Acropolis

by Ryals, R. K.

  She smiles sadly.

  "You hate what I am. It's the same thing."

  "I don't . . ." I begin, but she is watching me closely now, and she leans forward unexpectedly.

  "What did they take from you?" she asks.

  She doesn't have to elaborate on who "they" are. It's why I fear her. I don't like sharing how I feel about anything. I hide behind charm and wit. I hide behind lighthearted small talk. I start to lie, but then I realize she'll know I'm not being truthful.

  "Demons killed my father."

  It is all I say, but it's enough. I see the compassion in her gaze, and I hate her for it. She feels the hate, and her brows furrow. I see her lips part, and I stop her.

  "Don't, Em."

  She looks away again.

  "What are the training sessions," she asks instead, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  "You'll meet with hybrid Demons, others of your kind who have been trained to teach you how to manage and use your powers. Sometimes, you'll be pitted against another student to test your violent tendencies. Violent cases are sent away."

  Emma nods, her eyes still on the school.

  "The violent are killed," she says matter-of-factly. I don't disagree.

  "Most of the time, yes."

  She shudders, her hand lowering, my blood-splattered white shirt sitting in her palm.

  "Who is Pleiades?" she asks.

  It's a wise question. Emma is as logical as she is perceptive.

  "Pleiades is a Demon made up of seven women bound together. Each bound woman represents a human weakness: jealousy, deception, strife, power, battle , error . . . she's an awful Demon. Very multifaceted."

  "And Lyre?" Emma asks. I know what she's asking, and I sigh.

  "Lyre has shown an aptitude for battle and deception. Today, she proved she has also inherited her mother's tendency toward jealousy and power."

  "And my mother?" Emma insists. Her voice shakes, and I know she fears my answer.

  "Enepsigos is considered friendly, but she is powerful. Your mother is incredibly old. If she has had children before, we haven't discovered them. You are beginning to present with powers similar to hers. You already know she has visions of the future. She can also read emotion, feed from it. We won't know what else you've inherited until you learn to tap into your powers.

  Emma is quiet then. I'm not sure she really knows how to have a conversation that isn't based solely on what she needs to know. Being around her is like being slapped with reality. In retrospect, I think it's why I chose to be her Guardian. I refuse to believe it's for any other reason. She looks defeated.

  "You don't need to fear being exterminated," I say.

  Emma looks at me then, her expression even.

  "I don't fear death," she says. Her voice is calm, and her admission surprises me.

  "Everyone is afraid of death."

  Emma laughs. It's the first time I've heard her amused, and it sends tingles down my spine. The smile, the flash of teeth, the humor in her eyes transforms her. Again, I admire a beauty that isn't always noticeable. Her beauty is subtle.

  "I really don't fear death. It's one fear I've never had. I have been dying for six years. I've had a long time to make peace with death. And now . . . I'm living. And I think, if I'm being completely honest, I'm afraid of not dying."

  I watch her face so close to mine, and I feel my heart rate pick up slightly.

  "You're afraid of living?" I ask. I'm having a hard time understanding why getting a second chance at life scares her. Emma shakes her head.

  "I'm not afraid of living. I'm afraid of what I might become given enough time."

  I tell myself the catch in my throat isn't me beginning to like her. I don't need the complication.

  "I'm afraid of letting down the woman who raised me," Emma adds.

  I can tell she wants to cry, but she swallows hard, and I watch as she forces the tears away. No crying for Emma. Her bloody tears will mark her as weak. It's the quickest way to die in the Acropolis.

  "You'll need to learn to hide your fears, to use them rather than let them rule you," I say. I ignore her moment of weakness, and she looks at me with gratitude.

  "I'll learn," she promises.

  And I know she will. I know she will because she has to. And Emma is pragmatic. She does what she has to. It's the sign of a good leader, a protector. Being practical is what makes our best gargoyles great. This is why I chose Emma. Because beneath the fear, beneath the uncertainty, beneath her Demonic behavior is the heart of a hero. And because of who her mother is, she has a hell of a lot more to prove. To herself and to the Acropolis. She is what the Acropolis was built for. If we fail her, then the school is a failure.

  Emma jumps down suddenly, using her hand to shove my shirt into my palm. Her amber eyes are bright.

  "You think you know me," she says.

  She is reading the emotions rolling off of me. There is respect there, but there is also doubt. I don't doubt her. I doubt her lineage. I doubt the ability of a Demon to be more than evil. But what she doesn't know, what I have successfully hidden from her is that I want her to prove me wrong.

  "You don't know me," she insists. And she's right. I don't. We've had this conversation before. Maybe it's because saying something over and over makes one believe it. Maybe it's because neither one of us wants to admit we know the other more than we want to. Because in the end, Demon or no, we are a lot alike. Because in the end, both of us need to prove something to ourselves. Because in the end, failure isn't an option. I nod at the school.

  "Training begins now."

  She nods. The fear is in her eyes, but she follows me toward the building while counting under her breath. Bravery is being afraid of something and facing it anyway. Emma is brave.

  Chapter 20

  Emma

  The training room is an empty bedroom on the second floor of the chateau. It has stone floors and stone walls that are marred with scorch marks. We enter it slowly, and I try my best not to hide behind Conor. I know from the mind-blowing experience from the first floor that Demons feed off weakness. I had touched too many minds today.

  "Oh hell," Conor murmurs as a tall, black-haired man with green eyes and sharp cheek bones approaches us from across the room. He is in a solid black tee and jeans, his eyes full of laughter as he nears the door.

  "Lose a shirt?" he asks with a grin. He flicks a wrist and a black t-shirt materializes in the air. Conor grabs it and pulls it over his head. If he is shocked by the magic that produces it, it isn't obvious.

  "Luther," Conor says quietly.

  The room is quiet, all eyes on the door. Luther cocks a brow.

  "Reinhardt. I see you left Italy."

  Conor stands, his arms folded across his chest. He is shorter than Luther but not by much.

  "For now," Conor says, his eyes cold. "And you? What brings you to the Acropolis?"

  Luther's eyes move then, his gaze landing on me. It travels from the bottom of my borrowed boy's jeans to the cropped black tee. I fight the flush I feel developing.

  "Curiosity," Luther says, his eyes narrowing as they meet my gaze.

  I am suddenly weak, my body heavy as I feel the crush of his gaze. I see things in those eyes I never want to see again. Death. Blood. A lot of blood. He is feeding off a human. He isn't a gargoyle. He's a Demon, but a strange Demon that thirsts for blood. I gasp before I realize the sound has slipped out.

  "Emma," Luther says, his eyes full of something dark. It frightens me. Conor steps between us.

  "Haven't you heard? Curiosity kills," Conor breathes. His back is rigid. Luther laughs.

  "Calm down, gargoyle. I'm not here to harm anyone. I'm here to train your little half-mortal projects."

  I hear the hiss Conor's breath makes when he exhales.

  "You?"

  "The one and only," Luther says lightly. He lowers his voice. "I was informed there would be a student who could use my expertise."

  Luther backs away, his hand gestur
ing to the line of students and Guardians against the wall.

  "Please, join us. Better late than never."

  Conor is wary now. He hides it well, but I feel it. It makes me cautious as Conor joins the Guardians and nods at an opposite wall. The hybrids. Deidra is among them, her small body lost in the mass of larger, more powerful Demons. She grins at me, and I move toward her. She is trying to hide her fear, but I feel it on her. I know her weakness is obvious to the others. She is a target.

  "You okay?" she asks me as I lean against the wall next to her.

  Lyre is sneering a few feet away so I nod. Deidra gestures at Conor who is watching Luther as if he is prey.

  "There's history there," Deidra says.

  "I noticed," I answer.

  "Rumor says Mr. Craig is the brother of the Demon who stole away Conor's last mark."

  I assume Mr. Craig is Luther, and I watch him closely. He keeps throwing glances in Conor's direction, and I know it's only a matter of time before they come to a head. Something passes between them and Conor nods. From the emotions I feel coming from Conor, I know they are going to meet. I am curious about Conor's secrets. More curious than I should be, and I look away because I know I shouldn't care.

  "I'm going to be blunt. I'm a Demon, and I don't consider myself a good one," Luther says suddenly.

  The class grows quiet. I think I hear a snort, and I'm pretty sure it's Conor. Luther walks in front of us. His eyes meet mine briefly, and then moves away.

  "All of you are Demons. And, despite the belief of many, I don't really believe any of you are worth saving. You want to prove me wrong, now might be a good time."

  Lyre pushes away from the wall.

  "You admit you're bad. What gives you the right to live?"

  Luther grins, his eyes cold. He targets Lyre, his hand lifting just enough we all know he's going to attack. She doesn't move fast enough, and I see her eyes go round. She's struggling to breathe. Her Guardian steps forward, but Conor takes him by the arm and shakes his head. Lyre suddenly drops to the floor, gasping.

  "Just so you know, Hellion, interrupting me is not the way to convince me you should live."

  He looks around the room. No one says a word. I pity Lyre, but I don't move. Something tells me pity is a weakness.

  "I'm not the one here to prove myself. You, Kiddos, don't have a choice. The world is changing, and you are caught in the crossfire. You want to live, join the rat race. I'm not here to promote goodness because I play for the wrong team, and I'm okay with that. I'm here to show you how to access your powers, how to make the most of them. What you do with them after that is up to you. I'm a hybrid, but I'm a powerful one. There will be no territorial battles with me. You won't win. Understand?"

  We all nod. The Guardians are silent, their eyes full of hatred. For some reason, Luther has been given sanctuary in order to teach us, and they are not happy about it.

  I was informed there would be a student who could use my expertise. The thought makes me shiver, and I fight to hide it.

  "Emma!" Luther shouts, and I jump.

  There are snickers as Luther points to the middle of the room. I walk to the spot he indicates. I don't ask him how he knows my name. I have come to accept that these people all know who I am. I just obey. Luther points at Lyre.

  "Come," he orders.

  Lyre's pride is wounded, and she looks up expectantly. She's ready for a fight, and she's hoping Luther will give her one. I see Conor step forward out of the corner of my eye, but he doesn't interfere.

  "She's not ready to fight," a small voice says pleadingly.

  I look over my shoulder and see Deidra's small frame against the wall. She's too young to be in this class. Why she's here is not obvious to me, but she must be more powerful than I'm giving her credit for.

  Luther turns to the imp. Deidra backs into the corner, and Luther shakes his head before facing Lyre and me. His gaze lands on Lyre, and he waves his hand in my direction.

  "Attack her," he says simply.

  My heart plummets to my feet, my body suddenly numb. She is going to kill me. I can feel her hatred, her need to be the best. I can feel her murderous intent.

  "She's not ready."

  This time the voice belongs to one of the gargoyles, and I turn to see Will Reinhardt standing in the open doorway. Luther stares at him.

  "Are you a Guardian, Kid?"

  Will swallows hard.

  "No, I'm in training. They sent me to watch."

  Luther raises a brow.

  "Then watch and leave your mouth shut."

  Conor has moved across the room to his cousin. His jaw is tight. He knows the rules even if Will doesn't, and it seems the rules include watching me get killed. I tell myself I don't care. I'm not afraid of death.

  "Attack her," Luther repeats, his voice louder.

  Lyre grins, her face transformed by fury as she lunges. When she hits me, I barely feel it. There isn't enough time to feel pain. Oddly, I just keep thinking how hard everything is at the Acropolis. Everything is stone. Cold and hard.

  My head slams into a wall, and I feel the wound on my head reopen. Emotions suddenly flow into me. It is immediately obvious they aren't mine. There's excitement and expectation. I'm supposed to get up. I don't want to. It gives Lyre the chance to attack again, but somehow I move up the wall, my back against the stone.

  A red ball of flame similar to the one I had thrown at Conor's mom and Rachel flies at me, but I don't deflect it, and I don't duck. It hits me in my middle, and I am suddenly in pain. I am burning from the inside out. I think I am screaming, but I'm not sure. Wait, no . . . I don't have enough breath to scream. I can't breathe at all. It's Deidra I hear.

  "Enough!" I hear Will shout from the wall of Guardians.

  No one else utters a word. One emotion rips through me stronger than the others, and I know it's Conor. Get up! I crawl back up the wall.

  "Attack," Luther commands.

  He's marching on the side of the room, his eyes red. He's watching me, but his words are for Lyre. She holds her hands up, and I know suddenly this will be a death blow. I can feel the anger in the ball of flame that forms. I can feel the hatred. I can feel the violence. I can feel the jealousy.

  She throws her hand forward, and the flame is moving toward me, her wall of anger slamming into me before the fire ball, and I feel it course through my body, entering my veins, and singing through my blood. I don't see anything now. There is only a red haze. Hatred. I feel it, and my body tells me to revel in it. I grasp it because it is the only emotion available, and I am suddenly standing, my hands out. The room is deathly silent. And when I look down, I am holding flame.

  Lyre's face has gone pale. There are murmurs. I hear the word "impossible", and I know the power I'm holding isn't mine. It's Lyre's, and it wants release. It wants someone to die. I lift my hands, my face hard. I am confused, my body singing. If there was pain before, it is gone, replaced by the feel of power. I can kill her. I know this, and I want it. I step forward, my hand lifting.

  Suddenly, a hand is wrapped around my wrist. I don't see Conor through the red haze, but I feel him.

  "Throw it down, Emma. A Demon's own power destroys him. Lyre's power will kill her. You are not a killer. Throw it down."

  My eyes are wide as I stare down at his hand, at the flames jumping just beyond his tanned fingers. The heat bothers him, and his hand transforms, turning to stone.

  "Throw it down, Em."

  I look up, my eyes meeting Lyre's. I don't know what she sees in my gaze, but she whimpers. I am suddenly engulfed in her fear. At first, it feeds the hatred. It feels good, but then it hurts. It makes my stomach turn, tears spring to the corners of my eyes. Fear I understand. Fear is something the human Emma pities, loathes.

  I close my eyes. The fire is beginning to burn me now, and Conor's hand lets go. I turn my wrist, throwing the flame into the stone floor. The force of it throws me into Conor. He catches me by the shoulders, and then he's gone.


  I am left standing facing Lyre, Luther, and a room full of astonished Demons and Guardians. Luther claps his hands once and motions Lyre back to the wall. I barely have time to breathe before he points at Deidra. The imp is shaking now.

  "Come!" he shouts.

  She slinks to the middle of the room. I still haven't moved, and he hasn't told me to. Instead, Luther looks at me, his onyx eyes finding mine.

  "Attack," he tells me.

  I just stare as the room swells with emotion again. Astonishment and excitement. And then there are images. I see glimpses of Deidra playing pranks on the other Demons, her laugh light and merry as she waits to see their reaction. Her acts aren't malicious, but she is young, and they are not amused by her games. I feel her disappointment, and then I feel her fear as other students attack her. She is strong despite her size, and she gives a good fight.

  "Attack!" Luther shouts.

  I look into Deidra's eyes, and I don't move.

  "No," I say. My eyes move to Luther's. "No!"

  The word is strong, loud. Luther's mouth twitches, the corners lifting just slightly.

  "Now you," he says as he narrows his eyes. "You might be worth saving."

  Chapter 21

  Conor

  "What the hell was that?"

  Luther is leaning casually against the wall across from me, his black boot tapping lightly against the ancient pize flooring. The students have all left. Will is guarding Emma. She is being moved to the residence hall in the renovated barn. We all sleep there in a group. It is supposed to encourage comradeship among the ranks, but it only seems to cause animosity.

  "This is a prison, you know," Luther says while gesturing at the room. I narrow my eyes.

  "What else are we supposed to do with them?" I ask.

  Luther shrugs.

  "Kill them. Let our side have them," he suggests.

  I'm unable to keep the disgust off my face.

  "So that Satan can use them against mankind?"

  Luther leans forward, his eyes glowing red.

  "Being bad isn't all bad, Reinhardt. You should try it. Our girl was pretty hot today wasn't she?"