Gargoyle Quest (6 page)

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

THE RETURN TO consciousness happened in stages. First there were sounds. Distant at first, but they grew in volume. Then darkness gave way to light as heavy-lidded eyes peeled open. Artan’s head throbbed with a dull pain—and so did pretty much every part of his body. Artan tried to move his arms, only to realize they’d been cuffed to the back of a steel chair.
 

Who dared to shackle him like a common criminal? Fighting back a rising wave of anger, he took in his surroundings. Dust motes drifted lazily before his eyes as a spear of early morning sunlight lanced through the large windows looking out at Manhattan. It was a familiar view. He was back in his Brooklyn loft apartment.

Fear rose up in him. If they knew who he was and where he lived, had they gone after Rhianna?
 

Motivated by his concern for his beloved, he grunted with renewed effort and strained against the cuffs. Steel bit into his skin, but the chair remained rooted in place. He was a prisoner. But who were his captors? How did they know so much about him? And where had the axe-wielding female from the other night learned to battle gargoyles like that?
 

Footsteps approached. Five armed warriors decked out in flowing trench coats trailed the raven-haired mystery woman. Artan recognized a few of the faces from the fight with the gargoyle. In the light of day, the tall woman cut a striking figure. There was a fire in her almond-shaped eyes, and perhaps a trace of sadness too. She stopped three feet in front of him and spoke in a business-like, direct voice. “I see you’re awake, King Artan.”

Artan blinked at her. Where did this woman get her information?
 

“Who are you? How do you know about me? And what the hell are you doing in my home?” His voice shook with anger; Artan wasn’t a man used to being tied up.

“My name is Nyssa.” She took a step closer, her voice somber as she continued. “We came here last night, hoping to protect Miss Sharpe. She never came home.”

Nyssa’s words hit Artan like a punch to the gut. Protect her from what? Where was Rhianna? Had one of those monsters come after her too?

 
Nyssa recognized his agitated state and said, “I believe she is safe, at least for now. But dark forces are gathering, as you witnessed yourself.” The female warrior held up his cell phone and showed him a series of missed message from Rhianna. She tapped a key, and Rhianna’s voice grew audible. “
Artan, please call me. I’m staying at my dad’s tonight, just didn’t feel like heading to Brooklyn without you. I hope you’re okay…”

The sound of his lover’s voice filled Artan with relief, calming the growing anxiety churning in his stomach.
 

“An ancient evil stalks this world, Artan. And we fear Miss Sharpe might be its next target.”

Artan vividly recalled the gargoyle transforming into Rhianna’s co-worker. He nodded slowly and asked, “How do you know this?”

 
“Gargoyles may be among the fiercest predators the Earth has ever seen, but there are other nightmares out there. The Order makes sure the world gets to wake up from them.”

Artan’s gaze ticked from Nyssa to her male companions.
 

“The Order?”
 

“Your brother wasn’t the first mage to unleash supernatural horrors upon this Earth, nor was he the last. The Order has been hunting demons and evil occultists for centuries.”

Artan mulled over Nyssa’s words. He’d been so focused on stopping his brother and the demon Balor that he’d never considered that other terrors might be lurking in the dark recesses of the world.
“Our archives at the Vatican hold detailed historical records of every abomination which has terrorized mankind. Including your brother.”
 

“I hope he got his own goddamn chapter.” It was Artan’s turn to lean closer, as much as his cuffs allowed him. “If you know about Cael, then you should know why I chose to become a gargoyle.”
 

Her tone softened. “I’m aware of your sacrifice, King Artan.”

“Then why shackle me?”

“You know why. You’ve been infected. Soon, you’ll change.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper as she said, “I tried save you, but I was too late. I’m sorry.”

The full implication of her words sunk in. They planned to dispatch him before his terrible metamorphosis could run its course. Judging by the steely demeanors of the men behind her, they would not hesitate to strike. His downcast mood of the past few weeks suddenly seemed like the behavior of a spoiled child. Now that it was about to be all taken from him, he realized how blessed he’d been. The thought of never being able to hold Rhianna in his arms again was more than he could bear.

“I haven’t turned yet. You pull the trigger now, and you won’t be killing a monster but murdering a man.”
 

“One life means little when thousands are at risk.”

Artan had said those words himself once. The words of a man willing to trade his humanity for a chance at vengeance. A man who had nothing to lose.
 

Nothing to live for.
 

That wasn’t the case any longer. He might be an outsider in this modern world, but as long as Rhianna stood by his side, he wasn’t alone. It couldn’t end like this. He would not allow it. There had to be another solution.
 

“We’re wasting valuable time here,” another voice interjected. Artan shifted his gaze to the speaker. The man glaring back at him was the tall blonde warrior from the other night. “Best to get it over with,” the Viking said, his eyes devoid of any warmth or mercy.
 

“If I’m about to die, you could at least tell me what the hell is going on here. How is it possible for a gargoyle to be running loose in this city?” Artan said, meeting the strapping monster hunter’s blood-thirsty gaze head-on.

“He has a point, Cormac,” Nyssa conceded.

“How do we know the gargoyle isn’t already in control and trying to manipulate us? I say we end it now.”

Artan regarded Cormac coolly. The other two men were soldiers, but this man was a killer. The Viking was looking forward to driving a steel bolt through his heart.
 

“Artan deserves to know what’s happening here,” Nyssa said sharply. “Lower your weapon.”

The Viking stood his ground.

“I won’t repeat myself. I’m still the team leader, and I order you to put down your goddamn weapon! Now!”

Cormac glared at her a long moment before lowering the crossbow. “You’re making a mistake,” he hissed before stalking away, boots reverberating against the hardwood floor. The loft’s steel door slammed shut behind him with a deafening clang. The other monster hunters traded nervous glances with Nyssa, their loyalties torn between their commander and Cormac.

“A bit overzealous, isn’t he?” Artan commented dryly, surprised by his ability to crack a joke at a time like this.

Nyssa’s lips stretched into a serious line. “Cormac has good reasons to hate gargoyles. One of them killed his fiancée. I would think you of all people could relate.”

Artan swallowed hard, the dark expression on the Viking’s features suddenly all too familiar. Would he have acted differently if their roles were reversed?

“Tell me more about what’s happening here? Did someone restore the
Eye of Balor
?”

“No, the two pieces remain safely locked away.”

“Then how do you explain a gargoyle running around Central Park?”

A dark cloud fell over Nyssa’s face, her voice drained of all emotion as she spoke. “The gargoyle you encountered was one of the warlock’s creations.”

Artan arched an eyebrow.
 

“He calls himself Necron. I call him pure evil.” Nyssa pulled up a second chair and took a seat in front of Artan. “Like your brother—and you, I might add—Necron found a way to cheat death and has now returned to plunge the world into a new dark age.”

“How?”

Nyssa took a potion vial from her coat and held it up at the light. “A witch-hunter working for the Order captured Necron two hundred years ago after he terrorized the town of Salem, Massachusetts. He was supposed to be burned at the stake, but one of his followers slipped him this vial.”

She held it beneath his nose. Artan sniffed the glass vessel and immediately recognized the stench of copper and decay. “Fomor Blood.”

Nyssa nodded and put the vial back in her pocket.

“How would this warlock get ahold of the blood of a gargoyle?”

“Before arriving in the New World, Necron sought out black magic relics all over Europe. We believe Cael’s surviving followers preserved some of his blood, hoping to transform themselves at some point to avenge their slain master. Their attempts at vengeance failed, just as Necron’s initial ascendency failed. Do you know why?”
 

“They turned to stone,” Artan said.
 

“Gargoyles are the clay of the earth given unnatural life, animated by magic. They need a power source to sustain themselves in our world. One such power source was the
Eye of Balor
. Necron has, unfortunately, discovered another.”

Artan tried to wrap his mind around the idea. He’d always believed that the nightmare had ended when he destroyed the
Eye of Balor
, but apparently it wasn’t that simple.

“What sort of power source? And if he had it, why did he turn to stone in the first place?”

“Necron had a grimoire. A book of magical spells such as the world had never seen before. He did not have the chance to cast the spell that would keep him from turning to stone two hundred years ago, but when the two halves of the
Eye of Balor
were reunited last year—”

 
“Necron came back to life the same way Cael and I did.”
 

Nyssa nodded. “Yes. While you were busy battling your brother and saving this city, Necron was succeeding where he’d failed centuries earlier.”
 

Artan was beginning to understand. Gargoyles had returned to the world of men, and the evil Cael had unleashed so many centuries ago was living on in a new, twisted form, fueled by a different infernal power. And even as some of the pieces were beginning to come together, Artan still had more questions.
 

“This still doesn’t explain why Necron has come to New York City and how one of Rhianna’s coworkers turned into a gargoyle. What’s this warlock after?”

“The end of the world,” Nyssa replied, face ashen. “When the Order stopped Necron the first time, they found three books of black magic in his possession. One written in Greek, one in Latin, and a third in Aramaic, each the work of a different mage and magical system. Who knows how long it took for the fiend to gather these infernal volumes. What we do know is Necron’s plan was to magically fuse the three books into a grimoire so powerful that it could raise the dead and bring forth the apocalypse.”

“This Necron character is starting to sound a lot like my brother. What happened to the books after he turned to stone?”

“His followers managed to escape with two of the volumes. The remaining book, as well as the gargoyle statue Necron had turned into, was kept under lock and key at the Order’s headquarters in Boston.”

Artan shook his head. “So when Necron awoke a year ago, he found himself locked away with the first grimoire. That was remarkably careless.”

“Yes. Armed with the magic of only one dark magic book, he murdered eighteen of our brothers and escaped.”

“Do you know where the other books are?”

Nyssa sighed and leaned back in her chair, looking suddenly weary. “Over the centuries, the Order tried to locate the missing volumes with little success. Necron believes he’ll succeed where we failed. Ever since his return to the modern age, he’s been on a mad quest to retrieve the two missing grimoires. We’ve been tracking Necron for a year now, but all this time he’s managed to stay one step ahead of us. The Order almost captured him two months ago in Chicago, but he escaped after murdering Cormac’s fiancée.”

“And now he’s here in Manhattan,” Artan said, his voice heavy.

“Spreading Balor’s curse, spawning gargoyles wherever he goes to keep us distracted while he gets closer to locating the two missing volumes.”

Artan considered everything Nyssa had shared with him and said, “One last question. Why do you believe Rhianna is being targeted by this fiend?”

“There’s only one explanation that makes sense. Necron must think the grimoires are at the museum where she works. That’s why we believe he turned Maxwell into one of his monsters—to infiltrate the museum and locate the missing books.”
 

“Why did Necron send Maxwell after me?”
 

“Maybe he didn’t,” Nyssa said.

Artan played back the events of the last evening. He knew all too well how Fomor blood could amplify emotion. Clearly Maxwell was interested in Rhianna. Maybe Maxwell had followed him into the park merely to dispatch a romantic rival. This time, Artan had not been infected by the curse of the gargoyle as a result of his own noble sacrifice. No, this time it was because of a petty man’s jealousy.
 

Nyssa’s voice was softened by empathy as she said, “It’s a terrible twist of fate that your life should be touched twice by this evil now.”

Artan cracked a fatalistic smile. “My luck.” There was still a part of Nyssa’s tale that failed to add up for Artan. “How did you manage to arrive in the subway tunnel when you did?”

One of the gargoyle hunters, who’d been listening in on their conversation, offered an explanation. “We’ve been keeping an eye on the park for a few days now, monitoring police scanners after two other brutal murders which we suspected of being the work of gargoyles. We were hoping to capture one of the beasts alive so it could lead us back to its master. You ruined that plan when you decide to take its head off.”

Artan raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, next time I’ll make sure to let it rip my throat out so you can successfully carry out your mission.”