Midnight

by Christi J. Whitney

  My vision clouded over in memory.

  ‘This is torture.’

  Ezzie glanced up at me from where she’d been reading over my final two assignments of my senior year. ‘It’s not that bad. However, your grammar leaves something to be desired, not to mention the penmanship …’

  I huffed. ‘Try writing with claws, Ezzie.’

  Her look held absolutely no sympathy at all. I kicked myself mentally for the hundredth time. It was so easy to forget she’d once been like I was now. If I was being honest with myself, I was actually glad she didn’t pity me.

  It wasn’t something I could take.

  ‘Anyway,’ I continued, moving to the window of my room in Hugo’s apartment. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘I know,’ she answered simply, returning to her work.

  I peeled back the curtain, and I felt my upper lip curl in disgust as I looked at my gray hands and the long, curved, and sharply tipped claws that used to be my fingernails, so dark a gray they were nearly black against the fabric of the curtain. I saw Josephine’s terrified expression flash before me again, as it had over and over since we’d parted ways.

  The ever-present ache underneath my ribs sharpened, rubbing me raw from the inside out. I’d lost her, just like I’d lost myself, trapped in this new body that I couldn’t understand.

  ‘How could you want this life back?’ I asked, turning from the window. ‘It’s a curse.’

  Like she’d been hit with a hot coal, Ezzie leapt up from my desk chair. Her eyes sparkled with a silver tint, and her face was suddenly fierce. ‘Never speak that way to me again,’ she said, her voice nearly a snarl.

  I leaned back, instant regret pouring through me. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘The life of a gargoyle is a gift, Sebastian Grey.’ She bore down on me, her arched brows low over her narrowed eyes. ‘It is an honor bestowed upon us by God, and a solemn duty to serve a greater good. You may not see your new calling in this way yet, but you will. Until then, I suggest you step away from yourself long enough to see you are not the only one whose life has taken a turn they did not desire.’

  We stood in silence, inches apart, eyes locked on each other. Regret molded into shame inside me. I couldn’t find my voice, but it made no difference. Emotions passed between us wordlessly. Finally, Esmeralda turned, seating herself at my desk. She picked up my work and continued on, as if nothing had happened at all.

  I shifted my attention back to the window, which looked out into the twilight, the trees, and the edge of the alley. My irritated outburst was gone, but I was left with a hollow, empty sensation of grief. I didn’t want this, but the reasons went far deeper than my hatred of my appearance. I closed my eyes and admitted the truth to myself.

  I wasn’t worthy of it.

  A narrow door on the balcony level creaked opened. Several grueling seconds passed, and then I had my answer as to what the gargoyles were waiting for. Through that opening, seven more figures entered the room. These weren’t shadow creatures. These were Gypsies, but not like any Outcasts I’d encountered. Even their scents were strange – like different kinds of coppery metals, turned old from the elements and giving off unpleasant smells.

  My heart drummed in an uneven pattern against my sternum.

  Four were men – some middle-aged and others older. The rest were women, who were roughly the same age. Each wore identical cloaks, made out of some thick silken material, with holes for the arms and held in place at the neck and chest with heavy metal clasps.

  Their cloaks were deep purple; so dark they seemed nearly black – like the shade of midnight seen through city lights. Along the edges of the collars, hems, and fronts were letters, embroidered in silver – spelling out words from a language I didn’t understand.

  The newcomers spanned out across the balcony. The gargoyles had blended perfectly into the shadows, as though they didn’t exist at all. I took several steps back as a strange sensation of awed respect wafted through me, as powerful as the individual scents still heavy in my nose. It was as though something in my blood knew who these Gypsies were, but I couldn’t place it – like something that had faded away long ago.

  The door behind me also opened. Quentin, Donani, and the rest of the Marksmen I’d escaped set foot inside the massive room. Each held similar expressions of thinly masked fury, directed at me, but as soon as their eyes fell on the crowd above, their faces went stoically blank.

  I wasn’t sure if they’d been waiting for that precise moment to join us, or if they’d been prevented by the locked doors. Either way, between the cold chills provided to my stomach by the Marksmen and the new scents infiltrating my senses, my head spun uncomfortably, and I felt the prick of my claws as my hands turned into fists at my sides.

  A woman, standing exactly where the head gargoyle had stood earlier, raised her hands, as if she were quieting down a crowd, though no one had said anything. She was short in stature, but I felt her influence like a heavy blanket over the room. ‘Is the assembly ready to begin?’

  Assembly? I frantically counted over days in my head. It was Saturday, but I didn’t really know what time it was. I had another day left until my trial. Unless I’d mixed up my days while in my strange, hazy state. No, that couldn’t be right. No one was here from my clan. And the Queen …

  ‘Please,’ I called up, straining to conquer the gravelly quality of my voice. The animalistic loss of control I’d suffered with the Marksmen wouldn’t work for me here – not that it had done me any good, since it seemed I was being escorted here in the first place. ‘I don’t understand. I’m not supposed to see the High Council until Monday.’

  I could hear the shallow breathing of the Marksmen behind me, and the stares of the purple-robed Gypsies pressed down on me, but I kept my focus on the woman. Her thin lips jutted downward as her hands came to rest along the wooden railing.

  ‘We are not the High Council,’ she replied.

  Then, like a key inside a lock, snapping into place, my brain produced the word I’d been searching for, the faded memory of somewhere else and something else came back to me. I suddenly knew and understood.

  The Sobrasi.

  17. Josephine

  A round of black coffee later, the Corsis had moved back into the parlor to continue the discussion. I’d followed with Katie, both of us sinking into a small, antique settee.

  I desperately wanted a few minutes to myself, to clear my thoughts and put rational meaning to all this new and terrible information. I glanced dully around the room, only half-listening to the conversations that continued to whir around me like angry yellow jackets.

  My sympathy for Hugo and his clan had blossomed over the last twenty-four hours, not to mention my respect for Katie for sticking with me the way she had, with no more proof to hang on than her brief glimpse of the shadowen we’d come up against so far. She hadn’t even seen Sebastian.

  I pressed the heel of my hand against my chest. Sebastian. This couldn’t be real. Not after he’d overcome so many things to finally accept who he was. For me, I’d only just begun to put words to my feelings for him – but they were still fragile. I’d been afraid they might crumble before I could really examine them.

  And now, this.

  I felt the spark of anger. I wasn’t going to sit here, curling up into a useless ball while everyone around me argued over what to do. Maybe I hadn’t come into my own yet, by Outcasts standards, but I was me – and that version of myself had nothing to do with titles or expectations.

  But I needed to find out more before I could act. I pushed my feelings to the side and I brought my focus back to the room.

  I wasn’t the only one in the parlor who’d gotten control of themselves and the situation. Hugo stood in front of the window, his expression smoother than glass. As if responding to some unspoken cue, the rest of the Corsis ceased their talking and turned attentive eyes on him – including his parents.

  ‘Okay,’ said Hugo, steady voiced. ‘We need to
figure out our next move.’

  ‘I think it’s obvious,’ said Kris. ‘We’ve gotta get Sebastian out of there.’

  ‘Yeah, and how are we going to do that?’ demanded James. ‘They don’t set bail for shadow creatures. And there’s no way the High Council is just going to release him to us before the trial, especially not with this crack-pot story.’

  ‘We’re not telling the High Council anything,’ said Hugo. ‘Not yet.’

  Zindelo nodded affirmatively. ‘A wise choice, I think. If the Marksmen of the Court were to hear any of this, they might take it upon themselves to kill Sebastian straight away, to protect the Court.’

  I thought about Quentin, staying somewhere in our underground Haven. In all the time Sebastian had lived with us at the Circe, I’d never believed Quentin would ever do anything to truly hurt him, even if only for my sake. But what if I was wrong?

  Kris glared at Hugo. ‘So, what, we just let the trial happen?’

  Hugo scratched his chin. ‘That might be the best thing. Right now, we know Sebastian’s protected by Outcast law until a verdict is given. We know the Council has already been summoned, so the trial’s definitely going to happen.’

  ‘But aren’t we forgetting about Augustine?’ asked Vincent. ‘The longer Sebastian’s down there, the easier it’s going to be for that marimé scum to do whatever mumbo jumbo crap he’s gotten up his sleeve.’

  ‘As you’ve said, he’s marimé,’ said Zindelo. ‘That status is his disadvantage here. Apart from whatever meeting he managed to arrange with the Queen, we can rest assured he won’t be allowed to stay. My thought is, he waits for the trial as well, expecting the Council to find him guilty.’

  Hugo pondered this for several seconds. ‘The trial is a day and a half away. There’s still a chance they’ll find Sebastian innocent. In that case, he’ll be released back to us.’ He glanced briefly at me.

  ‘And if they rule him guilty?’ asked James.

  ‘His sentence will be the kokkero,’ said Zindelo.

  I saw Esmeralda visibly flinch from across the room. ‘The worst of all punishments for a guardian.’

  ‘The return to stone,’ explained Zindelo. ‘Never to awaken again.’

  ‘Death,’ said Esmeralda.

  Nadya raised her hand. ‘Performing the kokkero is a skill that hasn’t been used in many years. Only those of Sobrasi learning may do it. If he’s found guilty, the High Council would be required to bring in someone of our order to carry out the sentence.’

  A ghost of a smile flickered across Hugo’s countenance. ‘Let me guess. You’ve already made the offer.’

  Nadya returned her son’s smile – guarded but sincere. ‘As soon as Esmeralda told us of Karl’s murder and the kris, we contacted the Council and made them aware of our presence. Though we had few details, we knew we had to prevent any other Sobrasi from having access to La Gargouille.’

  ‘Sebastian,’ corrected Hugo, before I could speak.

  We exchanged a swift look. I felt the connected unity we shared.

  James shifted in his chair, looking dubious. ‘You’re telling us the High Council doesn’t keep people like you around to do that sort of thing? Seems like it’d be common sense, when you’ve got a whole world of shadow creatures you’re constantly dealing with.’

  ‘How many gargoyles have you seen in your lifetime?’ snapped Ezzie in such a curt tone that James’ eyebrows lifted nearly to his hairline. ‘Only a fraction of our number came to this country after the Sundering.’

  ‘The Sobrasi and their knowledge remains in Europe, with the Old Clans,’ said Nadya. ‘With the success of the Marks clan in training shadowen killers, the High Council decided there was no need for people like us.’

  Zindelo sighed heavily. ‘There were very few gargoyles here, as Esmeralda said. Unfortunately, as the decades passed, gargoyles came to be feared at much as the creatures they fought. Over time, as the role of the Marksmen grew in importance, the noble past of the guardian was largely dismissed as nothing but fairy tales and legends.’

  ‘Which led to growing animosity towards the ones who should have our respect,’ said Nadya. She shifted her gaze to Esmeralda and dipped her head slightly. ‘The true guardians of the Roma.’

  Ezzie sat back into the shadows in the corner of the parlor. ‘Many of my kind were forced to abandon their calling and flee for their lives, lest they be hunted down like grotesques.’ Her silvery eyes faded to hazel, as though the life had been sucked out. ‘A few turned on the Roma, their fear changing to hatred. They became traitors to their purpose. The fates of some of these gargoyles, I know. Others, I do not.’

  I noticed Hugo’s stare had not left Esmeralda since she’d first spoken. There was a definitely a strange kind of formality between them most of the time, but every once in a while—

  ‘Which brings us back to Sebastian’s trial,’ Zindelo was saying, pulling me back. ‘There have been no documented cases of gargoyles sent before the High Council since the Sundering. We can only assume they would not conduct this as a normal Kris Romani.’

  ‘Which means it would be kept secret from the general population of the Court,’ said Nadya, continuing her husband’s thoughts, ‘as is only done for the most serious of crimes. But this works in our favor. If he is deemed guilty, then Zindelo and I would be asked to prepare the kokkero, which is a lengthy process …’

  ‘Which would buy us some time,’ said Hugo.

  ‘And the way to rescue him,’ I said.

  I was startled by the sound of my own voice, ringing out in the room. I hadn’t meant to speak, but the words came before I could stop them. The others turned to me, and I met all their stares, one by one.

  ‘Exactly,’ replied Hugo, with a satisfied nod.

  ‘But what about Sebastian?’ Vincent asked. ‘I mean, what about the way you said he was when you saw him today? If he’s that bad off right now, how do we know he’ll even last until the trial? What if he flips out and the Marksmen decide to end it?’

  Hugo walked through the middle of the room; his pace like a somber march. He tugged at his goatee again, and I knew he was replaying his visit to the Court of Shadows in his mind. ‘Sebastian said the prah would wear off. I don’t know how many times Augustine’s used it on him, but he seemed to know. I think he’s going to start eating from here on out, which will help. He’ll pull himself together.’

  ‘How can you know for sure?’ asked Kris.

  Hugo turned on his heel and faced me directly. ‘Because no matter what happens, Sebastian is still a guardian,’ he said. I felt a weird fluttering in my stomach as he approached and put a hand on my shoulder. ‘And he knows his charge is right here.’

  18. Josephine

  I sat alone at the kitchen table.

  The discussion had come to a halt after it was decided that we would let the trial unfold. It seemed as much of a win-win situation as we were going to get. I didn’t believe anyone actually thought Sebastian would be found innocent – especially after all the things that had been happening up north and the rumors flying around the kumpania.

  Attention would be given more to how we were going to get Sebastian out of the Court of Shadows. Zindelo and Nadya were convinced that they’d be able to put Sebastian into a sleeping state – one that would make him appear like he was a statue. It wasn’t permanent. Unfortunately, it didn’t answer the question of how we’d be able to leave the Court with him.

  Or how we could fix Sebastian after he woke up.

  I rested my elbows wearily on the table. The last time I looked at the wall clock it was almost four in the morning. Now that things had settled down, I was feeling it. My head was so heavy I could barely keep it upright.

  The dandelion pendant had worked its way from underneath my scoop-necked shirt and hung freely. It caught the light from the overhead chandelier and sparked to life, like golden fire. I studied its depths until I felt myself sinking drowsily into a moment from the past.

  I caressed the da
ndelion pendant between my thumb and forefinger as Sebastian knelt beside the couch in my RV’s small living room. The ice pack he’d brought from the kitchen was uncomfortably cold against my strained knee, but the rest of me felt oddly warm. I reached behind me to adjust one of the pillows, and the ice slipped. Sebastian caught it, guiding the pack back into place.

  I glanced up to find him looking at me with an expression that made me hurt somewhere deep inside. His eyes, which I’d found so foreign at first, were such a bright silver that, at certain times, they took on a glow – not like a reflection, but more as if they were lit from the inside. The pupils were smaller than normal and not entirely circular, which made the surrounding silver stand out and turned his eyes even more inhuman.

  Impulsively, I placed my hand over his and squeezed gently. His dark eyebrows lifted for the quickest of seconds; like he was surprised I’d touched him. Then his face went still again, unreadable.

  ‘So, what else can you do?’ I asked. ‘Besides saving stubborn girls who don’t listen to their doctors, I mean. I remember that day in the cave under the bridge; you could see in the dark.’

  My free hand searched out my necklace automatically as I remembered how he’d asked to be my guardian and our dandelions had touched – my pendant, his tattoo. And then, only minutes later, facing down the shadowy figures on the bridge, Sebastian had changed forever.

  ‘Yeah, I can,’ he said after a few moments. He offered me a shrug and a trace of a smile. Then he proceeded to tell me how his night vision worked.

  ‘That’s gotta be cool,’ I said.

  ‘Well, it keeps me from stubbing my toe on the way to the bathroom,’ he replied.

  His humor, always his humor.

  I laughed as my heart warmed underneath my shirt. As long as he was willing to make light of things, I felt as though I could continue, which I did. I asked about his hearing – trying hard not to stare at his ears – then about his other senses. He answered my questions politely, though I saw the darkened tinge in his cheeks as he ran his hands through his pewter hair.