Labyrinth: Acropolis Series Book II (11 page)

I look back at the moon. Its glow is
comforting, familiar.

"Have you spoken to Enepsigos since the
Acropolis?" Conor asks quietly.

I shake my head. "Very little. She came to me
once, at night, during a pull of the full moon, and taught me how
to ignore the moon's call. I haven't seen her since."

Conor shifts. "And have you tried?" he
asks.

I fight not to look at him. "Yes, tonight
actually."

This seems to startle Conor, and he takes in
a deep breath. "Why?"

I shrug. "I'm not sure. Maybe because I
thought it would help. Maybe I hoped I could learn something that
would help us all in the labyrinth. And you?" I ask, my eyes moving
once more to the ground. "Why go with us now? You did your
part."

He had helped us leave the Acropolis. He had
fought his own kind. It was more than enough. Conor leans closer,
his shoulder leaning against mine.

"In the long run, I am still your
guardian."

This time,
I
snort.

"That's bullcrap, and you know it."

Conor's duty to me has long been over. It was
over the moment we reached S.O.S. headquarters or he never would
have left to help Dayton. I look up at him before lifting the mug
in my hands to my lips. The liquid inside is still warm, and I
wonder if it's because of the heat emanating from my hands. My temp
is high tonight.

"You're afraid," Conor says quietly. "You're
afraid of anyone wanting to go anywhere because of you, because
they care about you enough to make that sacrifice, to see you
safe."

My hands are shaking now as I lower the cup,
and I hold it out to Conor. He accepts it, takes a large swallow,
and grimaces before setting it down on the ground next to him.

"And I thought
I
liked my coffee strong," he jokes, but his
words are not enough to break the tension.

My head is spinning now. Maybe I
am
afraid, but what he doesn't know
is that I'm afraid, not because he admitted to caring for me, but
because I just can't imagine anyone other than my adopted mother
caring about me
that
much. I
miss her. And I'm afraid of other things as well. I can feel the
unease in Conor. No matter how attracted he seems to be to me, how
much he thinks he cares, I wonder if it's enough to make him stay.
He's blocking too well for me to get an idea of the turmoil he's
dealing with, but I can see the war he's battling in his
eyes.

Conor looks up at the moon. There are thin
grey-black clouds floating over it now, and it dulls the light in
the yard.

"You saw a vision once about Dayton and I,"
he says suddenly, and my head snaps up. "I thought I was in love
with her once. We grew up together. I always felt the need to
protect her. She had a lousy childhood, Dayton. She believed her
parents had died in a car crash. She and her sister were sent to
live with an aunt, a strange aunt, who ran an Abbey in Lodeston,
Mississippi. Turns out, her aunt was the head of a Sethian Sect in
league with a Demon, Damon Craig, Marcas' twin brother. Dayton's
father is an Angel, and Damon believed that with her Naphil blood,
he could mate her with one of his kind to produce a baby that would
end the curse on Cain's children, a curse that causes them to crave
human blood. In the end, he bound Dayton by blood to Marcas. I left
two months ago to help Marcas and Dayton fight to sever the bond.
At first, they only wanted unbound, but then things changed, and
they found themselves fighting for hybrids instead."

Conor pauses, and I squint up at him, my
heart pounding.

"And what does that have to do with me?" I
ask.

Conor's head comes down, his gaze moving to
mine.

"I loved the idea of protecting Dayton, and I
still care for her on some level, but I wonder now if I would have
died for her."

The words take a lot for him to say. I can
see it in his pinched expression. His eyes are dark, his face
shadowed by the moon, and he leans forward, his nose near mine.

"If I die in the labyrinth, it will be
without regret."

My throat closes up. His words say it all,
but I fight them. He is right. He has known Dayton all his life.
He's only known me a few months, two of which he was gone. He
doesn't know me. I don't know him. But I like him. A lot. My heart
clenches at the sight of him, but there is too much turmoil between
us to deny. Prejudice for one. His ancestry for another. Maybe this
is the reason he refuses to voice what neither of us wants to
admit. If it's not love I'm feeling, it's a spark of something
similar. I respect him. I trust him. I admire him to an extent.
It's a good start.

I pull the blanket closer around my shoulders
with one hand while using the other to grasp the front of his
sweatshirt, the fabric over his abdomen bunched in my palms.

"You won't die in there," I say firmly.

In Hell, my powers will be stronger than his.
He may have more experience, more control than I do, but if I have
to, I will guard him this time. Conor chuckles.

"I'm going to make it a point to try not to,"
he replies, his lips touching my head unexpectedly, his forehead
suddenly against mine. I can't bring myself to look at him, my gaze
on my hand fisted in his shirt.

"You're too serious, Emma Chase," Conor
whispers.

I close my eyes, my lips turning up, the
smile easy. "And you're not serious enough, Conor Reinhardt."

He chuckles again, the sound dark, before
placing his hands on my hips.

"You'd be surprised."

My eyes are still closed, the moon pulling me
from above, the electric charge between Conor and I pulling me to
Earth. Neither of us moves. His forehead stays against mine, his
hands warm on my waist, my hand still fisted in his shirt. There is
hatred in the house beyond, and I know Lyre is up now, maybe for
water, or maybe, like us, the fear of the labyrinth is too much,
but whatever it is, I don't move. I don't open my eyes. For one
moment, a simple moment, there is only me, the moon, and Conor. A
gargoyle and a hybrid Demon, a Guardian and a mark, a boy and a
girl.

My fist tightens in his shirt, my feelings so
strong they are almost painful. Over the past two months, I have
learned from the other hybrids that Demons tend to be possessive.
In this moment, I believe them.

Chapter 14

Conor

It is one hour until dawn. Emma is asleep on
the cottage's living room sofa, and I am sitting in the kitchen, my
chair positioned so I can see into the room. One hand is under her
cheek, the other across her stomach as she lies on her side. She is
too tall for the couch, her bare feet curled behind her tightly.
Even then, she isn't far from falling off onto the floor.

There's a narrow staircase on the right side
of the kitchen, a thin wall between it and the rest of the room,
and I hear plainly the sudden footsteps that sound on them. They
are heavy footsteps, resolute.

"Reinhardt," a voice acknowledges.

I don't turn around.

"Bruno," I say instead, my fingers tapping
the top of the white foldout table next to me.

I hear the refrigerator door open then close
before Bruno Riley sinks heavily into a chair not far from my own.
He is facing me, and he lifts the front legs of his chair off the
floor casually, his eyes on me. There he sits, staring. My gaze
stays on the living room.

"Am I supposed to find this intimidating?" I
ask after a moment.

Bruno laughs. "Do you?"

"No," I answer firmly.

"Then I guess not," the hybrid says. His tone
is even, indifferent. I peer at him briefly from the corner of my
eye. He is holding an unopened can of root beer, his eyes on
me.

"What are you doing, Reinhardt?" he asks.

I sigh. "I keep getting asked that question a
lot lately."

Bruno laughs, the sound harsh. "Could it be
because you once killed most of my kind and now suddenly you want
to help us. You're a gargoyle. You've killed hybrids, Reinhardt.
There's no doubt in my mind."

I don't dispute his words. The deaths I've
caused in the past weigh heavily on me now. I can't help but wonder
if they were just. They haunt me, both awake and asleep. The only
consolation is most of my kills were to protect humans. In light of
that, most of the Demons and hybrids I have destroyed were evil.
But there had been some kills . . .

"People change," I say, brushing the thought
away.

Bruno pops open the root beer, the sound loud
in the quiet kitchen.

"Do they, Reinhardt? As quickly as you have?
I find that hard to believe. Does this mean you no longer believe
all Demon children have a thread of evil in their blood."

It isn't a question I can answer. Did I
believe all Demon children were evil? In Emma's case, even
Deidra's, no. In Lyre's case, maybe even Bruno's, I'm not so
sure.

"Even humans have a thread of evil in their
blood," I say finally.

Bruno snickers. "That wasn't an answer,
Reinhardt."

I turn to look at him, my eyes hard.

"Do not question my morals, Riley, or my
authority. I don't have to like all of you to want to help
you."

Bruno meets my gaze without flinching, soda
leaking out of his can onto the floor where he squeezes too hard on
the aluminum.

"In the labyrinth, if it's a choice between
any of us, except Emma, and you, will you save yourself or us?"
Bruno asks, his teeth gritted.

I find it hard to dislike Bruno. He is a true
leader, his protectiveness a virtue. It's also odd, seeing a Demon
other than Marcas make other Demons his responsibility. Marcas is
right. Unity is the hybrid advantage. I stand up, my eyes on Bruno.
Towering over him, I point at his chest coldly.

"Ask yourself this instead, Hybrid. In
the end when this is over, what will
I
be left with?"

Bruno's eyes narrow then widen, and he looks
away. He knows the answer as clearly as I do. If the hybrids
succeed, they will have a home in Hell, safely protected from
Lucifer and ruled by a just ruler. I am left with nothing.

By helping the hybrids and killing
fellow gargoyles, Will and I will be shunned from gargoyle society.
When this adventure is over, I am left with nothing. No duty, no
gargoyle family. I have no idea about my mother. I have avoided her
for fear of her response. But even if she accepts me, she will be
duty bound to turn me into the gargoyle council where I will sit in
judgment. In the end, my sacrifice will mean nothing
except
to the hybrids.

Chapter 15

Emma

Only Marcas appears at the cottage door
the next morning. He stands tall, stoic, his hands behind his back,
his hair even blacker in the dim light of dawn. It smells and
sounds like morning, the dampness sweet, a few lone birds twilling
in the distance. But as I look around at the solemn group of
hybrids, I realize it doesn't
feel
like morning. Dawn is about new beginnings, about a world
awakening. It's saying hello to a new day. The expressions around
me look like silent farewells.

"Hell," Marcas says thoughtfully, "is only
dark in the nether realms, in the inner levels deep in the bowels
of the underworld. The outer levels exist within the human world,
parallel to it. Enepsigo's power is tied to the moon. Her realm is
the outer most level of Hell just beyond mine. It will not be dark
until you enter the labyrinth."

"That's a relief," someone mutters, but I
didn't look to see who it was.

My eyes are on the training field beyond
Marcas' shoulder. There, standing in the dew dampened grass, his
body leaning casually against the stone fence, is Conor. Will
Reinhardt is seated on the wall next to him, his expression grave,
angry. They are exchanging words, heated words.

Conor's hand grips the fence's wall, rapidly
becoming one with the stone before he closes his eyes and says
something to Will that makes the gargoyle look away. When he turns
back to Conor, his expression is no longer angry. It is grave and
weary. Conor speaks again, and Will cracks a small smile before the
two of them bump knuckles. No hugs, no awkward goodbyes, but the
eyes say enough. My heart clenches. I care about Conor. I care
about his carefree nature, his resolve to do right even when it
seems wrong.

And then Conor smirks before lifting his hand
in a silent gesture to a figure hiding behind a tree in the
distance. All I see is red hair, and although I had once felt
jealous of the girl I knew hid there, the feeling is mostly gone
now replaced by amusement as she flips Conor the bird. It only
makes him grin wider.

Marcas is still talking when I turn back to
face him. His eyes move to my face, and I fight not to cower. I
picture the short, small redhead behind the tree, and it helps. If
Marcas is human enough to love, then I can look past the darkness
in him.

"It's time," he says, and we move forward as
he leads us into the open field. Conor joins us, but Will only nods
before turning to walk away. I think he's had enough of
goodbyes.

"The older a hybrid becomes, the more
powerful. As we age, we need less food, less sleep, less human
amenities," Marcas explains.

He lifts his arm, and the air before us
suddenly begins to shimmer. I feel Deidra shiver from behind me,
and Ace snuffles nervously near my feet. Marcas had vetoed the
drex's involvement the day before, but the creature is bound to me,
and I refuse to leave him behind. I wait for Marcas to fight me
over his appearance, but he only glances disapprovingly at the
creature before gesturing at the opaque air now in front of us.