Wings of Stone

by Jenna Wolfhart

  It was breathtaking.

  Jasper must have heard the hitch in my breath because his chest rumbled with: “You like? Yeah, it doesn’t look too bad from far away.”

  Which made me wonder, what was so wrong with it up close?

  I soon found out. The three of us landed on a flat stone square just off the side of a winding balcony that gave a view of the zig-zagged streets below. I gazed over the edge, my eyes widening. Every shop was closed, abandoned. Windows were broken. Cobwebs clung to every corner, especially the ones that held ancient gargoyle statues. And some of them were cracked. At one time, I could imagine this place a bustling, vibrant town. But now…it was full of nothing but shadowy remnants of long ago.

  “See what I mean?” Jasper arched an eyebrow as he let me go, a good few seconds later than he needed to. “The place is like a graveyard. It’s depressing.”

  “What happened to it?”

  Eli moved to my side and stared down at the streets with a heavy sigh. “Welcome to the City of Wings, Rowena. Once the spectacular home of all the gargoyle shifters in the world.”

  “Still home to all the gargoyle shifters in the world,” Jasper added with a scowl. “Well, except for us and Marcus, I guess.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head. “Are you saying that you three are the only ones left? You, Eli, and Marcus?”

  “Not exactly,” Eli said quietly. “We’re the only ones left who can shift. All these other gargoyle statues you see everywhere? They used to be like us, shifters who could move from stone to man and back again any time they liked.”

  “And now they’re all just fucking dead,” Jasper muttered.

  “Don’t forget about me,” a voice called out from behind us.

  The three of us turned in unison, and I gasped. Out loud. Much to my embarrassment.

  Because there was another one, and this one…he was the same yet different all at once. He was slender and lithe where they were pure muscle, but he radiated just as much power as they did. His dark hair hung longer as well, far past his ears. And the hooded look of his ice blue eyes…they were almost unsettling in their intensity.

  “Silas.” Jasper gave him a nod. “I wondered how long it would take you to claw your way out of whatever hole you’re hiding in these days.”

  Silas pursed his lips and shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans, his ebony wings flapping idly behind him.

  “It’s good to see you haven’t turned to stone, Silas,” Eli added.

  His lips remained pursed, and his voice remained silent, as he combed those hooded eyes of his across Eli, and then Jasper, before turning his icy gaze on me. “What’s this then?”

  A flash of irritation went through me.

  “This is Rowena. Our…” Jasper glanced at me and cleared his throat. And, I could have sworn he looked a little sheepish. “Our assignment.”

  My nostrils flared. “Your assignment? How dare you ca—”

  “Why have you brought her here? Can you not protect her in that witch castle where you’re stationed?”

  “There have been some…complications,” Eli said quietly. “Now, listen, Silas. I know you like your privacy, but—”

  “Fine,” Silas said as he turned his back on us and disappeared down a flight of stone steps. “Put her up in one of the rooms off of the Scriptorium, and make sure she stays out of my tower.”

  Jasper’s jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth. “That, Rowena, is our dear friend, Silas. He’s a dick.”

  Chapter Ten

  The Scriptorium turned out to be an empty library. Large, vaulted stone ceilings curved upward from thick pillars scattered throughout the empty room. Our footsteps echoed. And frost clung to my pores. On each wall, shelves upon shelves had been carved into the stone.

  But there were no books inside.

  “What happened here?” I asked, gesturing at the empty walls. “Why aren’t there any books?”

  “Silas moved them all into his tower. Even though he has wings, he prefers not to make the trek down here,” Eli said.

  “He seems fun,” I said.

  “Silas is…unique,” Eli said. “But don’t judge him too harshly. Some of the things he’s been through have left their mark.”

  “We’ve all been through shit,” Jasper said. “Silas needs to man up.”

  The two shifters showed me to a room just off of the Scriptorium. It was cozier than I expected with a low curved ceiling and a tiny window overlooking the water far below. There was a fireplace, and a four-poster bed, along with a couple of armchairs in either corner. An antique rug spread across the stone floor, trapping in the little bit of heat that seeped from a tiny radiator.

  “You can stay here. We’ll take the rooms just on the other side of the Scriptorium,” Eli said. “And we’ll find you some extra clothes.”

  “Unless…you want us to stay in here, of course,” Jasper said around an uncomfortable cough. “In this form. Or as statues. Whatever you wish.”

  My face flamed. Now that I was aware of being watched, being eyed, every waking hour of my life, by these two powerful men, I felt…embarrassed. What had they thought? How much had they seen?

  “I…” I cleared my throat, my face going hot. “Alone is best.”

  Jasper gave a sharp nod while Eli shot me a smile. When both of them turned to go, I shot out a hand, my fingers grazing the edge of Eli’s left wing. It was soft and razor sharp at the same time. Thick and brimming with a terrifying kind of power. Eli’s entire body tensed. Hell, so did mine.

  “How long am I going to have to stay here?” I asked around the thick lump in my throat.

  With a sad smile, Eli met my gaze. “As long as it’s necessary, Rowena. As long as it takes until the world is safe. Until then, you’re stuck with us.”

  I barely slept. The mattress was hard, like stone. And my mind kept spinning over all the revelations I’d had in the past twenty-four hours. My home was no longer my home. I’d been tricked, lied to, poisoned for years. And the stone statues of my room were no longer statues but big powerful men with thick wings.

  When I finally gave up on sleep, I moved from the bed to the small bench beside the window and stared out at the sea crashing against the cliffs below. The sun was peeking above the horizon, turning the dull sky to pinks and oranges and blues. It was the same sky I’d seen back at the Dreadford Castle. The same sunrise I’d watched so many mornings. Even though my life had been flipped upside down, some things remained the same.

  That thought alone was enough to keep me anchored when everything else made me feel as if I might drift into the sky at any moment. But it didn’t lessen my sadness at all.

  Eli had poked his head inside my room a few moments after sunrise, as if he knew I’d be stationed beside the window watching the sky. He’d asked me to join them for breakfast in the hall across from the courtyard and suggested that we could all have a chat about what to do now.

  Breakfast, I thought, as I padded down the quiet hallway through the Scriptorium. What do gargoyles eat for breakfast? In all the years they’d spent as stone guardians in my room, had they ever once had a bite to eat? Not that I’d seen, of course.

  So, did they even eat?

  Or did their stone bodies not require any sustenance?

  I found out soon enough.

  Four men sat waiting for me at a long oak table that spanned the entire length of a hall even bigger than the one at the Dreadford Castle. They sat at the very end, the furthest seats from the doorway. With a deep breath, I strode toward them. And all four pairs of eyes lifted from the feast to watch my every step.

  I swallowed hard. I’d never felt more on display in my life.

  Not only did Eli and Jasper sit waiting, but Silas did as well, half-slumped in his seat. And the fourth man, he was older, and his appearance the polar opposite of all the rest. He was small, short, and a bit round around the edges. His thinning hair was a perfect snowy white, the wrinkles on his face showing
wisdom rather than pure brute strength.

  “Rowena.” Eli stood from the table and pulled out the seat beside him just as Jasper did the same. Both men scowled at each other. With a sigh, I rolled my eyes, grabbed a chair, and plunked it at the head of the table, between the older man and Silas.

  Silas’s lips showed a whisper of a smile. And then it was gone.

  With a frown, Eli settled back into his chair. “Thanks for joining us. We’d like to introduce you to our steward, Kipling Snow.”

  “Hello, sir,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m Rowena Mortensen. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Thank you, young lady.” He took my hand and squeezed. His palm was soft, warm, almost soothing in a way that caught me off guard. In this strange and decrepit place, he almost seemed…normal. “It’s certainly a pleasure to meet you. The boys have been telling me all about your adventures. I hope you managed to get some rest.”

  So friendly, so warm. After the crazy past day, he was a relief.

  “Not really,” I admitted. “The bed is kind of…well, I hate to be rude, but it’s—”

  “Feels like you’re laying on a slab of stone, eh?” He gave me a wink. “I dare say you’ll get used to it, but I’ll see if I can rustle up some more blankets in the meantime.”

  “So, you’re not…” I gestured at the men, who were watching our exchange with intent interest. Except for Silas, who found his mug of tea much more engaging.

  “A shifter?” He let out a light chuckle. “Goddess, no. Can you imagine, an old man like me, flapping around up there in the clouds? No, I’m more of a scholar, you could say. And mortal. Very much mortal.” He gave me a warm smile. “But some of us have to be, eh?”

  Which begged the question: were these gargoyles sitting around me immortal? It was hard not to turn toward them and gape.

  “Anyway, I’m guessing you’re starving. Time to dig in.” He handed me a plate and lifted the lid off a pot in the center of the table. It was full to the brim with freshly-cooked scrambled eggs. And the dishes around it held bacon, fried mushrooms, hash browns, and toast. My stomach rumbled.

  We all filled our plates. And yes, the gargoyles did eat. Very heartily, I might add. After several silent moments only punctuated by the clanking of dishes, Eli set his fork beside his plate and cleared his throat.

  “We decided to gather everyone for breakfast because we’d like to discuss the current, ah, developments,” Eli said.

  “What my buddy here means is that we need to figure out what the hell is going on, Kipling,” Jasper cut in.

  Kipling patted his lips with a napkin before setting down his cutlery. “Yes, yes. I imagine you do.”

  “So?” Jasper arched his eyebrows and braced his forearms on the table. “Did you find anything? Do you know where that castle went?”

  “I should hope so,” Silas said, finally speaking for the first time since I’d entered the room. “He spent all night pawing through my books.”

  “I wish you’d let me inside the tower to help, Silas,” Eli said, and for the first time since we’d met—er, in his man form, anyway—his voice held a hint of anger, of irritation. “You know I’m good at research, and it would have made it a lot easier if several of us were involved.”

  I looked from Silas to Eli, to Jasper, and then finally to Kipling. Probably the only one out of the lot of them I’d get a straight answer from. “What books? Why are you researching? Do you really think you’ll be able to find the witches this way?”

  “Well, this situation is quite out of the ordinary, my dear,” the older man said gently. “For one, do you have any idea what your powers are?”

  “What my powers are?” I blinked. “I mean, before yesterday I didn’t even know I had any. But now I know they’re shadow magic powers. Right?”

  Kipling shook his head. “Possible, but unlikely. Why would the fae have a child of the shadows?”

  “I…” I trailed off. That was something I hadn’t considered. Too much had happened in the past day for all this new information to sink in enough for me to consider what it all meant.

  “I’ve always thought it didn’t make sense, Rowena. Why would the fae have you, a baby born from a shadow witch? And why would the Queen be so desperate to hide your powers?” Eli added. “I never questioned it too much, because you were my…”

  I narrowed my eyes and clipped my words. “Your assignment.”

  With a sigh, he nodded. “My assignment. And the most important thing was to guard you, not question why.”

  “So, then what are my powers?” I asked, glancing from Eli to Kipling.

  “We’re not sure,” the older man admitted. “So far, the books haven’t given me an answer to that question. However, I did find something interesting last night. A prophecy. It said there would come a time when magic would begin to die. And there would be a silver-haired girl, the only one who could stop it from dying out completely. The only problem is, she’s also the Achille’s Heel. Because if she is killed, then magic will vanish from this world forever.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “That’s not me. It can’t be me.” I spoke the words even as my heart didn’t believe them. “I mean, lots of people have silver hair.”

  “No one has silver hair,” Silas said quietly. “Not naturally, anyway.”

  My heart thundered in my chest, and I had to lean back in my chair to keep myself steady. This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t be some sort of last hope for the supernatural forces in the world. Because one thing was certain. If my death could lead to the destruction of magic, I knew I’d never get to leave this graveyard of a city.

  “I suspect,” Kipling continued after he let his words sink in, “that the witch hunters somehow got wind of this prophecy, and got wind of you in particular. It would explain why Marcus said there’s a target on your back.”

  I loosed a breath. “I’m a nobody. I’ve never practiced a spell in my life. I don’t even know how to throw a punch. How am I, of all people, going to save magic? It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “We’ll train you,” Jasper said, his voice quiet and thoughtful for once.

  “What?” Eli and Silas both shouted at the same time, but Kipling held up his hand and nodded.

  “Jasper’s right. We can do our best to protect Rowena for as long as we can, but she needs to be prepared in case the time comes when we aren’t there.” He let out a weary sigh as he turned and gave me a gentle pat on the back. “We’ll figure out what your powers are, Rowena. And you’ll be a master of them before you know it.”

  My first lesson, though, was not one of magic. It was one of fists. And it terrified me.

  After breakfast, Jasper had somehow rustled up some training clothes that fit me almost perfectly. Snug black sweatpants, a black tank top, some athletic socks, and a pair of pink sneakers that looked brand new. He’d also thrown in some black sparring gloves for good measure.

  I stood on a training mat across from Jasper, my fists held near my throat, my feet bouncing on the ground. But Jasper merely rolled his eyes and frowned.

  “You’re standing all wrong, Ro.” The nickname caught me off guard. Ro, I thought to myself. Ro. Huh, I kind of liked that. Sounded a lot more badass than Rowena.

  “I swear this is exactly what you look like right now,” I said.

  “No, it isn’t.” He pointed at my feet. “For one, you need to widen your stance. You also need to stop locking your knees. Bend them a little. Elbows in.” He gave me a nod when I followed his instructions. “That’s better. Now, give me your best shot.”

  With a grunt, I slammed my fist into his chest.

  And my knuckles turned to flames.

  Crying out, I stumbled back and held my pulsing hand to my chest. Goddess, that hurt. My entire hand, including my fingers, radiated with pure pain.

  “Lesson number one,” he grunted. “You’ve got to punch with the right part of your fist or it’s going to hurt like hell.”

  Gently,
he took my hand and lifted it to his eyes. He blew a soft breath over my knuckles. A cooling breath that eased the pain, at least a little. Glancing up at him, I was struck by the wideness of his shoulders, the thick veins that ran through his neck. He’d tucked away his wings, into wherever they vanished, but I swore I could see the shimmer of their outline, sparking off the flickering firelight.

  “There, better?” He cocked a grin when he saw the look on my face. “See something you like?”

  Cheeks flushed, I yanked my hand out of his grip. “No.”

  Liar.

  “Hmm.” The grin slid away as he studied me. “You know, I think we might be approaching this from the wrong angle. We need to get you up to speed on physical combat, but we might need to take a step back at first.”

  I cocked my head, frowning? Was I that terrible?

  And then I thought back to the disaster of a punch and thought: yes, yes maybe I was that terrible.

  “Those witches kept you cooped up too much,” he said. “You didn’t get enough exercise. Your body needs to build up some strength and stamina before we can expect you to fight.”

  “Okay.” I blew out a breath. “So, how do we fix that?”

  A grin spread across his face. One that almost looked evil in its delight. “You’re going to be doing some pushups for me, and a lap around the city. And some burpees. Hell, let’s throw in some bodyweight squats while we’re at it.”

  It wasn’t until two hours later, after he’d really put me through my paces, that I truly understood what that evil grin had meant. My body felt like mush. And my muscles would probably ache for a year. I collapsed into bed, more exhausted than I’d ever been.

  My limbs were twisted in dark vines. I thrashed, body trapped to the street. Somewhere dark. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one would think to look. Once they were done with me, I knew what they would do. They’d throw me into the River Thames.