Secret of the Gargoyles (Gargoyle Guardian Chronicles Book 3) (4 page)

“Out.”

“Winnigan?” My voice came out too high.

Marcus’s lips twitched and he finally took pity on me. “Everyone’s on vacation. I only stuck around because . . .” His eyes scanned over me and he exhaled with a rueful chuckle. “Because I’m an idiot waiting for something that’s never going to happen. Come on in.”

Before I could protest, he turned and padded barefoot back into the house. Oliver loped over the threshold and across the tile floor, and his puzzled glance over his shoulder prodded me into motion. I stepped into the house Marcus shared with the squad and shut the door behind me, hurrying to catch up with Oliver. We trailed the fire elemental across a wide room filled with couches and tabletop games and through open French doors into a sun-drenched courtyard. Marcus settled into a cushioned bench, stretching one leg along the entire length. Oliver hopped onto the wide rim of a fire pit and curled his body around the cool coals. I stood awkwardly at the edge of the courtyard.

“How long until they’re back?”

“One, maybe two weeks.”

“Two weeks!”
Celeste dove into the courtyard, blocking out the sun with her enormous dark wings.

Marcus rolled off the back of the bench, sprang to the wall, and spun back with a slender sword in one hand, a ball of fire in the other. My heart lurched into my throat, and I leapt forward, shoving through wicker furniture the large gargoyle had carelessly scattered, but by the time I’d forced my way between Marcus and Celeste, he’d extinguished the fireball and the sword hung loose at his side.

“Anyone else I should know about?” Marcus asked, his tone casual but his body still tense.

“We can’t wait that long,” Celeste said, ignoring him.

“I know. Is Grant close?” I asked. “Can we reach him? Maybe an air message? What about the others?”

“He’s not in Terra Haven. He went to see the Asking Tree bloom, and the others decided to tag along.”

Of course they had. I’d be there myself if I hadn’t been busy with the dormant gargoyles. It wasn’t surprising that the captain just happened to be in the same place as Kylie, either.

Marcus narrowed his eyes at me and stalked back into the sunlight. “You clearly didn’t drop by to tell me you’ve missed me. What have you gotten yourself into, Healer?”

“It’s better this way. No one else needs to know,” Celeste said.

“We can’t do this alone. We already agreed—”

“Fine.” She examined Marcus from head to toe. “One person is better at keeping a secret than five.”

“But to fix the . . . the
thing
, I need more than just his help. I was counting on being linked with five FSPPs.” Linking meant I’d be able to draw on the combined strength of all five powerful elementals. With all their magic plus a boost from Celeste and Oliver, I had a chance of fixing a baetyl the size of the park. With just Marcus, our odds of success plummeted.

“Mika . . .” Marcus growled.

“You won’t need to link,” Celeste said.

“How can you be sure?”

Celeste shrugged. “A link wouldn’t do you any good. You’re a guardian. They aren’t. They probably won’t be allowed inside.”

My throat constricted, and I forced myself to take a deep breath. Celeste’s assurances did nothing to ease my trepidation, but I’d already agreed to do everything in my power to help Rourke and the others. Maybe she was right and I wouldn’t need the might of five FSPPs backing me. Maybe one would suffice.

But before I could fix the baetyl, we had to get there.

“Are you sure we can’t contact Grant?”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Marcus said.

I met his steely gaze. Experience had taught me that Marcus was calm under pressure and highly skilled. If I suppressed the embarrassment of my crush, we’d work well together; we’d done so in the past. Plus, one FSPP was better than none.

“I know how to heal the dormant gargoyles, but it’s complicated and requires something outside Terra Haven. I need help,” I blurted out. “And if you agree to help us, I need your sworn oath that you will never reveal anything I tell you. Not even to Grant.”

Marcus’s expression closed down, and as he studied me, he twisted his wrist, swishing the sword back and forth around his leg.

“Please,” I added when the silence became unbearable.

He stalked to the wall and returned the sword to its hiding spot in the rafters. When he came back, he sat on the bench, legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles. “Tell me.”

“Swear first, human,” Celeste said.

Marcus arched an eyebrow at her. “I swear.”

I accepted a boost from Oliver and formed a soundproof bubble of air to wrap around the four of us. Marcus crossed his arms but didn’t say anything.

“Do you know about cynosure baetyls?” I asked.

He shook his head, and despite his superior knowledge of the world and magical creatures, I wasn’t surprised. The gargoyles had guarded this secret with their lives.

In a few short sentences, I summed up everything I knew about baetyls for Marcus, finishing with, “It’s been decades too long for all of them. If the dormant gargoyles don’t get to their baetyl—their repaired baetyl—they’ll die.”

“Why have I never heard about baetyls before?” Marcus asked.

“You shouldn’t know about them now,” Celeste growled, her lashing tail slowly pulverizing a wicker chair. Marcus didn’t seem to notice.

“Celeste only told me because I am a guardian.” I stumbled over the title.

“I take it that’s different than a healer.”

“Vastly,” Celeste said.

“How?”

“That’s like asking what the difference is between fire and a fire elemental,” she said, and Oliver nodded sharply.

Obviously Marcus had never heard of a gargoyle guardian, if he had to ask. Judging by his grunt, I didn’t think he was impressed.

“What’s the catch?” he asked.

“The broken baetyl is on Reaper’s Ridge.”

“No.” Marcus stood, forcing me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.

“So you won’t help me?” I hadn’t expected him to leap for joy, but I hadn’t expected him to refuse, either.

“No, I’m telling you
you’re
not going.”

“You . . . you’re
telling
me,” I sputtered. I planted my hands on my hips, curling my fingers into the fabric of my shirt to control my rising temper. “I’m not asking for permission.”

“That’s not permission; that’s advice. If you go, you’ll die.”

I leaned forward, matching him scowl for scowl. “Wrong. I only
might
die.” Okay, that had sounded better in my head. I plowed on. “But if I don’t go, all seven of the dormant gargoyles
will
die. I can’t stand by and let that happen, not when I can save them.”

“When you
might
save them. There’s no guarantee. Do you even know how to fix a baetyl?”

A year ago, I hadn’t known how to heal a gargoyle, and now I was a gargoyle healer. If Celeste thought I could fix a baetyl, then I’d figure it out. But I was smart enough not to say as much to Marcus. Fortunately, he didn’t wait for a response.

“FPD squads have attempted to tame Reaper’s Ridge multiple times and have paid for it with their lives. Those were hardened groups of linked full-spectrum elementals. What makes you think you could survive five minutes?”

He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know, but I’d been doing a stellar job of burying my dread by focusing on the cure. Now all my fear clambered to the surface. I could tell he saw it in my eyes, and it pissed me off.

“Why do you think I’m here? I know I need help. You know what, though? This was stupid. Forget I said anything. While you’re at it, forget I ever told you about baetyls.”

“Mika—”

“No. I’ll do it without you.”

I spun toward the exit but Marcus stepped into my path before I made it two steps. I had the option of running into him or stopping. If I’d thought I stood a chance at moving him, I might have considered ramming him. Instead, I settled on the best glare I had and aimed it at his throat.

“You don’t understand.” I tried to sound calm, but I only managed to sound like I was holding back tears. “I don’t have a choice. That’s where the baetyl is; that’s where I have to go. I can’t let the gargoyles die, not without trying.”

His pulse bounced in his throat and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.

“Move. Please. I have a lot to do.”

Oliver whined, jumping down to stand beside me. Celeste loomed in my periphery.

“You’re really going, even alone, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll be there,” Oliver said.

I glanced at Marcus’s face. The man could tunnel through a brick wall with that scowl.

“This is the most idiotic idea I’ve ever heard.”

“No one asked your opinion.”

Marcus snorted. “Fine. I’m in.”

“You’re coming?”

“Someone with brains needs to be on this venture.”

I swayed in place with the intensity of my relief. I wouldn’t be doing this alone. I’d have preferred the whole squad, but Marcus’s abilities were nothing to scoff at. Maybe, just maybe, we’d survive.

“When do we leave?” he asked.

“Today,” Celeste said.

“Then we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

We were really going to Reaper’s Ridge. I swallowed against the urge to vomit.

4

I strained to hold my bands of air under the seated sardonyx tiger. Even boosted as I was by Oliver and Celeste, I wouldn’t have been able to lift the large statue-like gargoyle much more than a foot off the ground by myself. She was one of the largest of the dormant gargoyles and outweighed me by at least five hundred pounds. It didn’t help that I was already tired from moving the other six, first from their locations throughout the city and into the quarry cart Marcus had rented, then into the freight car. My magic quivered like an overworked muscle, loose and too flimsy for one more repetition.

Marcus swooped a thick basket of air under my strands and the swan-winged feline floated from the back of the cart and through the wide loading door of the freight car. Together we settled the gargoyle onto the wooden floorboards, maneuvering her between a warthog-headed bear and Rourke. Once I determined she was stable, I released the elements and collapsed against the side of the metal car, swiping sweat from my forehead.

Seven lifeless-looking gargoyles filled the floor of the freight car, leaving enough room at the front for two canvas-lined cots and little else. The gargoyles’ frozen forms had made squeezing them into the tight space a bit like assembling a puzzle—one where the lightest piece weighed over a hundred pounds.

Marcus had impressed me with how quickly he’d mobilized everything. In the time it’d taken me to rush home and pack, he’d hired a quarry cart and driver; then we’d spent the last few hours riding around Terra Haven, collecting the dormant gargoyles. Somehow, he’d also booked us a private freight car on the last train out of the city, and we’d finished loading the gargoyles with a few minutes to spare. It would have taken me an entire day to collect the gargoyles on my own, even if I could have lifted them by myself, and I didn’t know the first thing about renting freight cars. I started to thank him, but he dismissed me with a flat look and turned to pay the cart driver. Marcus had been helpful but about as pleasant as a bee-stung bear. He hadn’t complained once or attempted to talk me out of the trip after he’d agreed to go, but his attitude made his opinion about our quest perfectly clear.

I did my best to ignore him and focus on being grateful for his help. Standing in Emerald Station helped.

Eight tracks and four loading platforms fanned across the station, all protected by an arching canopy of vines. Honeysuckle and wisteria blossoms scented the air, mingling with the baser smells of grease, metal, and sweat. People milled around the open shop fronts of the station or lounged among the wooden seats, and a talented fire elemental wove elaborate scenes of pure flame as he told stories to enraptured children. Too many people were in the way for me to get a good view of his show as I caught my breath, but I saw a few spectacular birds made of fire.

I hadn’t been on a train since a middle-school field trip, when we’d embarked on an exciting overnight stay at a sister school a city away. I’d lived for months in anticipation of the adventure. The same bubbly excitement stirred in my stomach now, mixed with anxiety and fear. This wasn’t a fun excursion to another city; we were headed straight into forbidden territory, and the lives of these seven gargoyles depended on me not only surviving but also somehow restoring a place I’d never seen to specifications known only to comatose gargoyles.

A heavy rumble and clanging pierced by the shrill whistle of steam brakes announced the arrival of another train on the opposite platform. The bittersweet odor of burning grass and clouds of cooling steam billowed from the engine before the soft elementally enhanced evening breeze dissipated them. Up and down the train, coach attendants opened passenger doors with timed precision and identical flourishes, and men and women poured out. Grabbing bags, they jostled their way through the passengers hurrying up the platform to board our train.