by Ryals, R. K.
I scream and pull away, my back going into a wrought iron headboard. There is pain, but it is welcome. It is real. There are blankets wrapped around me, and I am still in Conor's pajamas.
"Emma," the girl says again.
Her voice sounds strained but soothing. I think she is afraid of me. Her voice is familiar. Marion. She has a round face, rosy, with wavy brown hair that looks like it can't decide whether it wants to be curly or straight. She has pale skin, and her heightened flush confirms my suspicion. She is afraid of me, but she hides it well. It is her fear that helps calm me. We are afraid of each other.
"Where am I?" I whisper.
My voice is hoarse. My throat hurts. Marion smiles, her eyes still uncertain and reaches for a mug sitting on a small table next to the bed.
"The Acropolis," she repeats.
She has said this before, but this time I hear her. The room is real. It is small, warm. The walls are stone. There are two chairs opposite my low, iron bed. They are brown leather and sit in front of a massive stone fireplace. There is a fire crackling in the hearth.
Another girl sits before the flames. She is curled up in the chair. She has dark skin and even darker eyes. She is skinny, her face oval. I can't see her clothes because she is mostly hidden. Only her face peers out at me. Her expression is the only thing keeping me from being afraid. It is a mix of curiosity and amusement. Marion follows my gaze.
"This is Deidra," Marion says carefully.
I am immediately taken by the girl. She smiles, her teeth white and straight next to her skin. Her amusement makes me less afraid, distracts me because I wonder how anyone can find the current situation funny.
"You aren't what I expected," Deidra says, her small voice full of laughter.
"Deidra!" Marion exclaims, but I find myself smiling despite myself as the girl stands up slowly and moves toward the bed. She is small, maybe four foot ten inches at the most, and she is wearing the ugliest combination of clothes I have ever seen, brown leather pants with a fitted long sleeve red shirt mostly hidden by a pocketed brown leather vest. She has on dark brown combat boots with a gold chain around her neck accented by a faux ruby. She is watching me curiously, a strange glint in her eyes.
I am still curled up against the headboard. I'm not sure if it's because I'm afraid or because I am so confused. I feel like I am missing chunks of time. Deidra leans over the bed and studies me. She's maybe fourteen-years-old at the most and a cute little thing. She pauses abruptly and opens her eyes wide.
"BOO!"
It's so unexpected I jump. Deidra chuckles and places a hand over her stomach.
"Deidra Alexander!" Marion admonishes, but Deidra doesn't look the least bit guilty.
"They said she was afraid of everything. I was just testing her out."
I laugh only because being afraid of Deidra seems ridiculous as I push away from the headboard, tugging the tangled sheets down as Marion shakes her head and hands me a warm, black mug.
"It's tea with honey. You took in a lot of salt water. This will help your throat."
I nod gratefully while studying Deidra. Something about her fascinates me.
"What are you?" I ask her suddenly. I know without a doubt she isn't one of them. How I know this is beyond me, but she feels different.
Marion clears her throat in what sounds suspiciously like disapproval, but Deidra ignores her and hops onto the bed, jumping once before landing on her bottom in a cross-legged position. She grins.
"I'm like you," she says, leaning over to sniff my tea before scrunching her nose in disgust. "You know, a Demon," she adds with a shrug.
I stare at her, my eyes wide.
"A hybrid?" I ask.
Deidra nods and pulls a peppermint candy out of her vest pocket. She unwraps it and plunks it into my mug.
"That will taste so much better now," she says.
I don't even spare it a glance.
"Deidra, maybe we should give Emma some time," Marion begins, but I cut her off.
"You are weak."
I don't mean to say it, and I immediately regret the words when I see Deidra's face. It is crestfallen but full of acceptance. I am not myself. I am feeling and saying things I know I shouldn't, but I can't control it. Deidra looks up at me, the twinkle in her eyes diminished.
"I'm an imp. We aren't strong Demons. We're mostly known for being mischievous." She laughs bitterly. "I'm not good at making friends. I play too many pranks. Even when I try not to, I still find myself doing things I shouldn't."
Deidra looks so young just then. She's no more than a child really, and yet I understand her more than I do the gargoyles that have helped get me here. I don't know what an imp is, but I know what doing things I don't want to do feels like.
"You're still learning," Marion tells Deidra gently.
Deidra and I share a look. Sometimes it isn't about understanding; it's about being allowed to feel sorry for oneself, even if it's just for a moment. I feel compelled to touch the girl, and I place a hand over hers on the tangled sheets. Her eyes go wide, and she pulls away.
"Wow!" she says. Her eyes are suddenly full of excitement.
"Deidra . . ." Marion warns. Deidra isn't listening. She claps her hands.
"This is the reason I begged to be allowed to help Marion. Well, no one else actually volunteered, but I jumped for it!" Deidra says. I am confused.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
Deidra giggles.
"I'm a lesser Demon. Around here that pretty much guarantees you get your butt whooped often."
This sentence doesn't comfort me. I am puzzled, and I am tired. I have gone from a carton of mint ice cream with a six foot gargoyle to a horrible dream of drowning only to wake up faced with an imp. A hysterical imp.
"What does that have to do with me?" I ask carefully.
Deidra pauses.
"Seriously?" she asks."You don't know?"
I shake my head, and she laughs again.
"You, Emma Chase, are a bad ass. It's good to be your friend."
Chapter 15
Conor
"Conor?"
The voice is enough to make me groan, and I pull the pillow over my head in an attempt to drown her out. Dealing with Rachel Gibson in the a.m. is like chewing on razor blades.
"Yo, Reinhardt!"
Rachel pulls the covers off the bed. It's a good thing I don't sleep naked, but Rachel wouldn't have cared if I did. We've been there done that, in the field only and only while learning to shift without ripping our clothes.
"I'm having a nightmare," I complain, my eyes still closed. Rachel snorts.
"How bad do you want it to get?" she asks.
That's good enough for me. I sit up, covering my eyes to shield them from the sunlight streaming in from a nearby window. Rachel is fully dressed in a long sleeve pink tee and blue jeans, her hands on her hips. Solid colors. Nothing extravagant. There is no dress code at the Acropolis but no one wears clothes they care about. They are too easily damaged.
"Is it true?" Rachel asks.
I am in that wonderful halfway world between sleeping and wakefulness where nothing really makes sense.
"Depends on what you mean by true?" I say carefully, pinching myself on the arm. I really need coffee. What time is it anyway?
"Are you going to be the Demon's Guardian?"
This gets my attention. I run a hand through my hair and look at Rachel.
"Why? Did your father say anything?"
Rachel's jaw drops, and her eyes narrow.
"Oh, my God! You seriously petitioned for the job?" she asks. "And here I thought you were smart."
I move to the side of the bed. From the way the sun shines in through the window, I am guessing it is around noon. This is maybe five hours of sleep. It isn't enough.
"You got a point, Rach? Cause you have about zero point five seconds to get to it before I throw you out of this room."
It is none of her business what choices I make.
"Do you
have any idea what kind of trouble she is going to cause?"
I sigh. Rachel is just getting started.
"Rach, I don't think she even knows what kind of trouble she is going to cause.'
"And you still want to guard her?"
I take a deep breath, using the momentum to propel myself out of the bed, heading for a small bathroom off to the side of the room.
"It's precisely the reason why I want to guard her."
There's a sink just inside the bathroom door, and I turn it on, letting the cold water run a moment before splashing it in my face. It isn't coffee, but it helps.
"There's no other reason?" Rachel asks.
The tone of her voice captures my attention, and I turn to her, my back now against the sink.
"What are you getting at, Rachel?"
"Are interested in her?"
I stare because it's the only thing I know to do. As much as I'd like this to be a joke, I know she isn't playing.
"You're seriously asking me this?"
Rachel shrugs.
"You're on the rebound, Con. We all know it. After Dayton . . ."
I'm beyond the snapping point. I'm in the "you just seriously pissed me off" realm of being.
"None of your business, Rachel. None of your fucking business."
She doesn't look the least bit fazed.
"You just got reinstated to Guardian, and you want to risk it this quickly?"
Rachel says this softly, and I realize her intent isn't to be cruel. She's genuinely worried. Rachel isn't a bad girl. Annoyingly blunt, but not bad. She just says out loud what other people think. And what she's saying now, a lot of people will be thinking. I lean an arm against the bathroom door.
"What has your father said, Rach?
Rachel's jaw tightens, and I suddenly know what Gibson's response to my petition was. .
"He's going to let me take the assignment."
I can hear the triumph in my own voice. She doesn't tell me yes, but I know he is.
"What are you trying to prove?" Rachel asks softly. "She isn't Dayton."
I push away from the door, shoving past her into the bedroom. Durand has had clothes sent up to the room, and I'm glad to see they belong to me. Most gargoyles keep clothes at various locations around the globe. There are at least eight different places sporting my attire, and I've long since forgotten which places have what.
"I don't know her, Rach. I don't know what you're getting at, but this assignment has nothing to do with romance."
Rachel shoots me a disbelieving glare as I pull a plain white t-shirt over my head. I hold a pair of blue jeans in my hand, but I refuse to change in front of her. It doesn't matter how immodest we gargoyles are, I put my foot down when it comes to changing my pants in front of the girl my family wishes I'd marry some day. It doesn't matter how many times we've seen each other unclothed during training. Most of those moments were accidents. I have no intention of ever getting "intentional" in front of Rachel.
"It's always about romance with you, Con."
I don't argue with her. Until Dayton, I have been known to play the field. I'm not as pure as my mother wishes I was. I may be a gargoyle, I may follow a pretty strict code of conduct, but I'm also human. And I'm human enough to admit that losing my father, having a mother who spends a lot of time saving other people's lives, and then having to live up to a legacy that is impossible to live up to means I found relief in other avenues. I made my own reputation. I'm not always proud of it, but I do have to live with it.
"My priorities have changed, Rach. The only interest I have in the girl is making sure she doesn't kill herself or anyone else."
Rachel makes her way to the bedroom door, her hand pausing on the knob.
"It's against the rules to date a Demon."
I don't look at her, my eyes trained on the jeans in my hand instead.
"I just want to be her Guardian," I say.
"She's stronger than you," Rachel points out.
This is something I already know.
"She's stronger than all of us. It's what makes her so dangerous."
I hear the door open, but I still don't look up.
"Be careful, Con."
The door clicks shut behind Rachel, and the only thing I want to do is go back to bed. I pull a cell phone out instead. It's lying with my new clothes, a replacement to the one ruined by the sea. Gargoyles are in constant need of communication. I have voice mail. It's from Director Gibson.
"You got the job, Reinhardt. Don't screw it up."
What's left unsaid speaks louder than words.
Chapter 16
Emma
I don't feel the least bit comfortable.
"It's a little on the short side," Deidra says, her lips pinched to contain her amusement. I'm not sure how I feel about her yet, but I can't seem to get rid of her.
"Short is an understatement I think," I say as I finger the long sleeve black tee I'm wearing. I'm tall for a girl, and every time I lift my arms, I can see my belly button.
"The jeans are better," Marion adds, her cheeks flushed. I can tell she wants to feel more comfortable around me, but she still reeks of fear. I can't figure out what's so terrifying.
"They are boy's jeans," Deidra says petulantly.
I am embarrassed by this fact, and I keep my mouth shut.
"Boyfriend jeans are fairly popular. No one will notice," Marion says defensively.
My heart is beating so fast, I can barely breathe. My throat still hurts, but the pain has lessened considerably. With each new step, I feel my hands shake, and I clasp them as tightly as I can to hide the problem. But the imp notices. She is more observant than I'd like to admit.
"They need you trained as quickly as possible. I don't think they'd throw you to the wolves this quickly if they didn't," Deidra says sympathetically. Marion slaps Deidra on the back.
"You aren't helping her any."
"Well, she needs to know," Deidra argues.
We are almost to the main building, having left a large cottage behind us. The Chateau before us is huge, grey-white stone and impressive. We are surrounded by gardens and low stone walls. I pause on the lawn.
"The wolves?" I ask. Deidra's words make me nervous.
Marion sighs.
"You are the daughter of Enepsigos. She is one of the most powerful Demons in existence. You are going to be automatically disliked."
Her words are blunt but soft. I just stare, my cheeks heating. Deidra slips her hand into mine. I am too ashamed to pull away.
"It's not you, Emma. Don't take it personally. Demons, even hybrids, are power hungry. No matter how much we want to pretend we aren't, we are. Other than the gargoyles training us, there is not a single student here that doesn't have a Demonic parent. You won't be judged for that."
"Then why the dislike?" I ask.
"Because they will be jealous," Marion answers.
I am at a loss for words. I don't feel powerful. I don't even feel like a Demon. I feel scared. I feel lonely. I feel like crying. But I don't. I don't cry because tears won't help anything, and they will be tinged with blood. Crying is something I have to learn to control. Crying is something I have to learn to do without.
"Come," Marion says. "You need to eat. We all do. What you do after that will depend on your Guardian."
We walk slowly again, my feet dragging as the door of the Acropolis draws nearer.
"My Guardian?" I ask.
Deidra's hand is still in mine, and she tugs on it gently.
"We all have one. It's a gargoyle assigned to make sure we don't lose control."
"That's not entirely true, Deidra," Marion says firmly. She stops at the door, her hand resting on the wood as she turns to face me.
"As Guardians, a gargoyle's first duty is to protect the innocent, the defenseless. We stand between evil and those evil attempts to harm." Marion is stoic, her voice even. Her words sound memorized. "But, at the Acropolis, the Guardians assigned to the students here are given
two objectives: Guard and judge."
The word "judge" sends chills down my spine.
"Judge?"
Deidra snorts.
"As the children of Demons and mortals, we are given leniency. We aren't killed because one of our parents is human, innocent. It means we have the capacity for good. But only the capacity. If we prove to be one of the so called "good" hybrids, we are assigned a job among the gargoyles or another group that protects humankind," Deidra says dryly.
I know the answer to my next question, but I ask it anyway.
"And if we fail?"
Marion pushes the door open, her face solemn as she gestures to the hall beyond.
"Some of us won't make it out of the Acropolis," Deidra answers, her hand slipping from mine as she steals into the Chateau. I don't move, my eyes blank. My body is tight with fear, more fear than I have ever felt before in my life. I am being faced with Demons both figuratively and literally, and I am afraid of failure.
"You are a good person, Emma. You have nothing to worry about."
I hear Marion's voice, but I don't acknowledge it. I can't quit thinking about what I've already done. I have nearly killed five gargoyles. My memory may be fuzzy, but Deidra hasn't had any trouble filling me in. By the time Marion presented me with clothes to wear to the main building, I knew exactly why Deidra thought I was "bad ass."
"You are a good person," Marion repeats, her hand touching me tentatively. Her words are comforting, but her actions, her expressions are fearful, unsure.
"You don't know that," I whisper as I finally step forward.
Deidra is immediately next to me. For the first time, I see uncertainty on her impish face. There is laughter in the Acropolis. The building is massive, the ceilings vaulted with exposed wooden beams and stone floors that appear ancient, untouched. There are massive fireplaces in the hall. No furniture. A stone gargoyle sits at the foot of a spiral stone staircase. There is a floor-to-ceiling mirror on one side of the room and weapons hanging along the wall. I don't ask why.
"Make them like you," I mumble to myself. It is something my mother is always telling me. Just make them like you, Emma.