by Anton Strout
“You can’t dodge him forever,” Rory said, organizing her books where she sat across from me, with Marshall off to her left.
“I don’t need to,” I said, scribbling in my notebook. “I just need to stay on his good side until we can find what I’m looking for.”
“Eventually, he’ll want to know about Stanis,” Marshall said in a low whisper, his eyes on the door, “and what will you tell him?”
“I’m not going to tell him anything,” I said. “He doesn’t need to know about my family’s secret legacy beyond whatever he’s gleaned through his association with the Libra Concordia. And he certainly doesn’t need to know what Stanis has been up to, gathering all those statues on top of the Belarus Building.”
“It’s creepy,” Rory said. “It’s like he’s developing hoarder tendencies.”
“I don’t know what the purpose of it all is,” I said. “But my best guess is he’s amassing an army for Kejetan and his men. He’s actually done us a favor, though.”
“He has?” Marshall asked.
I nodded.
“Caleb and I have made progress on reverse engineering the formula,” I said. “But it would help us perfect what we need if we can find my great-great-grandfather’s ‘recipe’ spell book for it. I was working to build a statue to test it on, but now we’ve got plenty of Belarus-made test subjects gathered in one place.”
Rory yawned. “I miss sleep,” she said. “Dance classes by day, research and gargoyle experimentation by night.”
“So much regular-world stuff to do during the day, fighting evil at night,” Marshall said. “I don’t know how Batman does it.”
I took the conversation’s turning to comics as my cue to get back to work and fell silent, thankful when Rory and Marshall did the same.
Looking through the histories of the late eighteen hundreds and early nineteen hundreds for clues to my great-great-grandfather’s work was a slow and laborious chore, but if there was anything to be found outside of my family’s library on the man, the Libra Concordia was the most likely of places for it.
“You’re doing it again,” Rory said, smacking me with one of the books from her side of the table.
“I am?” I asked. “Counting?”
“Yes!” Marshall confirmed it by hitting me with his own book.
“But I wasn’t doing it out loud this time,” I protested.
Rory pointed to the pen I had poised over my notebook. “You were tapping it out.”
“Shit,” I said, angry with myself more than anything. If I couldn’t keep the count at the back of my mind without indicating it externally, I still wasn’t doing it right.
“Can you at least tell us why you need to be counting all the time?” Marshall asked. “Does it have a higher purpose than just bothering us?”
“It’s just this thing I’ve been working on with Caleb,” I said, noticing the annoyed look on both their faces at my mentioning the alchemist’s name.
“Counting,” Rory said. “You and blondie are working on counting. Like in music?”
“Yes.” I sighed.
“Are you starting a band?” Rory asked.
I considered just answering yes to that as well. It would be easier than explaining the whole of the events from the other night in the art studio.
“No,” I said.
“Oh!” Marshall exclaimed in full-blown mockery. “Does it involve trying to destroy the rest of my store . . . ?”
“I paid for your damaged table,” I reminded him. “And your little teeny town dungeon. Besides, Caleb and I both apologized for that. You should give the guy a chance. He’s trying to help me.”
The gap between us across the table couldn’t have felt wider or more awkward than it did just then. I couldn’t help but think it might be in part because they were sensing that I was leaving some things out of my story.
But why was I doing it? To protect them?
No. The truth was I wasn’t sure how I felt about what was happening between Caleb and me. I didn’t want to put my trust issues out there when I needed to get everyone on board with the idea of his working with us. Despite the potential embarrassment, I decided to woman up and put on my big-girl panties.
“You should give him a chance,” I repeated, my voice lowering as I met their eyes, “because I’m giving him a chance. I kind of like the guy.”
Rory laughed, then cocked her head at me when she saw I was serious. “Does he buy you flowers?” she asked, only half mocking now. “Or does he bippity boppity boo some mice and turn them into flowers for you?”
“We’re not dating,” I said, not liking the attitude I was getting after laying part of my feelings out there. “I don’t know what to call it, so give it a rest.”
“Fine,” Rory said, leaning back in her chair, defeated.
Small victory though it was, I felt mighty triumphant about it. Still, why miss out on the opportunity to kick our conversation up a notch?
“Although,” I said, drawing the word out, “we might have snogged for a bit over at the Belarus Building the other night.”
Rory shot forward again, grabbing me across the table. “Shut up!”
Marshall sighed, leaning his head down into his hands. “Could you two maybe make all this a little less Twilight?”
“Jealous?” I asked.
Marshall hesitated, then looked up, cradling his face in his hands. “Maybe . . . ?” he said.
Rory and I fell back into our chairs, genuine laughter rising from both of us, refreshing after months and months of tension and failed experiments.
Marshall shook his head at the two of us. “How is it you get to make out with someone—a bit of a dick, by the way—and I can’t even get a woman to hand me her real phone number?”
Rory shrugged. “Probably because you’re busy throwing Magic: The Gathering tournaments . . . ?”
“Not now, Ror,” he said, eyeing her with daggers. He turned to me. “I’m going to take this as a sign that you’re definitely spending too much time with this alchemist.”
“Take what as a sign?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “The tongue bathing you probably gave each other . . . ?”
“That’s a pretty picture,” I said.
“Almost as pretty as ‘snogging,’” he said.
I couldn’t argue.
“Well, that settles that,” Rory said. “I mean, if a guy puts his tongue in you, he’s totally trustworthy. Except, oh no, wait . . . He’s a guy.”
“I didn’t say I trusted him,” I said. “I only said I made out with him, which implies there’s some sort of connection. Hopefully, that grows into trust, but I’m not stupid.”
My instinct told me not to tell them anything about his freelance work with Kejetan. Eventually, I needed all three of them on my side working together, and to coin Caleb’s phrase, I had to take baby steps toward building that foundation. Admitting intimacy between the two of us would get them to accept Caleb more readily while allowing me to use it in trying to figure out where his true loyalties lay. I only hoped I had given my friends enough information to get them not to make stink faces when I mentioned his name.
“Well?” I asked, looking for a reaction.
Marshall shrugged, having already voiced his discomfort over all this girl talk.
“Hope you know what you’re doing,” Rory said, falling back into the book in front of her.
This time I fell back to my own research, my mind freer than before thanks to my confession. It also seemed to do the trick in helping with my back mind counting because I went a half hour more with it without interruption until my phone vibrated on the table.
Caleb.
“Be right back,” I said, standing, as Rory and Marshall looked up at me.
I snatched my phone off the table and ran to the door
, throwing it open.
Outside the research room, the transformed church still held the air of authority, and I couldn’t help but lower my voice to a whisper as I answered.
“Yeah?”
“You ready? Time to fly. For real.”
“What?” I asked, looking around to make sure Desmond Locke wasn’t anywhere close enough to hear. “Now?”
“There’s no time like the present. Is that a problem?”
“No,” I said, trying to hide my hesitation. “I just didn’t expect to do this already. Are you ready on your end?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m broke from buying supplies, and I may have depleted much of your stash of Kimiya in the process, but I’m ready. Have you been practicing your counting?”
“Yes,” I said, neglecting to leave out the part where I kept forgetting to keep it at the back of my mind.
“Then we shouldn’t have an issue,” he said. “Can we meet in, say, an hour?”
“Fine,” I said. “Anything I should bring?”
“Just your Spellmasony little self,” he said, and hung up.
I slid my phone into the back pocket of my jeans and hurried back to the room to gather my belongings into my backpack. Alexander’s stone tome was still in it, and I slid my notebook in as I sorted through the books on top of the table.
“Gotta run,” I said, trying to sound calm, but neither of them looked all too convinced.
“Everything all right?” Rory asked.
“Fine,” I said, struggling with a quick response. “Just an . . . alchemy thing.” I could endure the ridicule of confessing what Caleb and I had done the other night, but I didn’t dare divulge the next part of our plan to them. Honesty was one thing, and sharing my intimate moment harmless in the grand scheme of things, but keeping this next part of the plan from them meant Rory and Marshall would be safe if it blew up in our faces.
I slid two of the more promising books I had pulled across the table to Rory. “Keep at it,” I said. “We need to find Alexander’s book.”
Marshall grabbed one of them but eyed me with skepticism. “Sure this isn’t a booty call?” he asked.
“No, it’s not,” I said, heading for the door leading out of the research room. “And please don’t ever say booty call again. It doesn’t work for you.”
“Let me know how the alchemy of French kissing goes for you,” Marshall called out after me.
I shot him a look that shut him down.
“Don’t you stay out too late, young lady,” Rory chided, as I opened the door leading out of the room.
I was already regretting being honest about that part of the other night. My only hope was that after tonight’s plan, I still got to continue living to regret it.
Seventeen
Alexandra
Nerves were a wonderful thing. They kept you on your toes, made you feel alive, especially when there was always a good chance of dying in the risky world of Spellmasonry. At least tonight there were some good nerves filling my mind, and seeing Caleb reading through one of Alexander’s books while waiting in my family’s art studio filled me with an irresistible urge to kiss him. So I did.
For a second, he hesitated in surprise, but there was a hungry desperation in both of us that took over. All thoughts drifted from my mind for a moment, a welcome relief to everything going on, and I only broke away from Caleb when I realized I was still counting in the back of my head.
His smile was warm as he searched my eyes.
“Let me guess,” he said, drumming a steady waltzlike cadence on his leg. “One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four . . .”
I bowed to him. “However did you guess?”
He gestured from my lips to his. “Does this mean you trust me now? Where are your friends?”
“I have to trust you at this point,” I said, sobering as my momentary frivolity faded away. “Either you’re going to help me release Stanis from Kejetan’s sway or you’re not. Keeping Rory and Marshall out of that for now is for their own safety.”
Caleb stepped to the fully finished wings I had been working on, running his hands over them. The mannequin was already gone, and their expanse was simply held up by supports on either side.
“I’ve given them a final treatment,” he said. “With what little Kimiya is left. You feeling confident about flying after our practice the other night?”
I nodded, hiding my uncertainty. I hadn’t had to worry last night about anything like flying and dealing with several thousand pounds of gargoyle at the same time . . .
“Let me worry about the flying,” I said. “You just better come through on your end. We either turn Stanis, or—”
Caleb was annoyed and already nodding when we were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of movement up on the roof.
I didn’t need to finish my sentence. I was sick of thinking of Stanis as the enemy.
I stepped to the wings, pressing my back and shoulders up into the notch of the carved-out harness. The coolness of the stone came through my coat, a chill spiking down my spine. I shivered.
Caleb looked up at me while he adjusted the placement of the wings on my shoulders. “You okay?” he asked softly.
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to find my center of balance. The wings were heavy, which I knew they would be, but I braced my legs under the weight of my new burden. “Pull the supports away.”
Caleb ducked under the wing on my left as he moved to my back and put his hands along the stone stretching out to either side of me, lifting.
“On your toes,” he said.
I pushed myself up into the air, the balls of both feet straining from the effort. Caleb pulled the supports free on both sides, and I lowered my feet, spreading my legs to take on the full, crushing weight. Despite my efforts, I wasn’t perfectly centered, off-balance, and I stumbled to my left before correcting myself.
Caleb worked as my spotter, ready to grab the wings, but I shooed him away.
“You sure you can do this?” he asked. “I think our mutual frenemy up there might be a bit hostile tonight.”
The thought of Stanis raging after me through the night sky drained the last of the color from my face. “How exactly did you get him here?”
“He needed motivation,” Caleb said. “So I gave him one. He knows definitively that you have the book, and he can return it to his master tonight. By the rules Kejetan had me set upon the gargoyle, Stanis had to come, here and now.”
“He had no choice,” I said, my heart going out to the creature that would just as soon crush me in his claws. “Great.”
“You sure you can do this?” Caleb repeated.
“I’m sure,” I said, as anger and a bit of humiliation fueled me. I whispered the words of power over the stone and reached out with my will to either side of me, causing the wings to become malleable and fold in closer, which helped steady me and keep my balance.
I headed off toward the French doors leading onto the terrace. “You mind your part,” I said. “I’m trusting you on this. Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t,” he said, sounding adamant. “Good luck, and try not to die.”
I kept silent as I stepped out into the cool night air, focusing on the time I was already counting in my head. The roof proper lay a good fifteen feet above me, but the terrace seemed a much better place to try my takeoff. And if I fucked it up, it would only be a small drop, and I could attempt it again without Stanis’s noticing.
I extended the back part of my counting mind out into my wings, establishing a rhythm, moving them the way Stanis worked his. The first few passes were clumsy, the wings not working fully in unison, but after a moment, I brought them into alignment.
On a pure physics level, it seemed unlikely that I could work the massive stone wings into the night sky. Doubt overwhelmed me for a second, but I kept my
count steady. I wasn’t sure I would actually get the momentum I needed to do it until I felt my feet lift off the terrace. I cinched the stone of the harness tightly around me before pressing the wings to work harder to rise over the lip of the roof above.
The accumulated collection of statues had grown even more since I last looked up there, and there was Stanis below, moving one into place at the back row. The sight of him broke my concentration, my flight becoming a bit erratic as I rose higher and higher over the top of the Belarus Building. I needed to focus, to calm myself, and as I did, my flying steadied, and I flew higher until I was looking down over the entire roof and its landscape of silent, stone sentinels.
Now for the real work.
“Stanis!” I called down, drawing his attention. He pulled away from the statue, searching the skies until his eyes caught mine. “You care to explain any of this giant chess game you’re arranging on my roof?”
I was ready for instant attack. Stanis poised himself on the brink of leaping into the air, but to my surprise, he lowered his arms to his side and pulled his wings in. Clearly some small part of him was struggling to maintain control. It gave me hope, but sadly for me, the kind gargoyle was not the one I needed to deal with if we were going to stand any chance of freeing him.
“Do not provoke me, Alexandra,” he said. “I have warned you of the potential consequences.”
I had watched Stanis bend his interpretation of my great-great-grandfather’s rules, but at that moment I needed the power controlling him to leave not a spot of wiggle room.
“Caleb told you I have the secrets your new master is looking for,” I said, slapping my hand onto the front pocket of my coat with my notebook sticking out of it. “And I do. But first? If you want them, you will have to take them from me yourself.”
Stanis’s face knotted with the struggle, but nonetheless, his wings spread wide.
“I know not why you would put yourself at such risk, Alexandra,” he said, “but I will have what I have been sent to get.”
The gargoyle leapt into the air with ferocity, whatever power was controlling him fully taking over.