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

by Pauline Gruber

Over Garret’s shoulder, Jude fights seven gargoyles. Are they multiplying? A black-haired female lashes out, drawing blood on his cheek. A quick snap of her neck and she’s down.

  “No!” The bald gargoyle holding Camille drops her on the floor and races to the dead woman.

  Camille steals away to Marcus. Dylan climbs to his feet, his face sunken and drooping on one side. Demetrius attempts to follow, but his leg is dead weight and he falls back to the floor.

  Dylan arrives at my side. “Let her go!” He delivers a sharp right hook to Garret’s face then pummels his torso. Garret digs his claws in deeper. I cry out.

  “I’m coming, Lucy!” Jude hollers. He hurls fireballs in quick succession at the close range gargoyles, with no regard for his own safety. Two gargoyles spin away screaming and turn to dust. Another gargoyle bats a ball of flame back at Jude.

  “Jude!” I cry out as flames lick across his shirt. He lunges backward and rips the shirt from his body.

  “Over here. Now!” Garret calls to the bald gargoyle bent over the dead woman on the floor.

  The gargoyle jumps to his feet, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Time to waste a demon!” He tackles Dylan, the two of them slamming against the wall. Dylan shakes his head, dazed. The gargoyle glances at the woman on the floor. He twitches as her body gets trampled. Dylan shoves baldy and quickly delivers a hammer-fist blow to his jaw right below his ear. The gargoyle crumples to the floor.

  Hold my hand, I tell Dylan, trying to hide my shock at his disfigured face.

  Dylan nods tightly, wincing at the movement. His fingers intertwine with mine. The rush is immediate. Energy flows between us.

  Garret pulls me close, his teeth brushing my throat. “I’ve never tasted the blood of a witch.”

  I bite my lip and fight the urge to close my eyes. No telling what could happen in that second or two. I suck in a shallow breath then quickly struggle for another.

  Must raise my hands. Need a fireball.

  Even with Dylan feeding my power, my hands are useless.

  Instead, I envision my hand clasping Garret’s heart. Squeezing. Squeezing. Squeezing.

  Garret freezes. His lips twitch and he grunts.

  Dylan grips my hand tighter, and another surge of energy courses through me. My body trembles with the flood of adrenaline.

  Squeeze. I grit my teeth with effort.

  Garret’s eyes widen in surprise. “How…dare…you!” He frantically tugs his hands, but is too weak to pull his claws free.

  My ears clog and pop, as the pressure in the gym increases. Several people groan. Did we do that?

  Garret’s mouth slackens. He blinks rapidly.

  All of a sudden, the remaining windows explode. Shouts and screams fill the room as glass rains down on us.

  Focus, Lucy.

  “Puny…demon…witch!” Garret gasps, spittle hitting my face.

  His body trembles with the effort to remain standing. His attempts to pull his hands free are feeble. Lucky for me.

  Squeeze.

  Garret slumps against me, his eyes wide, frantic. He heaves desperately. Once…twice…then nothing.

  Holy Jesus! My knees threaten to give out as Dylan pries Garret’s claws from my shoulders. The clan leader collapses to the ground.

  Biting my lip against the pain, I roll my shoulders then flex my arms and hands. They work again. I nudge the clan leader with my foot. He doesn’t move. Could he be faking? With a nervous glance at Dylan, I stoop beside Garret and check for a pulse.

  “He’s dead.”

  I’m alive. Garret’s dead and I’m alive. The words replay in my head as I watch Jude battle every gargoyle in the room, except the one treating Marcus under Camille’s watchful eye.

  “Your wounds look bad.” Dylan kneels beside Garret’s body, pulling his keys from his pocket. Then he gouges the dead gargoyle’s wrist. “You need gargoyle blood.”

  “Not his!” But even as I say the words, I know Dylan’s right. If I’m going to continue to fight tonight—heck, function at all—I need to heal fast.

  A blood-curdling scream rings out. Then another. And another.

  A gargoyle freezes mid punch then—poof!—turns to dust and rains on the floor.

  The room goes dark.

  “Lucy!” Jude calls out.

  “Over here,” I respond, not yet able to push myself off the floor.

  “Dylan with you?” he calls back.

  “I’m with her,” Dylan responds

  “Marcus!” I yell into the darkness.

  “I’ve got him,” Camille calls back. “Can you fix the lights?”

  A strobe light effect bursts into the inky blackness. Images of gargoyles, stiff and waxen, appear in spastic clips around us. Their expressions range from anger, pain, to fear.

  I close my eyes. Need this nightmare to end.

  “Stay with me,” Dylan says.

  “That hurts!” I snap my eyes open and gasp as he slips his wet hands under the torn fabric onto my shoulders. Garret’s blood doesn’t smell as sweet as Marcus’s. The pain lessens just a little.

  I grab hold of Dylan’s arm and tug, trying not to freak out. “Help me get to Marcus.” Tears burn my eyes as I stumble beside him.

  Through the blinking light, Jude makes his way toward the windows. A loud pop rings out and a gargoyle near him turns to dust. He brushes gargoyle residue from his shoulder in flashes.

  “Jude! Did you do that?”

  “No,” he says. “But I know who did.”

  Pop!

  Ronan’s body abruptly turns to dust. Someone’s killing off all the mixed bloods. “Jude! Make this stop. Marcus was treated with their blood. Please!”

  “Go find Selima,” I tell Dylan as I crouch beside Marcus.

  Pop! Pop!

  Two more gargoyles sprinkle the floor.

  Camille kneels beside Marcus, guarding him. “No…no…no!”

  Another petrified gargoyle goes poof and rains on the floor.

  “Make it stop!” Camille cries out. “He didn’t do anything wrong! Don’t let them take my son!”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Jude roars.

  That’s when I notice him.

  A white-haired man in black clothes stands in the frame of a smashed out window. He flicks and twitches his fingers and one of the gargoyles near Jude herky-jerks in midair like a crazy breakdancing marionette. The man snaps his fingers. A loud pop rings out and the gargoyle turns to dust.

  “That takes care of him,” the man says. His speech is crisp, refined. He steps from the window, landing on the gym floor. “This is chaos. You should’ve killed their leader long ago. Instead he nearly killed my namesake who, by the way, did your job for you.”

  “I had everything under control until you showed up.” Jude waves his hands through the air and the strobe light effect stops. He snaps his fingers and half the lights—those that aren’t smashed—turn on. “How dare you show up here unbeckoned?”

  “How dare I?” the man asks, his voice razor sharp. “You would do well to remember your place, Jude.”

  Jude kneels, bowing his head. “Please forgive me. I am here to serve you.”

  My entire body trembles as the white-haired man walks past Jude and approaches me. Will he kill Marcus? Me?

  I lay my hands on Marcus protectively. Marcus peers up at the man through swollen lids.

  “I will spare him for you,” he says.

  “Selima and Camille, too. Please.”

  “Very well.” His eyes appear blacker than Jude’s.

  “Are you—?

  The man nods.

  “I’m sorry for summoning you. I was trying to save my father…Sir.” There’s so much I want to ask, but I’m too tired and I hurt and it’s impossible to put my thoughts together. “Please don’t hurt Jude.”

  He nods again then returns to Jude. My father rises. I return my attention to Marcus.

  My stomach heaves at the sight of Marcus’s right wing, charred in parts. Th
e skin on his back and shoulder is covered in raw, open wounds.

  He eyeballs my face, my shoulders, and my neck. “Did Garret hurt you?”

  “I’m fine.” I do my best to keep the shock at his wounds off my face.

  Selima appears beside us and drops to her knees, about to gash her wrist. Then she hesitates, looking from me to Camille. “I can’t. I drank Qui’s blood. I don’t know what that’ll do to Marcus.”

  I glare at her. “Where have you been?”

  Her voice sounds casual, but her eyes fill with tears when they land on Garret.

  “I’m so sorry, Selima. Garret was trying to kill me.”

  She buries her face in her hands. “I can’t believe he was going to kill you and Marcus,” she sobs.

  “Use Demetrius,” Camille tugs the limping gargoyle behind her. “He’s always been loyal to me.”

  “But…” Demetrius cranes his neck and stares uneasily at the body of his fallen chief.

  “Marcus is Garret’s son. He’s next in line to run the clan.” Camille’s posture is erect, her head held high as she kneels beside Marcus. “Heal him.”

  “As Garret’s oldest child, I’m ordering you,” Selima says.

  Camille arches one eyebrow. She clearly has more to say, but holds back for now. Camille helped Garret run the clan. Is she—a human—allowed to rule now that he’s gone? Would she be stealing a position that rightfully belongs to Selima or Marcus?

  Demetrius rips the skin at his wrist and dribbles blood over the wounds on Marcus’s back. Marcus flinches, but doesn’t complain.

  “We need to get him out of here,” Dylan announces. “The sun’s up. The janitors get here early.”

  “Take Marcus to the condo.” Camille tosses keys at Dylan. “I’ll see you soon,” she says, touching Marcus’s cheek before leaving us for Garret. She sits beside her dead husband, resting his head on her lap.

  “Camille…we have to go,” I tell her gently.

  “Leave us,” she orders.

  Dylan whistles low. That’s when I notice the room. All twelve windows have been restored. The piles of dust are gone. The wooden floors look like new. No more dead bodies, except for Garret’s.

  “Jude?” I search the room. “Where did they go?” I ask Dylan.

  “Don’t know.” Dylan shrugs.

  Selima climbs to her feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I have a feeling Selima won’t be spending her nights reading books here anymore.

  I touch Marcus’s cheek. “We’re going to move you now. I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt.”

  “Let me get him.” Dylan gently shoves me aside and flips Marcus over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Marcus sucks air sharply between his teeth and swears.

  “Camille,” Selima calls out.

  “Let us be,” Camille responds without turning around.

  I lead the way out of St. Aquinas. Will Camille be gone by the time the janitors show up? She’s not strong enough to carry Garret’s body out of here by herself. Are there other protectors in the area who can help her?

  Aiden meets us in the parking lot.

  “How’d you know we were here?” I ask.

  Aiden looks around, then behind him. “Did he arrive?”

  “He? Who?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know who he’s referring to. “How did you know?”

  Aiden’s dark gaze looks past me to Marcus. “Put Marcus in my SUV. Are we taking him to Jude’s?”

  “The condo,” Selima says. “You and Lucy can follow Dylan and me.”

  Aiden strokes Marcus’s hair. “You’re going to be okay, little brother. I promise.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Camille

  I stroke Garret’s face. My fingers linger along his brow, trace along his broad cheekbone, then down along his powerful jaw. I’ve loved this man forever. This beautiful, strong, confident man.

  “We were supposed to do this together,” I whisper. My legs prickle with sleep, so I readjust, careful not to jostle him. “We were going to create a new race of protectors. We were going to be invincible.”

  Garret’s body temperature grows cool. He’s gone.

  “Marcus would’ve come around. I’m his mother. In time, he will do what I say. And we finally found Grayson’s heir.” I still can’t believe my good luck. “I told you patience was the answer.”

  I snap my eyes open and glare at the dead man in my lap. “Why did you have to go and screw this up?”

  Hurried steps disrupt my grief.

  “We need to go. People are going to show up soon. What do you want to do about his blood?”

  “We’re certainly not going to waste it. Do you have your tools?”

  Max nods. He drops the backpack from his shoulder and kneels beside me. He rolls out a towel and lines up a series of tubes and needles.

  “Who was that gray-haired man?”

  Max focuses on the needles and tubes. “Lucifer. Maybe Jude conjured him.”

  “Jude didn’t look happy to see him.”

  “Dunno.”

  Could Lucy have called upon the leader of the underworld? Am I underestimating her powers? “He seems fond of Lucy.” I need to get rid of her if I have any hope of convincing Marcus to join the clan. “If she were in peril, do you think Lucifer would take her back with him?”

  Max glances at me uneasily. “I would be careful if I were you.”

  I grip his jaw and force him to look at me. “I pay you a lot of money, demon, so listen closely. Lucy’s life is in danger. And you,” I dig my nails into his skin, “will be the voice in Lucifer’s ear, convincing him to take the girl away.”

  Max’s eyes widen. “Why would he listen to me?”

  “If you can’t then you will be charged with killing her.” I smile at the lowly demon and am rewarded by the flicker of fear in his eyes. “If you fail me, I will personally see that Lucifer, Jude, Marcus, Aiden…everyone knows how you’ve double-crossed them.”

  I release Max and with a grunt, I roll Garret onto his stomach. While the front of his body is sickly pale, his backside is splotched with deep purple bruises.

  I carefully pull a large shard of glass from my husband’s back. The wound is horrific and lovely. Max can wait a few minutes to drain Garret. I draw my hair back in a makeshift ponytail with one hand, then lean over and claim what is mine. The taste is familiar and sweet, like cotton candy and peonies after first bloom. My ears fill with the sound of fast-moving rapids. I lap the blood slowly, tenaciously, then faster, needing more. My hair falls in a veil around my face as I grab hold of Garret with both hands.

  My great love is gone, but I have the clan. Always the clan. Need to tie up one loose end. Make that two.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Lucy Walker

  “I’m not going to drink,” Marcus moans, his cheek pressed against the metal tabletop. The open wounds on Marcus’s back make me teeter.

  “Please, Marcus.” Selima rips open the flesh of her wrist and holds the bloody skin against Marcus’s face. He shoves her away weakly. Dylan and Demetrius brace Marcus by the head and shoulders, forcing him to remain still.

  “Marcus.” Aiden squats beside the table to make eye contact. “You’re one of the three people left in the world who knows my secret.”

  He touches Marcus’s hair gently. It’s the second gesture of tenderness I’ve seen from Aiden, and both of them have been for Marcus. “The burns on your back are serious. We can’t take you to a hospital. Between the wounds and your damaged wings, it’s not possible to retract them. The cuts could scar, get infected. Leave you maimed. Let them heal you, please.”

  “No,” Marcus says.

  Aiden yanks his shirt over his head. He turns around, but not before I see the web of angry scars decorating his back. Dylan and I lock gazes. What happened to him?

  “Do you want to wind up like me? An amputee?” The pain in Aiden’s voice causes my throat to close. Aiden the demon is also Aiden the protector? Or e
x-protector?

  “I don’t want to go crazy like them,” Marcus says roughly.

  “Garret and Camille have been using for a long time.” Selima presses her hand over the wound in her wrist, so she won’t waste her blood. The dark circles under her eyes make me question whether she should be giving away any more.

  “Garret much more so than Camille,” Demetrius admits, hanging his head.

  “The ritual of drinking the blood of a protector is for situations like this, for dire injuries. It wasn’t meant to be used like a street drug,” Selima says bitterly. “Demon blood…that’s a whole other issue.”

  Demetrius stares at the floor.

  I approach the head of the table. Aiden removes his hand and steps back to make room for me. “Let her heal you, Marcus, please.”

  “But she drank Qui’s blood,” Marcus hisses.

  “I love you. I need you. Let someone else take away your pain for a change,” I tell him.

  Marcus sighs. He lifts his head. “Dylan?”

  “Right here.” Dylan kneels down so he and Marcus are at eye level.

  “Make me a promise,” Marcus says.

  “Anything,” Dylan says.

  “If I turn into one of those Franken-whatever-you-call-it or a junkie on this stuff—the first sign of it—I want you to take me out. Promise me.”

  I gasp. “Marcus, you don’t know—”

  Aiden grips my arm. I swallow the rest of my protest.

  “Promise me!”

  “I promise. Happily,” Dylan says grimly.

  Every muscle in Marcus’s body visibly relaxes. “I’ll drink, but only Selima’s.”

  Selima releases her hand from the gash, which has already started to heal. She tears the skin again and immediately places her wrist against Marcus’s mouth. She sways just a little.

  I touch her arm. “You’ve given enough.”

  Selima stares me down until I back away. “Now.” She nods at Demetrius to begin round two. He gashes his other wrist and applies more blood to Marcus’s wounds.

  I bite my cheek until I taste copper, holding back my revulsion for Marcus’s sake. The sweet smell of the blood makes my stomach recoil.