I flexed my fingers. Without the wild rush of adrenaline coursing through me, I realized how taut every muscle felt and how stiff my joints were when I moved. My veins were more pronounced – black in color and running in spidery patterns along the backs of my hands and the undersides of my arms, making my gray skin look eerily like … marble.
If you don’t eat, you’ll turn to stone.
I scrutinized the overturned plate. It came down to this: I had two choices. Neither one was appealing. A ripple of a snarl traveled across my upper lip. I was so sick of being controlled, but it was time to face facts. I couldn’t escape it. I was either going to be controlled by Augustine and his paid-off Marksmen, or I was going to be controlled by this strange, inhuman thing that I had become.
If I didn’t eat, I’d be the one in charge of my fate. I rubbed my arm tentatively. But if I turned to stone, it would mean leaving the Corsis, my brother … and Josephine.
My heart drummed painfully against my ribs – each thump reminding me of why I was what I was. I was a protector. A guardian. A gargoyle. As long as I was still flesh and bones, I had to act like one.
I scrambled across the floor, flinging the plate aside, and took the steak in my claws. The smell hit me full force, rich and full. And this time, the hunger I’d beaten into non-existence suddenly returned and took hold of me with a terrible, vengeful grip. I ripped the meat apart with my sharp teeth; juices dribbling down my chin as I took a massive bite.
I ate greedily, snarling like an animal as I devoured every morsel. When I finished, I collapsed back to the rug floor. Gradually, the coldness inside me diminished. The stiffness left my fingers, and I raised my arms for inspection. My skin had lost some of its marbled sheen, and the veins had shrunk considerably, though still visible underneath the gray.
My gums ached now, and I pressed my hand against my jaw. My body wanted more food. The piece of meat appeared to have kept the threat of turning to stone at bay, and it had taken the edge off my renewed hunger, but the single helping of food was far from satisfying. Still, it cleared my head, and I felt more myself than I had since leaving the Circe.
Without the heavy haze in my brain, I was able to concentrate again. I propped myself against the flipped-over table and focused my energy on Josephine Romany. While the warning shocks I’d felt earlier had ceased, I knew I hadn’t imagined the sensation of Josephine being in danger. For that brief moment, I’d felt the connection between us again.
She was here. She was in Savannah.
Somehow, despite everything that had happened the night of the kris, I wasn’t surprised. I could still feel the reassuring touch of her hand on my face as she’d promised to find a way to help me – as I’d stared back at her with my own hands chained to the Circe’s massive tent pole.
I knew Josephine had meant every word. It was that stubborn streak in her I’d gotten to know during our weeks spent together. I closed my eyes, feeling my lip curl into a half-smile.
‘Are you ready to go?’ Josephine asked.
I looked up from her kitchen table, where I’d just polished off the large helping of bacon she’d prepared. ‘Go where?’
‘To the rehearsal tent,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got practice.’
My brow furrowed. ‘But your knee—’
‘Is fine,’ Josephine finished, in a tone that didn’t allow for arguing. ‘Andre and I are behind on our routines, and if we want to be ready by opening night, I can’t miss a rehearsal.’ She caught my look. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t endanger myself this time.’
I pushed away from the table, feeling like the proverbial bull in the china shop as I awkwardly straddled the Romany family’s chair in a backwards position to accommodate my massive wings in their small kitchen. I stood and brushed my clawed fingers off on the legs of my jeans. ‘I go where you go.’
We exited the RV and stepped into the bright summer day. I squinted my eyes against the sun, fending off a headache and trailing behind Josephine as she walked briskly to the rehearsal tent.
All around me, Gypsies moved about in their everyday routines, and the effect of my unexpected, gargoyle-y appearance around a corner never failed to produce a reaction. Some veered quickly in another direction, and others refused to meet my eye. But, there were more than a few who smiled and even said hello.
I was gaining their trust, as Nicolas promised I would.
Josephine glanced over her shoulder at me, as if to make sure I was still there. She was doing an impressive job of hiding her slight limp as she walked – the result of straining her knee the night before during an extra long rehearsal – but I sensed her pain wafting through the strange connection between us. Josephine didn’t seem to know I could feel it, and I didn’t say anything. But I knew it was there.
She spoke briefly to everyone she met – the ones I hadn’t scared off by my proximity, anyway – and her bright smile made it easier to believe that I’d eventually fit in here.
When we reached the rehearsal tent, I hesitated. This was Josephine’s territory and the part of her life that was completely new to me. As if reading my thoughts, Josephine pulled back the flap – wide enough to allow me and my bulkily-bound wings through the opening.
‘Let’s go,’ she said, still beaming that smile. ‘I don’t like being late.’
Suddenly, I grinned with fully parted lips before I could stop myself. There was something about that simple admonition that set me at ease more than anything else since I’d arrived at the Circe. I stepped inside the tent and, at that same exact moment, into my new life as Josephine Romany’s official guardian.
The sound of the door opening snatched me from my memories. Donani took three steps inside the room and glanced at the surroundings before ending his visual circuit on me. Behind him, Quentin and two other Marksmen stood with weapons drawn. None of them looked in the least surprised by the demolished room around me.
‘Let me guess.’ I rose on steady feet and wiped my chin. ‘We’re going on a field trip, right?’
As thanks for my attempt at humor, Donani handcuffed me, using metal links to connect my wrist manacles across my pinned wings. It was a technique I’d gotten used to, even as my shoulders lit up with fire. The wing dragging the ground hurt more now, but I grit my teeth and pushed the pain aside. After the manacles were secured, a fresh cloak was draped over my shoulders and head, and the Marksmen herded me out of the library.
Instead of going back the way we’d come, Donani took us down another corridor. I was thankful for my clearer head; even it came with a price. At least I had a better sense of my surroundings. We definitely weren’t going back to the dungeon, that I could tell from the smell of the air and the incline of the passageway through which we walked.
The underground labyrinth of the Outcast Gypsies was larger than I ever would’ve thought possible. I knew vague details about Savannah’s mysterious tunnels that dated back to the city’s founding, but this was definitely not in any history book I’d read in school. The enigmatic tunnels referred to in my textbooks were closed off and caved in, with no access or clue as to what they’d been used for in the past.
These tunnels, however, were very much in use. The floors and walls were clean, though uneven and jagged. Old pipelines ran parallel to the ceilings, and from them hung a mixture of lanterns and lights, some of them electrical and others oil based. Every room, every passage was bathed in a soft, golden glow.
From every direction, sounds filtered into my gargoyle ears – women talking, music playing, food being prepared and eaten, a television broadcasting some pre-season football game, men playing cards. I focused my attention on the back of the Marksman in front of me in an attempt to sort it all out in my head.
The Court of Shadows was more than just a location for trials and Council meetings. It was a hidden refuge for the Outcasts, a place where they could gather in one collective community, on their own terms and set apart from the gadje. Here, Gypsies could be themselves, complete and free.
Beside me, Quentin kept a casual pace, one hand gripping my arm, and the other making sure his knife got nice and cozy with my ribcage. What bothered me the most was the smug look on his well-manicured face. I had gotten way too familiar with most of his expressions during our stint together at the Circe de Romany, but this time, there was also something jovially malicious in his smile.
He couldn’t wait to see me dead.
I felt the beginnings of a snarl, and I turned away before it came out, beating my emotions down automatically. But why? The question rattled in my brain. I studied the Marksmen as we walked. There were only four of them. Armed and trained, sure, but still just four. Suddenly, I knew – I couldn’t put a finger on exactly how I knew – but I was certain I could overpower them, if I really wanted to.
Die now or die later, did it really matter?
Already, heat churned inside me. The dark thing was tapping on the back of my skull, demanding to be let in, urging me to take action. If I just let the dark thing have its way, it would be over quickly, for all of us.
My pace slowed as my body responded to the urge. I hesitated. There were still mysteries I wanted answered about Augustine and his business here. And what about Josephine? My heart welled with emotion, but the sensation came too late. I’d messed up. I’d let my guard down for a split second. I’d opened the door to that part of me I’d been straining so hard to keep shut.
Now, it wouldn’t close.
I pushed off sideways with all my weight, slamming my body into Quentin. He hit the stone wall with a grunt. I felt his blade pierce my side, but I didn’t stop. Continuing the movement, I whipped around, taking out the Marksman to my left with my mass of bound wings.
I charged Donani, who had already turned, spear drawn. He jabbed, and I ducked, barreling into him with my right shoulder, lifting him into the air and flipping him over me. The last Marksman leapt on my back, his arm around my throat in a chokehold.
A violent tremor shot across my shoulder blades, so strong I nearly pitched forward. There was a loud pop of metal bands snapping. The links connecting my arms broke apart. My wings exploded from their confines, taking the Marksman with them. He hit the wall and ricocheted off it with a sickening thud.
The cloak lay in tatters at my feet. My wings took up the entire corridor, blocking the light on either side. I panted wildly, adrenaline surging through my veins. Through my red-tinted vision, I saw Quentin scramble up, a second blade drawn and ready.
I met him head on, knocking both weapons aside and pinning him against the wall. My lips pulled back, and I bared my teeth. I felt the hot flash of heat in my eye sockets. I yanked my arm back, fingers splayed and claws extended. For a split second, there was something resembling fear in the Marksman’s face. Then, it was gone. Dark fury glinted in his eyes.
‘Go on!’ Quentin spat. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got!’
I let out a furious snarl and swung.
14. Josephine
Nadya Corsi peered across the kitchen table at me.
‘Yes, Augustine had contact with Sebastian,’ I said, unable to break eye contract with her. ‘But only to transport him to Savannah on my father’s orders. Our head Marksmen accompanied him as well.’ My cheeks burned with anger, but I didn’t know where to direct my feelings. ‘Why is that the worst of it? Augustine is marimé. He’s not allowed into the Court of Shadows, much less participate in Sebastian’s trial.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Nadya said fiercely. ‘None of you do. This is not about the trial.’
‘Then tell us what it is about,’ snapped Hugo, his face twisting darkly for a moment. He then seemed to rein himself in. ‘With all due respect, of course.’
The sarcasm in his voice was palatable. His mother ignored it.
‘Since Sebastian’s awakening,’ Nadya began, ‘there has been an increase in shadowen activity – not just here, but throughout the Southeast. Chimeras appearing in greater numbers, grotesques lured from their lairs and attacking with boldness we haven’t seen in decades. It’s a disturbing trend, and it’s also happening in Europe.’
James let out a huff. ‘You just told us that Augustine’s got this urn, so obviously he’s controlling the creatures. We need to take this information straight to the Court. They’ll deal with him.’
The Corsis voiced their agreement loudly, except for Hugo. In my head, scraps of information were trying to piece themselves together, to connect the dots of so many questions.
Zindelo raised his hand sharply, putting an end to the discussion. ‘Augustine may have figured out how to manipulate existing shadowen and even control them individually, but to do so, he would need to be in direct contact with the shadowen, using the prah to bend it to his will.’
My breath caught hard in my throat. The night Sebastian tried to attack me, when he’d been so vicious and his eyes so blank – Augustine had been right there! He must’ve had prah from the urn with him and somehow used it on Sebastian.
‘Could he could do that on a larger scale?’ questioned Kris.
‘It’s impossible,’ Zindelo replied. ‘No Roma has that ability, not even the Sobrasi. What is happening here has proven that our speculations were well founded. The source of these occurrences is based in the shadow world, not the Roma.’
Nadya’s frown deepened. ‘From the moment we placed Sebastian in your care, we had concerns. Zindelo and I hoped that everything we’d done for him would negate his circumstances. I fear we may be wrong.’
‘What are you saying?’ I asked, feeling suddenly cold.
‘All shadowen are brought to life with prah,’ said Zindelo. ‘Which is the essence of what remained when the body of La Gargouille was ground into dust by the priest and given to your ancestor, Keveco Romany. But the dust must be infused with human blood to fashion shadowen into guardians. Humanity forms the shadow souls of the gargoyles. It sets them apart from other shadowen, and it’s for that very reason that gargoyles are the protectors of the Roma.’
‘That is the history of the urn,’ said Nadya. ‘But there is more.’
‘Oh, fantastic,’ said Vincent.
Kris elbowed him hard in the ribs.
‘The head of La Gargouille remained intact,’ continued Nadya, giving no attention to the interruptions. ‘Mounted on the roof of the town’s cathedral, for many, many years. When our people started using shadowen to do battle for them in clan skirmishes, the dwindling prah became a valuable commodity. As we have said, the Sobrasi who remained faithful to Keveco Romany’s wishes hid the urn. It wasn’t long, however, before attention turned to the head of the monster itself. The Sobrasi feared that the head would be stolen and used in the same way, so they hid it as well.’ At this, a ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. ‘Though we may have failed to retrieve the urn, we were successful in this quest.’
Ezzie sat up straight. ‘You found the head of La Gargouille?’ Her fingers clutched the edge of the tablecloth, wringing the fabric into knots. I’d never see her so emotional. ‘Where is it?’
Zindelo and Nadya exchanged glances.
‘Close,’ said the bandoleer. ‘Very close. But there is something you must know first before we can proceed.’
‘We are Sobrasi,’ said Nadya.
‘As were our parents and our parent’s parents,’ added Zindelo. ‘The position is inherited, along with the knowledge and abilities to awaken shadowen. This requires years of training to master.’
It was obvious this was as much news to Hugo as it was to the rest of us. He leaned against the chair back slowly.
Nadya directed her next words towards her son. ‘It was not our choice to keep these secrets from you, Hugo. The Sobrasi remain a corrupt and power hungry group. There are only a few of us, like those who hid the urn, that remain true. We fled to a mona
stery in Germany, but our whereabouts were discovered. Rather than allow the head to be taken by the corrupted Sobrasi, we turned it to ash.’
‘We could not risk leaving so much as a single particle of dust, lest it fall into the hands of those who wanted it for evil purposes.’ Nadya’s gaze drifted to an indistinct point across the room. ‘There was a statue in the monastery,’ she said, resuming her account. ‘Fashioned in the likeness of the one for whom the monastery was named. What we decided to do was unorthodox, but we were desperate and out of options. We performed the ceremony for awakening – mixing the ash with our blood – and infused every last bit of the prah into the statue.’
‘What statue did you use?’ said Hugo lowly.
Zindelo met his gaze. ‘Saint Sebastian.’
I sank down into my chair. The room felt as though it were spinning around me. There was a strange ringing in my ears.
Hugo turned away. ‘That’s why he looked like he did when you brought him to us.’
Nadya nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Never had a shadow creature been created in this way,’ said Zindelo. ‘Our order requires all shadowen to be carved into specific designs by gifted Roma masons and then prepared for new life by the Sobrasi. What we’d done was against every rule. In fact, it should not have worked at all.’
‘But it did,’ said Hugo, his face an unreadable mask.
‘Something about this prah was different,’ agreed Zindelo, rubbing his creased forehead. ‘The statue awoke. It maintained its human appearance, but remained lethargic and unable to speak. The three of us were able to hide with the assistance of a Roma monk, and he showed us a secret passage out of the monastery once the Sobrasi had searched the place and left.’
Nadya placed her hand on Zindelo’s arm. ‘It was a difficult journey back to the States, but we had to hurry. We weren’t sure how long it would be before shadowen physiology would begin to merge with the human form Sebastian had taken from the statue. That’s why we wanted him to stay hidden within our clan and sealed to us at the first sign of his gargoyle nature awakening.’
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