Gargoyle Quest (10 page)

Encouraged by this sign of success, the gargoyle knight spun toward two incoming phantoms, hacking left and right, each blow resulting in the violent dissolution of his attackers. Nyssa, evidentially inspired by the changing tide of the battle, wielded her whip in tandem with his attacks, taking out one shadow monster after another.
 

Soon, the creatures were no more. Necron had nowhere left to hide.

Even as Artan advanced, sword leveled at the man’s heart, the warlock stepped up to Rhianna and clasped a hand around her shoulder. He was granted one final glance at his beloved before she and the wizard vanished into thin air.
 

He surged toward the spot where Rhianna had disappeared. He barely glanced at the dead hunter in the iron maiden, his full attention now riveted to a message his beloved must’ve painted on the floor using the slain man’s blood:

Manchester Line.

What could it possibly mean?
 

He spun toward Nyssa only to find her pointing a crossbow at him with one hand, the whip handle crooked in the other. The whip lapped out at him, but he caught the thong in mid-air. Sizzling agony scorched his clawed hand, and tendrils of smoke rose from the spot where the magical whip had made contact.

“Hurt’s doesn’t it?” she said, her voice cold.

His first impulse was to tear into the woman who had dared to attack him. He fought back the terrible urge and forced the monster to surrender to his will. Instead of launching a counter-attack, Artan regarded Nyssa as evenly as a gargoyle could, hoping to communicate human intelligence through his monstrous gaze.
 

“
I’m not your enemy
,” he said, each booming word an excruciating effort, the sound mangled by an inhuman throat.
 

Nyssa’s features softened just a tad. Was he reaching her? In the near distance, shouts grew audible. Now that Necron had fled the scene, the museum’s security team was approaching fast.
 

Nyssa lowered her weapon. There seemed to be little fight left in her, defeat edged in her haunted gaze as she took in the circle of broken hunters that littered the museum floor. The downed members of the Order wouldn’t make it out of the MET under their own power. Most would be lucky not to be carried out in a body bag. Necron had utterly defeated her team of monster hunters. And now Rhianna was in his clutches too.

At least she did not lay among the wounded and the dead. That suggested Necron might need her alive. But what could he want from her? The strange message on the floor might hold the answer to his question, but he wouldn’t be able to solve this riddle on his own. Nyssa was the only one who could make sense of all of this. Which meant he needed her to trust him if he was to track down Rhianna’s kidnapper and defeat him for good.

Artan made a snap decision and surged toward a stunned Nyssa. Before she could defend herself, his powerful arm snatched her by the waist. As the guards appeared and unleashed their first mad volley of gunfire, Artan’s massive wings shielded them from the onslaught. Bullets stung his inhuman skin, the pain more of an irritation than a signal actual damage was being inflicted.

The gargoyle raged, urging him to tear into the puny humans who dared to target him with their cowardly weapons. He saw himself barreling into them, taking off faces and bathing in their gushing blood. The hellish vision of death and retribution filled the monster with mad joy.
 

Reason prevailed, and Artan suppressed the desire to rend human flesh. Instead, he wrapped his arm more tightly around Nyssa. Like it or not, the paranormal huntress was coming with him. Nyssa resisted him at first but soon gave in. Whether she recognized the futility of her struggle or sensed that Artan was her best ticket out of here, she allowed him to whisk her away.

As more bullets chopped the medieval artifacts around them, shattering priceless works of art, the gargoyle knight flew back into the Egyptian exhibit. Within seconds, he and Nyssa had blasted through the broken skylight above and were hurtling toward Central Park.
 

C
HAPTER
T
EN

NYSSA CLUNG TO Artan’s powerful arm for dear life as they approached the park. The island of green jumped into view below, a canopy of dense foliage reaching up for them.
 

The gargoyle knight’s wings spread out, air currents buffeting his descent. The ground rushed up, and Artan could feel Nyssa’s body tightening against his muscles, bracing for the inevitable impact. Seconds later, his clawed feet touched grass, the landing far more graceful than even Artan had expected. Even though a year had passed since his last transformation, his instincts remained sharp, his body all too eager to embrace the power of the gargoyle.
 

As soon as they were earthbound, Nyssa backed away from him. He didn’t hold it against her. If their roles had been reversed, he’d want to put some distance between himself and a gargoyle, even if the beast had just saved his life. To Artan’s surprise, Nyssa didn’t reach for any of her blessed weapons. For a moment they merely looked at each other.
 

At nearly seven feet, he towered over her. A circle of trees shielded them from easy view, and none of the other people in the foggy park had taken notice of the winged demon among them. Artan knew it was only a matter of time before some stray jogger stumbled their way and started yelling his lungs out. Gargoyles belonged on rooftops, even in a jaded metropolis where the unexpected was the norm. He couldn’t remain in this form. He’d successfully willed his transformation into a monster, but could he reverse the change? It was worth a shot.
 

Artan calmed his mind and tried to relax. It wasn’t the easiest task, considering the events of the last few hours. His thoughts kept wandering to Necron, and it took a great effort to cast aside the image of the evil mage vanishing into thin air with his beloved. The monster hunter was the only one who could help him find Rhianna. He would have to gain Nyssa’s trust and get her to cooperate with him. Being human would be far more helpful in that task than remaining a gargoyle.

It took about a minute to slow his hammering heartbeat, during which he tried to fill his mind with memories of better times. He focused on the warmth of Rhianna’s breath, the soft caress of her touch, the sense of wonder he’d experienced as she had guided him through this age of miracles. Gradually the gargoyle was banished to a dark place deep within him.

Nyssa watched with keen eyes as the gargoyle surrendered to the man. The powerful physique began to shrink, muscles losing mass, fangs and talons retracting while the wings drew back into his shoulders. Artan lost all sense of time as he changed back. Then a shiver passed down his naked body as a gust of wind hit him. Nyssa’s expression shifted. Did he detect an appreciative twinkle in her eye? The moment passed, the hint of attraction giving way to steely professionalism. Without hesitation, she slipped off her trench coat and tossed it at him. He gratefully accepted the garment and put it on.
 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice sounding like his own again.

“A six-foot naked guy will draw as much attention as a seven-foot gargoyle,” she explained in a business-like tone. “What did you do to the two men I left back at your apartment?”

Caring about the men under one’s command was the mark of a good leader, and Artan respected the question. “They might be a little banged up, but they’re alive.”
 

Steel in her voice, she said, “You better be telling the truth.”
 

Her eyes remained fixed on him as she clasped her hands together and whispered a number of words in Latin. Artan didn’t need to understand the words to know that she was saying a prayer for the men she’d lost back at the MET. Nyssa was doing a good job maintaining a cool exterior, but it was obvious that the loss of her team had affected her deeply. She quickly made the sign of the cross before she palmed her cell.

“This is Nyssa, I need a pick-up. We’ll be at Fifth and 86
th
street” She killed the line and nodded at Artan. “You better come with me if you want to see your woman again.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t.”

At least she’s being honest.

Artan held her gaze for a moment longer. Nyssa was a monster hunter. That put him near the top of her hit list, about one notch below Necron. Would she turn on him when he least expected it? It was a risk he would have to take. After all, what other options did he have at this point? He needed her. Without her help, he wouldn’t even know where to begin tracking down Rhianna.
 

Artan considered himself a decent judge of character. Understanding people was part of being an effective king. Nevertheless, he was only human—well, mostly human—and emotions could cloud the judgment of the best of men. Fifteen centuries earlier, he’d misjudged his brother and thousands had paid for his mistake with their lives.

Pushing this dark thought aside, he fell in step with Nyssa as she started to head for the rendezvous point. Despite the men she’d lost at the museum, it seemed the Order’s ranks hadn’t been completely thinned. Five minutes later, they reached Fifth and 86
th
street just as a large black truck pulled up to the corner. The side of the truck boasted an ad for Monster energy drinks. Clearly the Order had a sense of humor.
 

Noticing his arched eyebrows, Nyssa merely shrugged. “Wasn’t my idea, I swear. Welcome to the Order’s mobile command center,” she said.

A door opened on the side of the truck, and Artan followed Nyssa into the waiting vehicle. Anyone expecting to find crates of energy drinks within the belly of the vehicle would have been sorely disappointed. Although the wiry, sleepy-eyed figures hunched over the bank of terminals could’ve probably benefited from one. One side of the truck was lined with an assortment of monster hunting weapons. Artan spotted a series of blades engraved with various exotic glyphs, crossbows and even handguns ranging in various calibers.
 

The men manning the computers kept stealing curious glances at him.
 

“Your reputation precedes you, King Artan. It’s not every day that my support team gets to meet a legend.”

“How many fighting men do you have?

“You’re looking at them. The Order will send reinforcements, but for now, it’s just you, the two men back at your place, and our support team.”

Artan regarded the computer techs, knowing all too well that these men were trained for a different kind of battle.
 

“Why did Necron kidnap Rhianna? What does he want from her?”

Nyssa’s face turned pensive before she answered. “My best guess is she touched the book, thereby becoming the key to locating the third grimoire.”

“What are you talking about?”

Nyssa walked to a shelf covered in equipment. She pulled out a pair of black pants, boots and a dark shirt and tossed them at Artan.

“We have a changing room in the back,” she said.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She took a seat in one of the command chairs, the flickering screens of the computer bathing her face in a spectral green light. The truck’s engine revved, and it resumed its journey through New York City traffic.

“These books Necron is looking for, the black magic evil in them is alive,” she said at last. “You must understand, the three grimoires
want
to be found and reunited.”

Nyssa reached over to a mini-fridge for a bottle of mineral water. She offered him one too, but he shook his head, impatient for answers.
 

“I saw the expression on Rhianna’s face back at the MET when she reached out for the grimoire. The book communicated with her,” Nyssa said.

“I still don’t understand why Necron needs her. Wouldn’t he receive a similar vision now that he has the second grimoire?”

“Similar but different. The magic of the books expresses itself differently depending on who’s receiving the message. Remember, it took Necron a whole year to locate the second book. Magic is funny that way. A grimoire might reveal that it’s in a major city yet never give you a name. This isn’t some magical GPS that exactly maps you the way. Magic isn’t a direct line, Artan; it communicates in symbols and riddles. Magic wants you to earn it.”

Artan mulled this over. It would explain why Necron’s quest for the grimoires had taken him on such an erratic course.
 

“Why play games? You said the books want to be reunited.”

“Only if they deem you worthy to wield their power. That’s why magic challenges and tests us, trying to determine if we deserve to unlock its secrets—”

“Or are weak enough to be seduced by them.”

Nyssa looked at Artan as if he had slapped her. The passion in her voice had disturbed him, recalling on some level his brother’s fervor toward the dark arts. Was she a spellcaster?

“For someone who hunts warlocks, you seem a little too enamored of magic,”
Artan pointed out.
 

 
“Magic can be a force of evil or a force of good,” Nyssa said, a defensive note in her voice. “Isn’t the sword strapped around your back a perfect example of that duality?”

“Steel can’t be corrupted. Men can.”

“Maybe that’s why women should be the ones casting the spells,” Nyssa said, and he had the sense she was only half joking.

Touche.

Artan smiled and decided it would be wise to change the subject. They’d have to find a way to make this new alliance work. Better not to butt heads right out of the gate.
 

“What do you make of the message scrawled on the floor? What was Rhianna trying to tell us?”

“It has to be related to whatever vision she experienced when she touched the book. I believe she was trying to let us know us where Necron might be headed next.”

“Sounds like it’s our turn to solve a riddle.”

A cocky grin cracked Nyssa’s face. “The good news is that this group,” she pointed at the eager intelligence analysts gathered around the bank of monitors in the truck, “are among the best puzzle solvers on the planet.”