn’t deal with Stanis immediately, I thought my chances of ever helping him might vanish completely.
Truthfully, I wasn’t sure how much help I would be in restraining him, but surely he was weakened from the fall.
The only solution seemed to be in the brute force of the stone I still controlled. I extended what remained of my wings out full to my sides, then pushed all my will into them as I turned their purpose from beauty and flight to that of blunt objects of destruction. The right wing looked worse for wear, and I slammed it into Stanis, pinning him back down beneath the surface of the liquid stone. Then, as much as it tore me up, I slammed the heft of the left wing over and over again into Stanis’s chest.
“Stay,” I screamed, catching my breath between efforts, “down!”
Stanis raised his arms to defend himself against the brutality of my attack. My natural strength would never have stood a chance against his raw power, but at that moment in time, my magic was powered by my raging will, and the wings were actually having an effect. Stanis struggled to rise, but with him pinned securely beneath the one wing, it was impossible.
Chunks of my wings broke away as they slammed down on him. Blow after blow drove him further and further into submission, and when little remained of the left wing, I switched to the one pinning him and continued the onslaught with it.
Again.
“Alexandra!”
And again.
“Alexandra!”
And again.
“Lexi.”
Hearing the familiar friendly form of my name, my mind snapped to, pulling myself out of my attack. Caleb’s eyes were wide, switching from me to Stanis, now motionless in the liquid stone.
“Easy,” he said. “I think he’s down.”
Not until I had stopped did I realize how crazed I was, teeth clenched, and my breath coming out in a raspy hitch. I needed to calm myself.
“Sorry,” I said. “Did I . . . ?” I couldn’t finish my sentence.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “But we need to finish this. Can you lift him?”
I looked at the torn and tattered remains of my wings.
“Maybe,” I said.
“I just need you to for a minute,” he said. “I need him standing.”
I moved closer to where Stanis lay submerged, then lowered the wings into the pool, bits and pieces of them crumbling away as I searched. I slipped their broken tips under his arms and raised him until he was standing knee deep in the pool, unconscious.
Caleb went to the edge of it and knelt, pouring the entire contents of the vial in his hand into it. Like watching sped-up footage of a lake in winter, the stone froze, once more becoming solid.
I lowered Stanis until he was lying back, bent at the knees with his legs trapped in the by-then-solid roof. I stepped away, unable to take my eyes from him.
“He’s not moving,” I said.
“I know,” Caleb said, already flipping through his notes.
“Will he be his old self?” I asked.
“Only time will tell,” he said, moving to an assortment of containers that lay near the door leading off the roof. “I need to work on that still.”
I stood in silence, watching Stanis for several minutes before I felt Caleb’s hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently.
“This may take a while,” he said. “Also, you might want to clean yourself up. You’re sort of soaked in some of that liquid stone, and it’s starting to seize up.”
I lifted my arm, the stiffness in it making it almost impossible to move. Chunks of my hardening coat broke away, but in another couple of minutes I was going to be in trouble if I didn’t get clean. I touched a spot of the stone I felt solidifying near my mouth.
“At least it stopped some of my bleeding,” I said, hobbling away toward the door.
I don’t think Caleb even heard me. He was already mixing various containers together and moving them into place around the still-lifeless Stanis. Just then, I wasn’t sure what more I’d have to say anyway.
As Caleb said, time would tell as far as Stanis was concerned.
I planned to use that time wisely—a hot shower in my old room, a change of clothes that hopefully wouldn’t involve a jackhammer, and a call I needed to make.
Judging by the strange mix of confused emotions creeping over me at present, I wasn’t sure I was ready to deal with both Caleb and Stanis by myself just yet.
Eighteen
Stanis
I awoke with my wings spread out beneath me, my head clouded with thoughts, many of which were not my own. As I stared up at the night sky, my true voice fought to make sense through the madness of the dominant one within, but when it could not, I instead drew my focus to the world around me, the location feeling familiar.
I attempted to rise, but the only movement I found possible was to sit up, and when I did, I discovered the reason for my lack of mobility.
The lower halves of my legs were encased within the stone of a roof I had known for centuries, the one where I had once stood a lone sentinel, watching over the family Belarus. No amount of struggle would release me, strong was the stonework of Alexander, even now, and as I fought to recall how I came here, the sensation of being watched overcame me.
The alchemist Caleb stood well back from the limited arc of my reach, his fingers wrapped around a still-sealed vial. He held my eye a moment longer, but when I didn’t speak or make any attempt to move, he slid the vial back within his coat and walked off to a vast array of alchemical equipment I did not recognize.
How had I come here? I could not recall. So lost in my own thought was I that it took a moment to once again feel the alchemist’s eyes upon me, and I looked to find him kneeling by his equipment, facing me.
Flame rose from a single match in his hand, and he lowered it to the rooftop. A small, thin trail of blazing green fire burned its way toward me before breaking into two and encircling the spot where I stood trapped. Small pots along the circle released a thick cloud of smoke that rose over me until I could not see anything but darkness.
The once-dominant other voice in my head cried out for action, but I was surprised to find myself able to ignore its pleas. My true self rose more and more to the front of my mind with each passing moment, until I no longer felt even the slightest trace of the other.
Fanning my wings, the cloud broke, and the night sky once again filled my sight, its clarity as sharp as that of my mind. How long I had been within the cloud, I did not know, but it had been long enough that I had drawn a crowd since its passing. My Alexandra stood near the alchemist as the doorway leading down into the building filled with familiar faces. Her friends—and mine—Marsh
all and Aurora paused there when they saw me.
Alexandra looked to Caleb. “Is he . . . ?” she asked.
“Am I what, Alexandra?” I asked back. “I am quite capable of answering for myself.”
She smiled at that, awakening a lightness in me that I had long thought gone.
Marshall crept forward out of the doorway toward me, caution in his every move, but Aurora stayed there. The cylinder was already off her back, the pieces of her weapon already in her hand as she slipped the pole arm together.
“Hello, Marshall,” I said, my words causing him to stop. “Aurora.”
“It’s okay,” Caleb said, going back to work on a table near him full of vials and potions. “I think he’s back to normal. Although, truthfully, I’m not sure what passes for normal in gargoyle terms.”
“I prefer the term grotesque,” I said. “It is what Alexander called me.”
The blond human shrugged, then set about moving around the roof to pick up the assorted clay pots surrounding me. “Suit yourself,” he said.
Aurora came out of the doorway, pushing past him before stopping in front of me, her pole arm raised. She looked to the alchemist.
“How do we know he’s not in your control?” she asked.
“No, please, don’t all rush to thank me,” Caleb said, his voice flat.
“The lady makes a valid point,” I said. “How can they know that you are not the one in control of me now?”
Caleb shrugged once more.
“I guess they don’t,” he said.
Alexandra stepped to him, putting her hand on his arm. There was something tender in the gesture, something I found I did not care for.
“Caleb, please,” she said. “A little patience, please. They’ve got every right to be wary.”
Given my last encounter with the alchemist on the freighter, Caleb should be grateful I could not reach him at the moment.
He pulled his arm away from Alexandra and fell silent, returning to his work.
Aurora struck the roof that encased my feet with the blunt end of her weapon.
Alexandra’s eyes went to it.
“We need to release him,” she said.
Caleb looked through the interior of his coat. “That’s going to take a few minutes,” he said, picking among the contents there. “I used most of the mixture up in creating the trap to capture him in the first place. I need to whip some more up.”
“I can do that,” Marshall said. “I mean, I’m a quick study with what I’ve been able to read at the Libra Concordia on alchemy.”
Caleb turned and stared at him, unmoving.
“Or if you just jot it down for me . . . ?” Marshall said, some of his confidence fading.
“Alchemy and you?” Aurora asked. “That sounds like a lethal combination. Just let blondie here do it and be done with it.”
“No,” Marshall said, the single word filled with a sudden and surprising anger.
“I may still be able to free myself,” I said, attempting once again to move my legs within the solid stone. “It may take some doing, but I will try.”
“No,” Marshall repeated, turning to Alexandra. “I can do this! Lexi, look . . . I’m no good at what you do, right? I simply don’t possess the talent for it. As far as casting spells, I don’t have Rory’s level of precise movement or your level of determined will to drive it. But what Caleb here does . . . That’s like . . . cooking. It’s recipes, nothing more.”
“Nice,” Caleb said back to him. “Let’s downplay my skill set. Yes, Mr. Blackmoore, it’s just like cooking. Anyone can do it, right? Just ask any cook who’s gone up against an Iron Chef. Simple!”
“You’re no Morimoto,” Aurora said, leaving me to wonder what a “morimoto” was.
Caleb went to the table, slamming several vials down from out of his coat next to another group already on the table.
“Fine,” he said, pulling his notebook from his side pocket. “You want to try? Be my guest. But go easy on the Kimiya. That’s pretty much the last of it.”
The alchemist wrote with haste upon one of the pages, walked over to Marshall in front of me, then tore it free and handed it to him. “There you go, padawan. Try not to blow anything or anyone up, okay?”
Marshall paused before taking the page from him. “Is . . . that a possibility?” he asked, his voice quiet now.
Caleb shrugged. “Guess you’ll find out the hard way.”
Something about both the gesture and his voice set me on edge. Perhaps it was reminiscent of the tone he had taken with me while I was in captivity, and I could not help but react to it.
Trapped as I was, I could not reach out with my claws and grab him as I wished. My wings, however, covered a much greater span than my reach. I scooped them forward, catching Caleb between them and pulling him to me. I spun him, my claws digging into his shoulders through his coat, and I raised his face to mine.
“When last we met, you sent me here bound by Kejetan’s rules,” I said, growling. “You sent me here, putting Alexandra directly in harm’s way from me. You said I would take the secrets of Alexander from her cold, dead hands.”
The alchemist gave a nervous glance to Alexandra.
She came forward, circling to stand next to me in order to face Caleb.
“You said that . . . ?” she asked, her voice a mix of anger and pain.
My claws dug in at that, and Caleb hissed in my grip.
“I had to if this was going to work,” he fired out. “We were on Kejetan’s ship, and Stanis was entirely under his control. If I had told Stanis our plan, Kejetan would have found out. The dominant power that controlled Stanis would have blown everything if I had let your gargoyle in on it.” He met my eye. “You know it’s true.”
But was it?
“I cannot deny your claim,” I said.
My true voice had simply been a passenger to the dominant one. If Caleb had set me to any other task less specific than seeking out Alexandra to retrieve her secrets, it was quite possible I could have ignored it by circumventing Kejetan’s rules. Worse, I would still be hanging in the cargo hold as a prisoner. It was also quite possible that had he told me of the rescue plan, the dominant voice would have kept me from ever reaching them, and it might have forced me to reveal it to Kejetan.
“You see?” he said, craning his head around to meet everyone’s eye. “I’m not in with the bad guys.”
This was harder to see the truth in. Flashes of the torture I had endured at his hand tore through my thoughts. Every pain. Every injustice. Every moment that had kept me from Alexandra.
“Do you put these people in jeopardy?” I asked in a low growl, my claws digging even harder into his shoulders. “It was one matter to torture me, to break me . . . It is quite another to put these humans in harm’s way. I will not stand for it.”
He hissed again, but to his credit, the man’s head turned back to me, and his eyes stayed locked with mine. I would have taken him for fearless if not for the nervous laughter that followed.
“Relax, big guy,” he grunted out. “Rest assured that Alexandra’s safety is my paramount concern in this world. And Rory? I’m pretty sure she can handle herself with that pigsticker of hers.” He turned his head to Marshall over at the table, who was already sorting through a handful of vials. “And Marshall? I’m not going to leave him with anything he can lose his hands with.” His eyes came back to rest on me. “Trust me.”
My eyes stayed locked with his a moment longer before setting him back down on the roof.
“Very well,” I said, some of my anger dying down.
Caleb moved with swift steps beyond the reach of both my arms and wings before turning to face me. “I mean, Marshall might be able to do some damage to himself if he, like, drinks whatever he mixes.” He looked to Marshall at the table. “You’re not stupid enough to drink any of those, are you?”
“You’re stupid enough to drink some of them,” Alexandra said, still at my side.
“Ouch,” h
e said, raising his hand over his heart, then turned to Marshall. “But seriously, try not to blow yourself up.”
“Are humans always this confusing?” I whispered to Alexandra.
To my surprise, her face was burning crimson, her eyes fixed straight ahead. “Don’t get me started,” she said, then leaned her head against me. “Good to have you back.”
“It is good to be back,” I said. “But I fear my freedom does not change much. When I went with my father months ago, it was to buy you time. Have you spent it well?”
Alexandra stepped away from me. “That’s a debatable point,” she said. “We’re certainly making progress. But you know Alexander. All codes and enigma!”
“Speaking of Alexander,” Aurora said, no longer keeping her pole arm ready for action. “I think we found something useful in the books at the Libra Concordia.”
“That would be a pleasant surprise,” Alexandra said.
“Libra Concordia?” I asked, unsure of the term.
“Just another group I freelance for,” Caleb said, joining us.
“They’d love to get their hands on you,” Alexandra said. “They’ve been looking for you since you rescued my father as a boy, when he had his whole religious conversion.”
I looked to Aurora. “What did you find?” I asked.
Aurora handed Alexandra a notebook filled with writing.
“Marshall and I started comparing notes from the books of Alexander Belarus that the Libra Concordia have,” she said. She pointed to a specific grouping of lines on the page.
Marshall called over from the table, busy reading the labels of several vials that filled his hands. “Your great-great-grandfather keeps referencing the Holy Trinity over and over in multiple books,” he said to Alexandra. “He talks about the secrets of the Holy Trinity again and again. We thought there might be some significance to that. It shows up too much in the books the Libra Concordia has acquired to be a coincidence.”
“Forgive me,” I said, all of the humans turning to me, “but Alexander was not a man of religion.”
“Stanis is right,” Alexandra said.
