Acropolis

by Ryals, R. K.

  "That's not possible," Deidra mutters as we approach a large entryway. Beyond it is a room lined with three massive mahogany tables, chairs filled with students ranging in age. They are an eclectic mix. Some are young, maybe no more than ten years of age, while others look older than me. And they are loud. I am bombarded by sound.

  Along the walls, men and women stand, many of them in their late twenties. Only a few look to be in their teens. One of them is Conor Reinhardt, his arms folded as he leans against the wall facing the room. Will is next to him. Rachel isn't far from Will. These are the gargoyles. Some of them Guardians. Our judge and jury. I am feeling decidedly less than perfect.

  "They've noticed you," Deidra whispers.

  She is at my back now, clinging to the loopholes in my jeans, her face just visible at my side. A strange feeling sweeps through me, a warm one. It's the first time I've ever been considered a protector by anyone. I wonder briefly what I'm supposed to do if I have a panic attack. Jump under a table and bring Deidra with me?

  And then I notice the silence.

  All eyes are on the door, on Marion, on me. I'm not quite sure how to handle the attention. It's the first time I've ever been in a public situation where I haven't been completely overlooked. My palms are sweaty, and my heart is beating so fast I can feel it in my temples. People are sneering now, waiting.

  I get a quick glimpse of Conor's face, but he is avoiding my gaze. I'm alone, and for the first time, I realize that it's not only the hybrid-Demons who are watching me, it's the gargoyles. Their stares are intense, watchful, and I realize they expect me to make a mistake. I am being tested.

  "Everyone's a critic," Deidra snorts. Her words make me smile despite my terror. She is a crass little thing, evidently worried about the people inside the dining hall, but she is fearless in ways I'll probably never be.

  Marion moves ahead of me, and I follow her slowly, my eyes on her back, Deidra still clinging to my pants. If people are so determined to dislike me because I'm terrifying, they are getting a whole new perspective. It's hard to be scary in a boy's jeans, a practically cropped black top, and an imp clinging to my backside.

  Chapter 17

  Conor

  She's getting better at hiding her fear.

  My eyes track Emma as she moves across the dining hall. All eyes are on her, but she moves forward. She isn't confident, but in my opinion, that makes her braver.

  "She's going to fail," Tom Henry says from my right. He guards Lyre, a greedy she-Demon with a bad attitude.

  "I'm betting she finishes ahead of your mark," Grace Withers says from farther down the wall. She guards Fiona, another she-Demon, no less greedy but potentially a good protector.

  "She's too skittish," Tom argues.

  Grace snorts.

  "You are about as observant as a piece of toilet paper, Henry. Watch her eyes."

  I watch Emma as she turns, taking a plate of food from a woman near the kitchen. Deidra Alexander is still clinging to her. The small imp hasn't had a good experience at the Acropolis. She has been attacked twice, her assailants no longer students. They have been exterminated. I suspect she's been attacked more than this, but there is no way to tell.

  "She's scared shitless, and you think she'll come out ahead of Lyre," Tom says with a laugh.

  I am watching Emma's eyes now. They are wide, searching. Her head cocks to one side, and she flinches. Her movements are almost spastic.

  "Oh, she'll come out ahead," Grace says. "She's a sensitive. One of my past marks was a sensitive, but she was trained, aware."

  Grace's words have garnered the gargoyles' attention. I push away from the wall, my thoughts scrambling over the new information. Emma's eccentric behavior, her fears, her need to lash out . . . it all makes sense now.

  "A sensitive?" Will asks.

  "No shit," Rachel swears. "I can't believe I didn't catch on to that sooner."

  I agree with Rachel. Emma's eyes are narrowed as she follows Marion to a back table. It is mostly empty, and Marion waves at the surface before leaving Emma and Deidra alone. Gargoyles can only interfere so much. The rest is left up to the instructors and the Guardians. Guardians are security. We make sure no one is killed.

  "What's a sensitive?" Will asks again.

  "A sensitive has heightened senses. They can see and hear things no one else can hear. Some, but not all, even have a sixth sense. This means they are in tune, not only with their surroundings, but with emotions, with some thoughts. They feed off emotion. Untrained, this can lead to paranoia, fear," Grace answers.

  We're all looking at Emma's table now.

  "Wow," Will breathes. "That's our Emma, alright."

  Rachel rolls her eyes as Tom laughs coldly.

  "Our?"

  I see Will's face redden as he realizes his mistake.

  "Did you get assigned as her Guardian, Escort?" Tom sneers.

  I feel my jaw tighten. Will is more tolerant than most. He didn't enter the Inner Circle until the new laws about Demons had passed. He doesn't understand the hatred the same way the rest of us do.

  "No, he didn't," I say coldly, my eyes on Emma. "I did."

  The entire wall of gargoyles goes quiet.

  "Conor Reinhardt? A Guardian to a she-Demon?"

  I don't know the gargoyle who utters the sarcastic question, but I know they all mirror his sentiment. The Acropolis is a fairly new idea. Rehabilitating Demons is something most gargoyles don't support. Those assigned to the school are usually there because they are being punished. Whatever their transgression, it isn't enough for a demotion, but it is enough to get them assigned to a Demon. No one ever volunteers.

  I am the son of Paul Reinhardt. The Reinhardts are legendary. I am suddenly less in their eyes. Will stiffens next to me.

  "He vo-"

  I elbow Will in the ribs. He coughs. If he thinks a Reinhardt being assigned as a Demon Guardian is bad, he has no idea what it will do to our family's reputation if he lets it slip I volunteered.

  I give him a look before focusing on Emma's table again. She's attempting to eat, but she's mostly just picking at the food, her shoulders taut. She looks on edge. A sensitive. An untrained sensitive. Damn.

  "Reinhardt, I think I speak for all the Guardians here when I say we'd love to know how you got assigned to this hellhole," Sean Thomas says with a laugh. He's a burly man in his mid-twenties with russet hair and green eyes. He looks even bigger standing next to Grace who is average in height and skinny with brown hair and blonde highlights.

  I shrug.

  "We all make mistakes," I say simply while avoiding Rachel and Will's gazes. I'm thankful Roach isn't present.

  "Well, I'm placing my bets on Conor's mark this year," Grace says indifferently.

  Tom bets against her. This continues down the wall.

  "You're betting on who will finish and who will die?" Will asks, shocked.

  Tom leans forward, his eyes on Will's reddened face.

  "What else do you expect us to do to pass the time? You think that's cold, Escort? Wait until you see a training class. Your Emma is going to have a hell of a time then."

  Tom laughs, highly amused at himself. He looks down the row.

  "Get it? Hell of a time," he spits.

  The joke isn't funny. Rachel moves closer to Will and me and lowers her voice.

  "I never even considered her being a sensitive."

  I nod as I watch Emma's table. Watching her now, it's easy to discern. It also changes things. Her survival rate is higher.

  "She is going to be fine," I say, the words confident. Rachel watches me.

  "She might stand a chance, Con, but it doesn't mean she'll be fine."

  I look down, my eyes hard.

  "In two days, she's lost everything. And we've not only taken everything from her, we've taken who she thought she was. We have torn her apart. She has to start from scratch now. And she's still standing. Fearful, less than confident, but still standing. Could you say the same about yourself?" I a
sk. Rachel doesn't answer. "And you question whether or not she'll be fine."

  "She's a Demon," Rachel whispers.

  I know her hatred. I still fight it daily. But my perspective is changing. I'm not any more tolerant, but I'm beginning to see the promise in rehabilitating half-mortal Demons.

  "Two days ago, she was just a girl."

  Chapter 18

  Emma

  "You ready?" Deidra asks.

  I'm not quite sure what she's referring to, but I don't think I have much choice. Lunch is over, and it was uneventful. Terrifying, overwhelming, but uneventful.

  "Ready for what?" I ask.

  "Training," she says. "It's where they take us Demons, tear us apart, and then put us back together again."

  The concept is both frightening and amusing.

  "Like a jigsaw puzzle?" I ask.

  Deidra groans.

  "No, jigsaw puzzles are pretty when finished."

  We are in the hall now, standing at the foot of the spiral staircase, and I stare at her.

  "And we won't be?"

  I have sudden images of myself wrapped in Conor's arms in the sea, horrible monsters in the air as we cower beneath the waves. Funny that I consider a wise evasive move cowering. I had wanted to confront the beasts. Rule them even? The images are fuzzy, a nightmare I can't really remember, but I had felt power. I had enjoyed the rush. Deidra is right. Jigsaw puzzles are prettier.

  "We're already broken, you know," Deidra whispers.

  She sounds sad suddenly, and I look down at the top of her head. She is too young to be without a family. I am in that funny stage, that part of life where I'm supposed to be disentangling myself from childhood and entering adulthood. I am alive, and I am utterly alone. I am standing on a precipice and there is nothing I can do but jump. I reach down and take Deidra's small hand in mine.

  "Broken but fixable. Always fixable," I say softly.

  She looks up at me, smiling, her eyes lighter until she looks over my shoulder. And then I see the fear.

  "Daughter of Enepsigos," a female voice says lightly.

  There is laughter in her declaration and something darker. I read the emotion easily, and my spine stiffens. The Demon world is remarkably similar to the wild. The weak is never safe. Her voice is full of challenge.

  "It's unheard of, you know."

  I turn slowly, my eyes landing on a curvy, raven-haired girl. She is shorter than I am by a few inches, but she stands tall, her jeans and red top hugging her body like a glove. Her eyes are onyx. I don't speak because I don't really think she expects me to. Deidra stands defiantly at my side. I think the imp gives me too much credit. I am at a disadvantage here.

  "Enepsigos has never been known to have offspring. Strange it should be you," the girl says.

  I don't rise to the bait. She isn't aware of my upbringing, or if she is, she doesn't realize it has prepared me for verbal attacks. I don't fear them, I avoid them. I stare at her, willing my shaking hands still. She isn't pleased with my reaction.

  "Are you mute?" she asks.

  The words are dripping acid. She isn't a typical "mean girl." I am pretty sure this school doesn't have a caste system. She is merely circling a potential enemy.

  I am still, unmoving, my eyes locked with hers. I can feel her emotion. I can feel her unease. It is startling. If I was able to do this before, I was unaware. But I had also avoided human contact. Now, I am being thrust into society, a new potentially deadly society, and in one stare-filled moment, I suddenly know what it is to be a Demon.

  Demons are solitary beings, territorial, and ruled by their own greed. By power. The only thing they fear is each other. They fear being controlled by stronger Demons. They fear possession.

  I shudder despite my attempt to appear unflappable. The girl smiles. She doesn't realize my fear is her fear.

  "I am Lyre. I am the daughter of Pleiades. I cannot be ruled, you understand. I'll kill you first," she warns.

  I am not prepared for the attack. I am not prepared for the power that suddenly rushes through me. I am not prepared for the blood I taste in my mouth when my head hits the wall opposite the staircase. I am not prepared for the hatred that overwhelms me. It isn't my hatred. It's hers. I am the daughter of Enepsigos. Her mother is weaker. She hates weakness.

  Deidra is suddenly next to me, and I use the back of my hand to wipe away the blood dripping from the corner of my mouth. I have bitten my tongue in the impact. It smarts, but the wound doesn't feel deep. It is the blood running down the side of my head that is startling. Head wounds tend to bleed profusely. Mine is no exception.

  "I don't want to rule anyone," I whisper as Lyre moves toward me.

  Her eyes are red now. My head is pounding. I can feel how pleased she is. She lifts her hands, and I duck my head, my back going into the wall just as I hear Lyre scream.

  "Oh, my God!" Deidra says next to me, and I look up to find Conor Reinhardt standing before the screaming she-Demon, her mouth open as he holds her wrists in his stone-like hands. His eyes have her entranced, and she cannot move. I don't know what he's doing to her, and I don't have any desire to find out.

  "Tom!" Conor yells.

  Lyre flinches as a tall, brown-haired man moves through the hall. He is dressed as simply as the rest of us, jeans and a solid green tee. His hazel eyes are trained on Conor and Lyre. Conor doesn't move, his eyes still locked with the Demon's.

  "Control your Demon, Tom, or I'll gladly kill her."

  Tom shrugs as Conor finally lets go, shoving Lyre gently toward the other gargoyle. He turns to me, his eyes searching. Deidra's hand is lying on my shoulder, and it tightens.

  "I'll be damned," Deidra mumbles.

  I touch my head carefully. There is blood everywhere.

  "What?" I ask as Deidra begins to stand, her eyes on the approaching gargoyle. Conor looks determined, resolved.

  "Conor Reinhardt is your Guardian," Deidra says, her voice full of awe.

  I am confused.

  "Wasn't he before?"

  Deidra shakes her head.

  "Are you okay?" Conor asks as he reaches us.

  He crouches and takes me by the elbow. I stand up slowly, my head spinning. Lyre's emotions are suddenly gone replaced by something different, something odd.

  "We are like pack animals," I say suddenly.

  Conor's eyes find mine.

  "What?"

  My eyes are on the hall now. There are hybrids moving silently through the chateau. Some are talking, laughing even, and they are being shadowed by gargoyles. Guardians. I am not sure where they are headed. Training? To some unknown lesson I'm still unaware of?

  "We are pack animals who were not born to be a part of a pack."

  My eyes never move from the thinning crowd. I am speaking for a group. Some of the words feel like my own, but others feel channeled. Conor looks at Deidra.

  "Go to class, Alexander. Emma needs some time."

  Deidra gulps, but I feel her leave me, slinking into the darkness. I don't see her Guardian, but I know he or she must be near. I hope they are near.

  "What are you trying to say, Emma?" Conor asks.

  I turn to look at him, my mind a jumble of mixed emotions. I am afraid, but I'm not sure anymore if the fear is all mine.

  "Demons are solitary beings that fight constantly for dominance. Putting them . . . us here in one place is asking for trouble. We are being forced together, and we are struggling to destroy each other. Why do you do it?"

  His eyes move over my face, and his brows furrow.

  "There is good here. You haven't met them all, Emma. Some people believe the hybrids are worth saving."

  I watch the play of emotions on his face, and I know the truth before I even ask the question.

  "Do you?"

  Conor looks me in the eye.

  "No."

  Sadly, I agree with him.

  Chapter 19

  Conor

  I lead Emma from the chateau and into the gardens. She is too a
stute. Her powers, though untrained, are growing. She is picking up on the emotions around her, and I am afraid. I'm not afraid of Emma. I'm afraid of the emotions she may feel coming from me.

  "The beating you just got in the main hall . . . that's just the beginning," I say as I approach one of the stone walls surrounding the gardens.

  I lift her up before she has a chance to argue, placing her on the wall as I pull the hem of my shirt out of my jeans. I lift it over my head and place it against Emma's scalp. At this rate, and if the last two days prove statistically correct, Emma is going to be seeing me shirtless more than any other female.

  "I can do it," Emma says, taking my shirt from me as she shifts uncomfortably, her cheeks flushing. I am a few inches away from her, my face three inches below hers where she sits on the low wall, and I am amused by her reaction.

  "You really haven't had much interaction with the opposite sex, have you?" I ask.

  It's a personal question, and it's against the rules. The flush on Emma's cheeks darkens. I can't help but smile.

  "Are you making fun of me?" she asks. I see the hurt in her eyes, and I pat her leg gently.

  "Never, Em. I like joking around, and I tend to make dark situations lighter than I should, but I don't make fun of anything someone else has no control of, and I hate innuendos."

  Her eyes find the Acropolis, her gaze roaming the stone building with unease.

  "I'm afraid of you," she says suddenly.

  This startles me, and I stare up at her. Her eyes meet mine, and I see the candid honesty in her gaze.

  "I'm scared of what you represent," she continues. "I'm scared because I know what I am, and I know you are guarding something you hate.

  I'm at a loss for words, and I struggle to find something to say that won't ruin the tenuous bond a Guardian is supposed to have with his mark. She isn't entirely human. This makes the bond even harder to create.

  "I don't hate you," I say carefully.