Acropolis

by Ryals, R. K.

  His reference to Emma makes my blood boil. Luther knows Emma's mother personally. This I am sure of. Luther is ancient. He has been around almost as long as his older brother, Marcas. He knows what Emma is capable of. I know what Emma is capable of.

  "You are as bad as the rest of them," I accuse.

  Luther laughs.

  "I've never pretended to be anything other than what I am, Reinhardt. You, on the other hand, you don't know what you are.

  "I know exactly what I am," I argue.

  Luther pushes away from the wall and circles me.

  "Do you?" he asks. "You, gargoyle, are a liar. From the moment I met you, I've known you were confused. The lines between good and evil are blurry. Anyone worth his grain of salt knows that. If you were so sure the hybrids are all bad, then why let your best friend leave with my brother?"

  My heart is beating now. The rhythm is hard, angry.

  "It was her choice."

  "And you did it out of love, right? Keep telling yourself that, Reinhardt."

  Luther has gone too far. I feel myself changing, my hand turning to stone as I lift it. I know my eyes are cold, calculating.

  "Is it me you want to hurt? Or is it yourself? You don't love Dayton. You care about her, and you love her the way you would family, but you don't love her," Luther says as he looks at my hand.

  I am in Luther's face now, my fists clenched, but they are at my sides and heavy.

  "You don't know me, Craig."

  Luther watches me, his eyes unblinking.

  "I know you more than you think I do. I know you better than your own people do. You can play the hero, Reinhardt, because you are one. You know as well as I that when the battle between Heaven and Hell happens, some of us won't be on the sides we're supposed to be on. And you, Conor, are not made to be the gargoyle they want you to be. Your past speaks for itself."

  I stare at him, my eyes searching his red pupils.

  "What are you referring to, Craig?"

  Luther glances at the charred stone floor a few feet away. It's the mark left behind by Emma.

  "You won't marry Rachel. You don't love Dayton. You were in love with the idea of protecting her," Luther says. "And you can't lose yourself in women. I know. I've tried in the past. I've had centuries to try. And you've been with a Demon, Reinhardt. You tell me who crossed the line."

  Luther has connections in the Demon world. This has been obvious to me since the day the two of us met. He knows everything and what he doesn't know, he finds out.

  "I wasn't aware of what she was when I met her," I say firmly.

  Luther shakes his head.

  "Don't tell me you didn't suspect. Lyre is powerful. Hot headed and jealous and powerful."

  I back away from Luther, my gaze still on the charred stone.

  "I didn't suspect. I was sixteen and stupid. People make mistakes."

  "And Lyre is her mother's daughter. She entices men. I can see that. Once again, lines between good and evil are blurred. And what did you do when you found out? You brought Lyre here. You attempt to save her despite knowing she was with her mother too long. And now she sees you guarding Emma. Emma, who is potentially more powerful than every Demon in this school. I know you volunteered to be Emma's Guardian. Why is that, Reinhardt?"

  I don't have an answer for him, and he knows it.

  "You volunteered because you see something in her," Luther says confidently. "Beneath the plain facade, beneath the assumed fear, she is brave, she is loyal, she is practical, and she's strong. She doesn't need saving."

  "I don't know her," I say, my voice low.

  "No," Luther agrees. "But she's the kind of girl you could fall in love with when or if you do get to know her. And she's a Demon. The lines are blurred, Reinhardt. The lines are blurred."

  "The lines are black and white and perfectly clear."

  I turn to walk away, my back to Luther as I reach the door.

  "Then tell me this, Reinhardt. When they sign the extermination order, will you be able to take her out?"

  "They won't do that."

  Luther snorts.

  "I could take her with me. Return her to her mother."

  I turn and pin him with a gaze full of murder.

  "You won't take her anywhere."

  Luther raises his brow.

  "Possessive, are we? No worries. She isn't my type."

  I walk out the door. My meeting with Luther is finished.

  "What? You're not interested in my type, Reinhardt?"

  I keep walking.

  "Just so you know, I've developed a taste for witches."

  My steps never falter.

  Chapter 22

  Emma

  I feel like a horrible person. No matter how many times I try to tell myself I hadn't enjoyed the idea of killing Lyre, the simple truth is, I had enjoyed it.

  "I wouldn't beat yourself up," a steady male voice says, and I look over at Will Reinhardt sullenly.

  It has been hours since the training session, the evening meal has come and gone, and I am sitting in a sectioned off space in an old stable. Beyond an open door is a large room full of bunk beds. Top bunks are for Guardians, the bottoms are for the hybrids they are assigned to protect. I have been placed alone in a room that contains only one bunk bed, a small table with a single drawer, and a straight back wooden chair. There is a thick wooden door separating me from the rest of the hybrids. For now, it stands open, and I feel the wariness emanating from the room beyond. I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I think my actions in training have delegated me to some sort of weird solitary confinement.

  "I'm trying not to care," I say honestly.

  I'm sitting down on the wooden chair, and I'm facing the outer room. Curious gazes glance in occasionally, but the other hybrids mostly avoid me with the exception of Deidra who is even now sitting cross legged on the top bunk. She's eating a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips.

  "They are so not worth it," Deidra says hotly, her small hands gesturing derisively at the door.

  Will is leaning against the wall near the room's exit, and he shoves away from it, his face sympathetic as he moves to my side. He crouches next to me. This close, the resemblance between him and Conor is kind of scary. Will shares the same dark blond hair as his cousin, the same startling blue eyes, and the same boyish charm. But there's something younger about Will, and it's not just his age. At seventeen, only a year separates the two boys, but Conor seems more . . . used. It's such an awful word. Maybe jaded is better.

  "Being a Demon doesn't mean you're evil," Will says softly.

  Deidra snorts.

  "You're too tolerant, Will Reinhardt."

  Will looks up at the imp, his eyes hard.

  "And you're too pessimistic for your age."

  Deidra shrugs. She crinkles the empty bag of chips and throws it easily into a metal wastebasket across the room before grabbing the low railing on the side of the bed, using it to flip onto the floor below. In normal society, she would have made an amazing gymnast.

  "You hang around here long enough, you get that way," she says as she peers out the door."But you, Emma Chase, were magnificent today!"

  Deidra is beaming when I look up into her face. She's too young to crave revenge but that's the emotion I feel coming from her, and I don't want to encourage it.

  "How is it that everyone I meet here already knows my name?" I ask, changing the subject. It's a reasonable question, and the first thing that comes to mind. Will grins.

  "Hon, that's just the way things work here. It's uncanny isn't it? When I was inducted into the Inner Circle, there wasn't a single dead-blasted person who didn't already know who I was."

  Deidre rolls her eyes.

  "You're a Reinhardt."

  I ignore her. Will's answer has made me curious.

  "The Inner Circle?"

  Will looks at the door, his face hesitant. For a moment, I don't think he'll answer, and then he nods.

  "The Inner Circle is a group of
gargoyles who have come into their powers and are trained enough to enter service. Most begin as escorts. This is a transport job. Rarely does one enter as a Guardian."

  Deidra has moved away from the door.

  "Finally! Interesting convo! Tell us about Conor."

  Will's eyes narrow. "What?"

  I can feel Deidra's excitement, and it makes my heart beat faster.

  "She's got a crush," I say with a grin.

  Deidra scrunches her face, crossing her arms defensively.

  "And what if I do?"

  The corner of Will's mouth lifts, the humor in his eyes obvious.

  "You wouldn't be the first, Imp, but I'm not talking about Conor. I don't gossip about family."

  An image flashes through my mind, and I find myself staring at Will's fist.

  "What did he do to your hand?" I ask.

  Will's confusion is obvious until he follows my gaze. He flexes his fingers, his eyes finding mine.

  "You can see that?"

  I nod. He flexes his hand again, and I know he is torn between the need to defend his cousin and to keep his mouth shut.

  "Conor came into his powers earlier than usual. He was sixteen when he presented with signs of the change. His affinity with water especially, and his ability to climb anything. And then . . ." Will lifts his hand. "And then, when he turned seventeen, the two of us got into a pretty nasty fight. It was stupid really. I don't even remember what it was about. A girl, maybe? I don't know, but I-I went to punch him."

  Deidra is practically hanging from Will's shoulder now. Her eyes are bright.

  "And then what?" she asks.

  "And then I turned to stone, and the bones in his hand shattered," a voice says, and we all look up quickly, our faces red.

  Conor Reinhardt leans casually against the open door frame, an eyebrow raised. My chest feels funny, but I ignore it. I keep seeing Will's fist in my hand, the bones like powder. It is healed. In my head, I see this, but there is metal in Will's hand now too.

  "It didn't mend properly," I say.

  Conor's gaze moves to my face.

  "No," he says, "Will didn't have enough healing ability in his body yet."

  Will looks at me.

  "How did you know that?"

  I shrug. I don't know how I know anything anymore.

  "Deidra," Conor says softly, his eyes still on me. "Marion will be looking for you. Lights out in twenty minutes."

  Deidra nods, her gaze moving between us.

  "Okay . . . see you tomorrow, Emma?"

  I look up at her and grin. She sounds so hopeful, I can't help but feel warm. She's young, she's a little annoying, but she was an instant friend when I needed one. I wink and nod. She smiles, her teeth flashing before skipping out of the room. Conor nods his head at Will.

  "Go with her. Make sure no one hurts her," Conor orders.

  Will stands, pats my leg once, and is gone. Silence hangs between us. I'm not sure how long we stand there before I notice the room beyond getting quiet, people climbing into their bunks. With no windows, I'm not sure how late it is, but I'm assuming it's time for bed.

  "Did you get a chance to shower?" Conor asks.

  I nod once. Will had taken me to a bathroom in one of the cottages after dinner, standing outside while I showered and changed. I'm wearing Conor's pajamas again, now freshly laundered. There's a clean red t-shirt and a new pair of jeans folded on a small table against the wall.

  Conor points at the bed, and I move to the lower bunk. It has only one pillow and a simple threadbare, grey comforter. I hate grey.

  "You'll be kept here until they can trust your powers," Conor says as he steps further into the room, reaching behind me to pull the door closed.

  I am suddenly in an alternate universe where they let eighteen-year-old boys sleep unchaperoned in the same room with seventeen-year-old girls. One look at Conor and most girls would be thrilled by this sudden turn of events. I am just plain terrified.

  "Shouldn't we keep the door open?" I ask.

  Somehow, I manage to keep my voice from shaking, and I consider this a triumph.

  Conor looks down at me.

  "Are you afraid of being alone with me, Emma?"

  I shake my head, probably more vigorously than the moment warrants.

  "N-no, but . . ."

  "We don't run the same way a normal society runs, Em. You've proven dangerous. I'm your Guardian, and I am sworn into a very specific code of conduct that says it is illegal for me to touch you," Conor says before climbing onto the top bunk. I notice he keeps his shirt on.

  "Oh," I mumble before sliding down under the covers.

  I stare up at the bunk above my head. A few minutes later, the lights go out. I assume they run on a universal switch. The room is pitch black. I feel my heart rate pick up. I'm afraid of the dark. Or I thought I was.

  The energy running through me feels different now. I wonder suddenly if all the fears I'd once felt had been fears I'd picked up from others. The feeling I feel now is contentment, safety. The dark seems to be calling to me. I sit up.

  "Em?" Conor says. I hear him shift in the bed above.

  "I wonder if they know the door doesn't help," I ask, my eyes staring into the blackness surrounding me. I'm feeling calm, disturbed, uneasy. It's too many emotions at once.

  "What do you mean?" Conor asks.

  I sigh.

  "I can still feel their emotions."

  The scene in the hallway with Lyre earlier has done something to me. It's as if a dam has burst open, and there is no bridge between my emotions and others. They all collide.

  "You've always felt them," Conor says gently.

  I shake my head even though I know he can't see me. "No."

  Conor climbs off the bed. How he sees is beyond me.

  "Yes, you have. The world is full of fears. You have always been surrounded by them. Think about it, Em. You were dying. You were in hospitals. People in hospitals are afraid. You picked up on that. And now that you're not around that, you're becoming more aware of what emotions are yours and what aren't. Most Demons fear nothing."

  I am angry, and I wonder if it's my own emotion.

  "This is ridiculous," I say.

  I hear a catch in my voice, and I hate it. The bed dips, and I feel Conor climb in next to me. I'm cross legged now, my back against the wall, and I feel his arm touch mine.

  "All of this has happened too fast to process, and you haven't asked any questions."

  "I have them now."

  Conor inhales deeply.

  "Then ask them."

  I turn my face toward the sound of his voice.

  "Why does everyone know my name?"

  Conor barely pauses to exhale.

  "Gargoyles work as a group. Every family is plugged into a network depending on status. As soon as you were selected for Extraction, your name went through the ranks. Your medical and personal records were given to those who would have the most contact with you."

  "And how did they get those?"

  Conor is silent a moment.

  "You've been in the system for a long time, Em. Most hybrids aren't discovered until they are older. We've known you were a Demon since you were born. A gargoyle by the name of Delilah Simpson found you. Your mother was with a human man in the Northwestern United States. I don't know his name. Delilah probably does. There was a Demon attack in the town your father lived in. More than likely, Satan became aware that Enepsigos had a child."

  "And why does Satan care?" I ask.

  This conversation is surreal, but I go with the flow. I'm getting answers. That has to be enough.

  "That's a hard one. You are the daughter of Enepsigos. He may have been after you for power, or he may just want you dead. Hybrids are becoming a problem in Hell. In Heaven, Angels are forbidden to lay with mortal women. If they break this rule, they become fallen or exiled. The same rules don't apply in Hell. And the hybrids are beginning to outnumber the full blooded Demons."

  I don't say
anything for a while. I just stare. It's funny how if there is no light, the eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. I can make out vague shapes now. Each time I blink, my eyes have to readjust.

  "Is Satan worried about an uprising?" I finally ask.

  Conor moves closer, his arm fully against mine. I'm not sure he's aware of the movement, but I find myself hoping he doesn't move away.

  "Possibly. It would help our cause if there were an uprising. But, for now, we are more worried about a war between Heaven and Hell on Earth. It would put humans in the crossfire. Gargoyles are here to protect mankind. If there is a way to minimize the chance of war, we'll take it. If that means training hybrid Demons to fight against their own kind, we are not above it."

  His voice is low. He rocks his leg, and I feel it bumping into my knee. I don't think he's nervous, I think he's restless.

  "It might help if you try liking us," I say suddenly. Conor pauses.

  "Liking who?"

  "Hybrids," I answer. "I wonder if the animosity at this school is as much the Demons' fault as it is the gargoyles. You already have us judged. Am I the only hybrid who can feed off emotion? Do you ever wonder if the anger is channeled?"

  Conor doesn't answer right away. When he does, he is facing me. I can feel his breath on my face.

  "I honestly don't know."

  He sounds tired. I like the charming Conor better. The one who seems to have it all figured out. I'm too close to him, but the dark makes me brave, and I don't move away.

  "We have to quit meeting like this," I say lightly. "You know, nighttime, intense mood."

  Conor chuckles.

  "She's suddenly got a sense of humor, our Emma Chase."

  I smile, and it feels good. I feel different, stronger. I am suddenly glad the gargoyles found me. For the first time, I feel like I am living. And I'm not afraid. Even knowing I face death here, even knowing there are a million challenges ahead I'm probably still not aware of, I am living. I can discover who I am. I am not death anymore.

  There is a rustling sound in the darkness, and I feel something slip into my hand. It's a piece of foil wrapped gum.

  "It's not mint ice cream, but it'll have to do."

  I grin as I unwrap it. It's spearmint.