The Girl and the Gargoyle: Book Two of The Girl and the Raven Series

by Pauline Gruber

  Henry glances my way, guilt flitting across his face. “We can fix—”

  “Do I need to separate the two of you as well?” Jude’s cold tone pulls my attention from Henry and Aiden.

  So, there was a problem with the spell? Is it possible Dylan and I can go back to being friends without the crazy demon attraction and without the urge to strangle each other? And what about Max? Now that he’s in town, what’s the plan? I’m not so keen about saving Jude right now, not after what he did to Dylan, but I’d rather not bite the dust at sixteen.

  Henry shifts his attention back to training. “Once again, we’ll start with Jude initiating. Lucy, you have to physically respond to the attack this time. You’re going to need to combat Jude’s fireball. To do that, you have two options. You can ricochet it off your own power or throw a fireball at his fireball. They will collide and destroy each other.”

  “I don’t understand the ricochet part. Can you show me?”

  Henry moves to stand beside me. He beckons to Jude, who conjures a fireball instantly. Without delay, Jude hurls the fireball at Henry. I notice it’s not at the speed he threw at Daphne that night on his roof. Henry holds up his hand as if to stop the fireball. “I’m visualizing a shield,” he says, without taking his eyes off the ball of flame. “My hand represents the shield. If you lose focus, you’d better dodge it or you’ll be hit.”

  The fireball pauses two inches from Henry’s hand. He whacks the air and the fireball bounces back to Jude, who smacks the fireball to the side without touching it. It lands on the ground, sizzles and pops then dies out. Jude immediately lobs another one at Henry, this time with more force. Henry moves faster, throwing his hand up and whacking it back to Jude. It’s like watching a game of table tennis, but with fire. They go at it for several rounds, picking up speed each time, dodging and lunging to avoid being burned. Finally, Henry nods at Jude and steps back.

  “Remember, Lucy, visualize the shield. Focus.”

  Oh, great. How am I going to explain third degree burns to my uncles?

  Jude holds out his palm and a fireball appears. He bounces it on his palm a few times then hurls it at me. I immediately put up my hand as if to stop it. I visualize a shield, more like a bulletproof vest, like the kind they wear on cop shows.

  “Lucy, watch out!”

  I drop to the ground. “Ouch!”

  Dylan cackles from the sidelines. Before I do something I’ll get in trouble for, I turn my attention back to Henry and Jude.

  “Your focus is weak,” Henry points out. “Let’s do it again. No distractions.”

  Easy for him to say. I nod and take my position.

  Jude balances a fresh fireball in the palm of his hand. He lobs it at me, and I hold my hand up. I envision my hand as a brick wall. Big, strong, impenetrable. I imagine it swelling, doubling in size and strength. As the fireball comes within six inches of my hand, I step toward it and lob it back to Jude. The fireball moves toward Jude, but sputters out before it reaches him.

  “Pretty lame if you ask me,” Dylan calls out.

  “Funny thing, no one asked you!” I snap.

  “Again,” Jude calls out. “This time put some power behind it.”

  We repeat it again. I struggle to ignore Dylan’s taunts. Idiot. What is it with him? Why won’t Jude and Henry reprimand him?

  I wait until the fireball is two inches from me then whack it back to Jude hard. He lunges to the left to avoid being hit.

  “Nice job, Lucy,” Henry says.

  “For a girl,” Dylan adds.

  I spin around and throw a fireball at him. It slams against his shoulder. He tamps out the flames and flashes a big grin my way. “Is that all you’ve got?”

  I take a step toward him. “Keep it up. There’s more where that came from.”

  Dylan laughs. “You’ve got nothing. Without Daddy to protect you—and everyone else—you’re nothing.”

  Every inch of my body trembles. Heat surges through my limbs. My hands throb painfully. I raise both palms, awed by the twin fireballs seething and swirling in them. My chest swells with pride at the large, angry balls of flame I created. What if?

  I bring my hands together and gasp as the fireballs merge, creating one larger fireball. The red and orange flames lick and hiss. Sparks shoot off and sizzle against the fabric of my clothes. A tingly feeling spreads through me as I rest my gaze on Dylan. A smile pulls at my lips as I step toward him and take aim.

  “This is going to hurt,” I tell him.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Marcus pushes himself off the three-flat porch as Henry and I climb out of the car.

  “We’ll continue this conversation later. If I have any say in this, you’ll be grounded from your powers,” Henry says.

  Grounded from my powers? Like Jude would let that happen. And why am I the one who always gets in trouble? Why doesn’t Henry talk to Dylan, tell him to stop harassing me?

  Marcus pushes himself off the porch. “What happened?”

  “Lucy attacked Dylan.”

  Marcus jerks his head in my direction, his eyes wide.

  “Dylan was being a jerk to me the entire day. Somehow Jude and Henry overlook that part.”

  “There’s a difference,” Henry points out. “You’re a supernatural.”

  “So is Dylan!”

  Henry glares at me over the top of his glasses. “He’s only a quarter of what you are. It’s up to you to be the stronger person and ignore his taunts.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” Marcus asks. His concern annoys me.

  “Because of his demon blood, he’ll heal quickly, but that doesn’t excuse Lucy’s actions.”

  “I’m sorry, Henry.” It’s a big fat lie, but I tell him what he wants to hear.

  “I’m going to speak with Persephone.” Henry shakes his head as he walks away.

  Marcus turns to me. “I can’t believe you attacked Dylan.”

  I roll my eyes. “He deserved it, trust me. I can’t believe you’re siding with Henry on this.”

  Marcus grins and wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. “I’m not. I just wish you would’ve done it days ago.”

  Finally, someone’s on my side!

  “So, does this mean that other thing is over with?” Marcus asks. The question comes out sounding casual, but I catch the underlying tone. He’s tense.

  “Yes.” I fix my attention on his shoulder. I don’t want to think about that other thing anymore.

  He lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his probing stare. Guilt gnaws at my insides. “Do you have any idea the effect that had on me? Knowing you were hot and heavy for Dylan? More than you’d ever been for me?”

  “But it wasn’t real!”

  He grimaces. “That’s not exactly true.”

  “That thing with Dylan, it wasn’t my choice. Left to my own free will, I choose you every time,” I tell him. “You’re the only person I want to be with.”

  Marcus’s eyes grow darker, and he looks away. “But you were pretty close to giving it up for him.”

  “But I didn’t.” Why is he doing this to me? To himself? “Dylan and I hate each other now. That should make you happy.” Anger boils inside of me. After being attacked verbally by Dylan all day and physically by Jude, I don’t need this.

  “I have to go inside.” I try to pull free, but Marcus restrains me.

  His eyes meet mine. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

  I soften a little. Well, more than a little.

  My vision blurs with tears. “I do, but you don’t understand. My body was out of control. It literally had a mind of its own. Things were happening I didn’t want. It was intense. And scary.” My voice falls to a whisper. “And then you acted like you hated me. I thought I’d lost you and…”

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  I nod.

  “The next time something crazy like this comes up, promise you’ll tell me? Or if you can’t handle telling me, talk to Persephone or Henry—I’d
suggest Jude, but I still think he’s hoping you and Dylan will end up together. Ask someone for help.” Marcus’s face pinches. “It was almost too late.”

  I recall the incident yesterday afternoon in the Douglas’s bathroom with Dylan. Our lips nearly touched. The heat between us was tangible, the longing intense. Suddenly, I thrust Marcus away and fall to my knees. Violent dry heaves rack my body.

  Marcus crouches over me and rubs my back. “Lucy?”

  The nausea eases, leaves me trembling from head to toe. I run through what I’d eaten today. Scrambled eggs with veggies and cheese for breakfast. Kale and white bean soup at Jude’s. Hours of training must’ve burned it all up because there’s nothing in my stomach. I pull a tissue from my purse to blow my nose and wipe away the tears.

  “Lucy…what were you just thinking about?”

  Do I really want to tell him I was thinking about Dylan? Lying would be worse. “That kiss with Dylan. How guilty I feel.” A half-truth. I can’t tell him about yesterday. Besides, nothing actually happened. But I remember the need reflected in Dylan’s eyes. The desire. I felt the same way. I wanted him more than I’d wanted anyone, even Marcus.

  My stomach clenches and rolls. Another violent spasm racks my body.

  Marcus breaks into a fit of laughter. I press a hand to my stomach, willing it to calm down.

  I never thought Marcus was the type to laugh at me when I’m down. “Not…very…nice…”

  “This is too good to be true!”

  “What…are you talking about?” I croak.

  “Thinking of Dylan makes you physically ill.”

  I peer up at Marcus as he grins from ear to ear. I want to swat at him, but I don’t dare for fear the dry heaves will start all over again.

  * * * *

  “Hey, is your brother going to be at your party?” Ella asks Caroline over lunch.

  Katie and I roll our eyes at each other. When will Ella get over her crush on Caroline’s brother?

  “I doubt it. Why?” Caroline replies.

  “Because I want a guarantee that at least one hot guy will be there. We should play spin the bottle, so I can make out with him.”

  Caroline’s expression twists with disgust. “Please stop.”

  “Caroline’s inviting half the student body. There will be plenty of guys for you to prey on,” Suzie points out as she scans the music on her iPod.

  Cloe giggles behind her hand. She peers at the list of music Suzie is jotting down in her spiral notebook. “How is it you were put in charge of the music?”

  Ella frowns at both of them. “Good question. That should’ve been me.”

  “What about Dylan? Maybe he’ll show up,” Caroline’s obviously trying to steer the conversation away from her brother and the music, “especially now that he’s famous.”

  “Famous for what?” I ask.

  Ella and Caroline smirk at each other.

  “His fight. How many guys do you know that can take on three guys at once and win,” Ella says.

  Caroline scrunches up her face. “He looked pretty gross, but he still won.”

  “Amazing,” I deadpan.

  Ella clutches her hands to her chest and fixes me with a pleading expression. “Can we ask Dylan to the party? Would that be okay with you Lucy?”

  I shrug. Ella’s not going to get under my skin. Not today. “Do what you want. I don’t care.”

  She blinks several times and then brightens. “Seriously?”

  “It’s Dylan we’re talking about, right? Not Marcus?”

  She nods, looking at me strangely.

  “Invite him. Hopefully, he’ll make it.” You two deserve each other.

  A slow smile spreads across her face. She smacks her lips for effect. “Hopefully.”

  I can’t help but think Ella would make a great demon.

  Caroline turns her attention to the rest of us. “I know it’s still two weeks away, but you need to help spread the word. I don’t want troublemakers showing up, though. My parents will freak.”

  “We’ll have plenty of girls,” Ella points out. “You should probably focus on guys and, specifically, the good looking ones.”

  “Ignore her.” Caroline rubs her forehead. I’d have a headache, too, with Ella as my co-party planner.

  Katie elbows me in the side. “Wasn’t she panting over Dylan a minute ago?”

  I don’t think five Dylans would be enough for Ella.

  “And if anyone asks, no booze, no cigarettes. And no weed,” Caroline says sternly.

  The wicked grin returns to Ella’s face. Caroline doesn’t catch it.

  Not my problem.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Five minutes into Brandi’s birthday party and I realize Charlene was right. This party is for Mrs. Douglas, not Brandi. The music is my first clue. I’m sure the string quartet wasn’t Brandi’s choice. And these kids aren’t Brandi’s friends; they’re the children of Mr. Douglas’s business associates and Mrs. Douglas’s country club friends.

  Mrs. Douglas marches Brandi to one child after another, fussing over the child’s parents but basically ignoring the kids, leaving shy little Brandi to fend for herself.

  “Lucy?” Mrs. Douglas calls out to me. “Can I get a glass of champagne for Mrs. Canty? Oh, and one for Mrs. Modale as well.”

  I make sure to get a good look at the women she’s referring to before I fetch drinks from the makeshift bar set up along the living room wall. I’ve never heard of a champagne and wine bar at a nine-year-old’s birthday party. The bartender hands me two glasses of champagne, and I weave my way through the crowded room. I deliver them to the two women, along with cocktail napkins.

  Wait, where’s Brandi?

  I find her cornered by three girls, her hands twisted together and lodged against her tummy.

  “Tu t’appelles comment?” says a little blonde girl who is dressed like she’s ready to strut down a catwalk. Well, a catwalk featuring outrageously expensive clothes for young girls.

  “Mon nom est Marie,” says a redheaded girl. Her hair looks like she spent the morning at the salon. That would explain her perfect manicure, too.

  “Why don’t you speak French, Brandi? Your mom told my mom that you’re taking lessons. If you plan to go to The French School in the fall, you’d better spend the summer with a private tutor,” says another blonde girl, not quite as stylish as the other two, unless you count the Tiffany’s bracelet on her wrist.

  “You’re already way behind,” a redhead with a pointy nose and squinty eyes points out.

  The room is filled with a bunch of over-dressed phonies. Mrs. Douglas makes a big show of laughing at some woman’s joke. She’s oblivious to Brandi, who’s backed up against a wall, on the verge of a panic attack.

  I rush over to the girls. My heart breaks at the sight of Brandi’s pale skin and trembling lips. Just a little flick of my finger and I could teach the little witches a lesson.

  “Brandi? I’ve been looking all over for you! You’re supposed to get photos with the cake before we cut it.” I pluck her from the group. “Sorry, girls. I’ll bring her back in a little while.”

  Brandi grips my hand for dear life. We make our way through the crowd and into the kitchen. Charlene stands at the counter, surveying appetizers with a man and woman wearing white aprons.

  I pull Brandi to the opposite side of the room and kneel down. “Who were those horrible girls?”

  Tears spring to her eyes and trickle down her cheeks. “I don’t know.”

  I wipe them away and stroke her hair, which is pulled into a sleek ponytail and sprayed stiff with hairspray.

  “Do you know any of the kids here?”

  Her bottom lip trembles more. “None of my friends are here.”

  “Why not? Couldn’t they come?”

  “My mom didn’t invite them.”

  I look away and exhale noisily. What kind of mother does this? It’s Brandi’s birthday. It should be special. She should feel special.

  Charle
ne joins us after the caterers exit the kitchen with trays of food. “What’s wrong, princess?”

  “The girls my mom invited are mean.”

  Mrs. Douglas bursts into the room. I jump to my feet. Brandi clings to my leg.

  Once the door closes behind her, Mrs. Douglas fixes her ice-cold gaze on Charlene and me.

  “I have a house full of guests, and the girl of honor is missing.” She stares down at Brandi, her words clipped. “Now be a good girl, get out there, and talk to your new friends.”

  Brandi grips my leg harder.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Douglas,” I say quickly. “I brought Brandi in here because we had an emergency. She nearly threw up on three little girls speaking French.”

  Mrs. Douglas blanches. “No…”

  “I was just about to get a cold cloth for her forehead,” Charlene adds, darting across the kitchen and pulling a washcloth from a drawer.

  All three of us study Brandi, who looks positively wretched.

  Mrs. Douglas backs away, her hands up as if to protect herself from her diseased daughter. “Whatever you do, keep her away from the guests. And the food. I can’t have her making a scene or getting anyone else sick.”

  “Of course,” I call after her as she exits the kitchen. Once the door closes, I kneel down and take Brandi’s hands in mine. “How about we have our own party?”

  Brandi’s eyes regain a bit of their usual mischievous twinkle. “What kind of party?”

  I look around the kitchen hoping for inspiration. Then it hits me.

  “We need your iPad,” I say as we leave the kitchen. “This is going to be good.”

  Five minutes later, we are watching Mrs. Douglas and all of her guests on Brandi’s device, compliments of their security monitoring system.

  I pat her leg as I slide off her bed. “You stay here.”

  She reaches for my hand. “Where are you going?”

  “It’s not a party without presents. I’m going to grab some for you to open.” I wink at her before slipping out the door.

  Back in the living room, I slink over to the pink tulle-draped table piled mile-high with elegantly wrapped gifts.