The Girl and the Gargoyle: Book Two of The Girl and the Raven Series (6 page)

“I love you, Marcus. I promise I will try to make it up to you,” Camille says, her voice pleading. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Marcus stands rooted to the spot, his jaw set stubbornly. Camille watches him with her hands on her lap, waiting. The silence is unbearable.

Camille sighs. “Garret wants to speak with you. Are you open to that at least?”

He fixes her with a hostile glare. “Let’s go back to the reason you left all those years ago.”

Camille’s face freezes. “Marcus…you have to understand.”

He arches one eyebrow. “Understand what exactly?”

“There were several attacks. Protectors were being hunted and slaughtered. Three in one year.” She lets the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “As the next in line to lead the clan, Garret was a target. He didn’t want you in harm’s way.”

“But you left with him.” Marcus’s expression darkens.

“Not initially.” Camille steps around his question. “Even though we were engaged to be married at the time, I wasn’t permitted to go. As a mundane—a human—I was left behind.”

Mundane?
Even the word
human
causes her lips to curl in disgust.
Camille catches my look of surprise before I can hide it and pauses. Her gaze lingers on me for a moment before she returns her attention to Marcus.

Marcus rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “You joined him later. What changed?”

Camille squirms. She pushes her hair from her face with an unsteady hand. I wonder if it’s possible to fake that. I make a mental note to try it later. She holds her hair back, the cords of her neck straining, struggling with what she’s going to say next.

“Garret had an opportunity to become head of the clan. It was an opportunity of a lifetime. A position of honor and power.” A gleam flashes in her eyes—defiance? Did she feel the clan slighted Garret, that he should’ve had this position earlier?

“He had the ability to change the laws, so that protectors and mun—
humans
were equal within the clan. We could be together.” Camille lets the words sink in, words that mean so much more to her than to Marcus. She chose Garret over her own son.

A stab of anger flares inside of me.

“I was only going to be gone a short while.” She tries to convince her son. “I planned to come back for you.”

Marcus narrows his gaze at her. “But you didn’t.”

Camille’s gaze falls to her lap. Her fingers pick at the fabric of her jeans. “There was a constant threat of attacks against protectors. Garret felt it was best for you to remain outside of the clan.”

Marcus’s breaths come out in ragged, short bursts. “Outside of the clan,” he echoes, a wild look in his eyes. “Did you agree with him that it was
best for me to remain outside of the clan
?”

“I…I…” Camille’s mouth snaps closed.

“Let me ask you a question,
Mother
. How do you think it felt the first time my wings ripped their way out of my back?”

Camille curls into the corner of the couch, wrapping her arms around herself as if wounded.

Marcus rakes his fingers through his hair. He paces while remaining on the opposite side of the room, as if there’s an invisible barrier between him and Camille.

“What did you think my stepdad was going to do when he found out I was a monster? Give me flying lessons?” His voice is raw, as the fiery words claw their way from his throat.

“It was the wrong decision. I’m so sorry.”

“Why now? And don’t tell me it’s because my stepdad died.” Marcus’s face turns red. “I assume Dad told you he dumped me at St. Pat’s several years ago, gave you Father Bill’s number. Why didn’t you come for me then?”

“Marcus, please…” she chokes out, about to rise from the couch and go to him.

Marcus gives her a death stare, and she stops, sinking back onto the couch. Her shoulders hunch, and she lowers her eyes. I watch him, the way he’s perched on the balls of his feet, leaning toward her, holding his breath. I realize I’m holding mine, too.

“A protector—one who chose a life outside of the clan—was slaughtered.” Her voice gains strength. “That’s never happened before. He should’ve been safe.” She pushes herself off the couch. “I couldn’t risk that happening to you. I needed to find you, make sure you were safe and…”

Marcus teeters, waiting. My chest burns, my breath held captive.

“To convince you to join us.”

The air rushes from my lungs. I inhale again. Stars dance across my vision. Camille keeps talking, but I no longer hear her.

She’s come to take Marcus away.

Chapter Nine

“Why did your stepdad forbid your mom to visit?” I ask Marcus.

Our jean-clad legs are intertwined as we lay on his bed, our faces inches apart. Marcus twirls a lock of my hair around his fingers. He brings it to his nose and inhales. I trace the small scar above his lip. Does Camille know about all the fights? About the rumors spread by the boys who saw Marcus morph his first time?

Does she know anything about him? I catch sight of his guitar propped in the corner of the room, below a poster of The Black Keys. Does she know he’s a musician?

“I think my stepdad knew she wasn’t going to come back. He was saving himself—and me—from spending our days waiting and hoping, like a couple of pathetic dogs with our noses pressed against the front window.”

When he puts it like that, I get it. Momma refused to talk about my father, but it didn’t prevent me from spending years wondering when he was going to show up and rescue us.

We fall silent for a little while, both of us lost in thought. If I put myself in Marcus’s shoes, I’m not sure what I’d need to work through first, the resentment or the joy.

I swallow my own fear, ignoring the feeling of inevitability that Marcus may leave me to go with his family. He’s always been here for me. Now it’s my turn to be here for him. If he wants to go, I shouldn’t stop him, should I?

“How did you know your mother loved you?” he asks suddenly. “Did she tell you? I mean…I know she had a lot of problems and wasn’t very affectionate, but did she kiss you goodnight sometimes and tell you she loved you? Did she hug you on your way out the door to school and say it then?”

“I’m not sure she did love me. She hated Jude, and I was a constant reminder of him.” Unable to meet his gaze, I study the wall over Marcus’s shoulder. “Sometimes on my birthday she would tell me she loved me. There were a few times while she was drunk when she would hug me and say it, but I don’t count those times.” I dare to peek at him and find his eyes glued to my face. “But Gram did all of those things. During my summers here, she tucked me into bed and kissed me goodnight every single night. She made my favorite desserts and hung my drawings on the fridge. She told me she loved me more than once a day, as if trying to make up for Momma.”

Marcus nods thoughtfully. “With my dad—stepdad—he never really said the words, but he would do things. Like when I got an A on a test, he would pat me on the back and take me out for a burger or a hot fudge sundae. Or when I loaded the dishwasher and took out the trash all month without having to be asked, he would take me to a movie or a ballgame.” Marcus screws his face up tight. This time there’s no pain in his eyes, just curiosity. “Stuff like that. To me…that was love.”

I spent fifteen years wondering about my father. Dreaming about him. Praying he would find us and help us. Jude may not be the father I dreamt about, but I no longer have to wonder. I close my eyes against the pain that surges in my chest.

“You have to meet him,” I whisper.

“What?” His tone is knife sharp.

“Garret.” My voice gathers strength. I can’t think of myself. I have to think about Marcus. He deserves to know his father, to be loved. I don’t want him to waste time wondering, and I don’t want him to have regrets. I open my eyes and give him my most reassuring smile.

“I’m having a hard enough time with Camille.” Marcus releases a shaky breath. “I’m not ready to face him right now.”

Something inside of me snaps. “You know what? My dad left, too, but at least your dad is on the side of good. My dad’s a frickin’ demon, and I met him and put up with him and have to go to his house on Saturday for demon training. What do you have to complain about? What if this is a limited time opportunity? Maybe he’s only here for a week or two. You owe it to yourself to meet him. Otherwise, the regret and the ‘what ifs’ will haunt you forever.”

Marcus pushes himself upright and swings his legs over the bed. “Yeah, that worked so well for you, didn’t it?”

I take a deep breath, then sit up. “Don’t bring Jude into this.”

“You brought him up, not me. And on the subject of Jude, when were you going to tell me about demon training?”

My mouth falls open.

“Let me guess.” Marcus’s voice is sweet as saccharine. “Dylan’s going to be there.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Did I really forget to tell him about training with Jude? I try to remember the point I was trying to make. “Garret. You need to meet with him.”

“Sounds like Jude’s getting his wish. When are you going to wake up and realize this is his ultimate goal? You and Dylan, together, and me out of the picture?”

I fling my arms out to my sides. “It’s demon training, Marcus, not some twisted love fest.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Lucy. Give it a couple of weeks. We’ll see where things stand.”

Angry tears burn my eyes as I storm from his bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

Chapter Ten

“I feel sick,” Dylan mutters as he pulls to a stop at the massive gate outside Jude’s creepy Lake Forest mansion.

“Something you ate?” I ask.

Dylan’s mouth twists into a grimace as he surveys the house. “I think it has more to do with the fact that Jude’s really bad for my health—yours, too. I spend a lot of time wishing he would just disappear. Then we could put everything behind us like a really bad dream.”

My eyes are glued to the dark gray monstrosity beyond the bars of the wrought iron gate. I remember like it was just last week. The attack of the crows, their sharp beaks attacking my face, neck, and shoulders. Struggling to breathe as Seamus sent me soaring over the roof’s ledge and into a tree. The sound of crunching as the back of my skull made contact with the solid, gnarly trunk. The branches tearing at my skin.

I wrap my arms around myself, so Dylan won’t see me tremble.

“Let’s get this over with.” Dylan lowers his window and buzzes the house. Seconds later the gate clicks and opens.

Dylan and I fall silent as we creep up the driveway. I peer out the windows at the trees, looking for small dark shapes with red eyes. I know the evil crows aren’t there anymore, but it still makes the back of my neck prickle.

Turn around
, I want to tell Dylan. Let’s go to the mall. Or the dentist. Heck, I’ll go play football with him. Anywhere but here.

We come to a stop in front of the house. I’m paralyzed by the boulder-sized fear in my gut.

Dylan grabs my hand, his expression grim. “If things get out of control, we leave. Not one of us, both of us. We watch each other’s backs. Okay?”

A loud thudding noise fills my ears, a heartbeat out of sync with my own. I squeeze his hand and find my voice. “I promise.”

We exit the car and approach the front door. I’m relieved the shapeshifting Rottweilers aren’t here. I’m not sure if it’s a sign we’ve passed some sort of test or if Jude is simply trying to make us feel welcome.

I press the doorbell and glance at Dylan. I haven’t talked to Aiden about Dylan’s powers. Have any other unusual incidents occurred since the basketball game? Will there come a day when Dylan won’t have my back against Jude. The thought makes me shudder.

Jude answers the door himself, a task usually delegated to his minions.

His eyes sparkle as he invites us in. I’ve seen him this happy one other time, when I stayed here briefly to recuperate after Seamus nearly killed me.

“Lucy and Dylan. So glad you could make it.”

As if we had a choice.

He opens the door wide and beckons us in with a grand sweeping gesture. “Lunch is being served in the kitchen. I’ve made some of your favorites.”

Dylan aims a curious look my way as we follow Jude down the hall. I think I can guess what he’s thinking. How does Jude know our favorite anything?

A cold shiver races over my skin as we walk past the dining room. The ghost of my nearly dead self wraps her arms around me. I flinch at the sight of the mahogany table. Visions of my limp, bleeding body come flooding back to me. Jude’s blood soaked sweater propped under my head as Persephone spread some herbal gunk on my skin. The entire group: Persephone, Henry, Jude, Aiden, and Dylan circled around me as they chanted. Jude reached behind my head, cradled it as he worked his own healing magic.

My legs give out, and I gasp as I relive the agony of that magic.

“Lucy!” Dylan catches me before I hit the ground.

Jude reaches my other side in an instant.

“Are you okay?” Dylan asks.

Jude’s eyes—dark and intense—burn into mine. He expresses concern in the same way he expresses anger; he tries to read me. His gaze flickers toward the table then back at me. “Let’s get her away from this room.”