Scales: Book 1 of the Fate and Fire Series

by Amity Green

  “Sure did.” He turned at his desk to dig into the attached, side file cabinet. “Not to worry, Tessa.” He slid a blue passport across the desk toward me with a grin.

  I snatched it and inspected the first two pages. There was a photo of me on one page and the other held my vital info. “How did you do this? I couldn’t find my birth certificate.” I pursed my lips. Admitting to snooping through my files in front of a faculty member wasn’t one of my brainier moves. Nice.

  “Let’s not question the good things when they come along, shall we?” He winked.

  “We shan’t.” I beamed at him.

  “We leave a week from Sunday. Your scholarship has been approved.” He pushed a green folder toward me.

  “That was like, lightning speed.” I perused the few signed forms inside the file.

  “I’ve got a source,” he teased.

  I stacked my passport neatly on top of the folder and stood to leave, an incredible sense of relief gracing me. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome, young lady.” He leaned back in his chair. “Keep that somewhere safe so it doesn’t get lost.”

  “I won’t lose it.” There was no way. I was like Charlie and my passport was my Golden Ticket to the Chocolate Factory. A tempting urge baited me to sprint through the halls hooting at the top of my lungs, with the little blue book held high above my head as I ran.

  We said quick goodbyes and I’d gone back to my dorm room to stash my passport safely away in my underwear drawer after enclosing the photo of my brother and me inside the little blue folder. That was one of the happiest days of my life, and it was all because Professor Douglas went the extra mile to make sure an orphan got to go to London. That made him one of a kind in my book.

  A light knock sounded at my door, jolting me from my memories. I really hoped it was Peter, not Ezra. I pulled it open.

  “Come on in,” I said, relieved. I closed the door after Peter entered. “Look at you, all … gargoyle-ly.”

  “I just wanted to see how you fared against the transformation.”

  “It was quick,” I walked to the mirror, checking for any remnants of the viscous fluid that remained from the change. “It seemed to dry faster this time, and the burning feeling wasn’t as intense as last night.” I gestured down at the stained skirt and camisole I’d worn the night before. “I put these on just in case, and I’m glad I did.” I pulled at the skirt, attempting to get it to hang straight across the span of my thighs. I’d given up on the thin, satin cami and it rested uneventfully against my plated chest. My body was slender and sinewy, but bulging and muscular in places like my thighs and shoulders, very reptilian in nature. I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “I kind of hate this.” My voice cracked. “I can’t help feeling that any second, I’m going to just, like, wake up.”

  His expression was a mixture of understanding, remembrance and a new look, one that hinted that it was time to quit whining. I didn’t know if I was ready for that from Peter.

  “You need to switch focus. Get out of the bookstore. You shouldn’t continue to stare in the looking glass. It’s not going to stop.”

  “We can’t leave the bookstore, Peter. At least, I can’t. Ezra would lay a golden egg or something.” I dropped onto the bed, causing the frame under the mattress to squeak in protest. “Sweet of you to offer though.”

  “Were you planning to tell him?” He didn’t wait for me to answer, just pulled me up by an arm and tugged me toward the door.

  “Peter, I—”

  “Quiet.”

  I did my best to walk in silence and keep up, concentrating on keeping my wings tucked in. The dark hallways reminded me of being lost, the vastness of the store seeming endless again. We made our way up a long staircase that led to the store’s rooftop. I sucked in an amazed breath as I stepped into a bath of silver moonlight in the clear chill of the night. Shingled rooftops reflected dark metal hues below our perch atop the monstrous Librorum Taberna, which confirmed the misleading look of the modestly small storefront. Clearly, the building that housed the bookstore was enormous beyond the façade on Cecil Court. I spun, taking in the full beauty of the London night. It seemed like forever since I’d been outside in fresh air.

  “Thank you, Peter.” I gazed at the sleepy city I loved, and stepped to the ledge to get a better view, hunching down. My wings furled together at my shoulders and it was such a bizarre feeling, I shuddered. Peter squatted next to me, naturally gothic in his pose.

  “We aren’t there yet,” he said, taking my clawed hand in his. He pulled me to standing beside him. “You have to be silent when we do this, yes?”

  “Do what?” I looked down. Surely he didn’t want to jump off the roof or something crazy. I’d had enough crazy to last me a lifetime.

  “I thought we could go for a little flight over the city. I mean, unless you’re scared or something,” he teased.

  I looked from the street below to Peter’s face, testing him for sincerity. “You’re messing with me.”

  “I would never.” He winked.

  I jerked slightly as a series of gentle pops sounded behind me. Peter unfurled his wings to an impressive span along the length of the rooftop.

  “What do you think these are for?” He shot me a look that said, “Get on the boat kid.”

  “I don’t know, balance?” I said, trying to step back from the ledge.

  “Scared?” His grin had an evil twist. “But that’s expected. I mean you are a girl, after all. Wouldn’t want to break a nail or muss up your hair.”

  I rolled my eyes, successfully prodded. I’d never been afraid of much, and painted nails had nothing to do with it, but he was right. I was scared.

  He launched with silent grace from where we stood, staying level with the rooftop, gliding in a slow arc atop the crisp, night air. I watched with amazement. He flew close and pumped his wings to gain altitude above me, sending two bursts of cool air to buffet my hair. I spun around as he landed lightly on the roof. My mouth hung open a bit. I clapped it shut with a sharp snap of my teeth.

  “Ready?” He strode toward me.

  “I don’t know if I can. I mean, I can’t even swim,” I admitted, sending Peter into a brief bout of laughter.

  “Where’s the water?” he managed. He snorted, fighting the urge to burst out laughing again. “You’re something else.”

  “I mean, I don’t float,” I snapped. “I really don’t see what’s so freaking funny here.”

  He cleared his throat. “It has nothing to do with floating. But let’s go anyway.” He held out a claw. “There’s no room to be timid when you’re a gargoyle.” The carefully chosen words called me out.

  I looked from his waiting talons to his face, unsure if I was a fan of Peter’s personal brand of tough love. I’d never been one to look for an excuse to back down, but that didn’t mean I had become one to trust easily either. “Promise not to let go?”

  “Promise,” he stated. “Unless you tell me to.”

  Peter’s human face flashed through my mind with his voice. “Deal.” I latched onto his claw and he led me to the ledge. He took two paces back. I followed suit without questioning the actions, determined to overcome fear.

  “Best to get a bit of a run at first, so we’ll take two running steps then jump on three,” he nodded for emphasis.

  “Let’s just do this thingy before I change my mind, okay?” My voice shook. I put a foot down on my tail to keep it from twitching.

  “Deal.” He squeezed my claw. “Look out there.” He motioned to the open air beside the rooftop.

  “Okay.” This is nuts, nuts, nuts. What if I pee? I glanced to the street below, apologetically looking for pedestrians that may receive an unlikely shower.

  Peter leaned forward, so I did the same, despite the shaking in my legs. He announced the first step with a stern sounding “One.” I matched his pace with my right, then my left foot, and on his count of “Three” I slammed my eyes shut, diving fo
rward. “Crap, oh, crap …,” I said between clenched teeth. Cool air pushed hard at every inch of my body.

  “Pssst,” he hissed. “Open your eyes.”

  I peeked. My feet hung above the lane below, making it eerily small. My stomach lurched as my eyes flew wide. I inhaled with a loud snort for a scream that resounded shrill around us. I fought through the air to grasp at Peter with my other claw and one leg, inadvertently pumping my wings, sending us both spiraling forward.

  “No … oh, bloody hell!” Peter yelled.

  He pulled my head into the crook of his shoulder to protect me as we slammed hard into stone, fracturing the wall of a building adjacent to the bookstore. Shards of limestone shot into the air, peppering the cobblestone sidewalk below. We bounced into a free fall. Peter spun out flat in the air, grasping my flailing form with a large, taloned claw. He caught my arm, dragging me through the air as he pumped his wings, towing me along until I regained a soaring position beside him and quit squawking.

  “So much for quiet.”

  “Sorry,” I yelled. A frantic feeling still owned me and I shook my head to clear the ringing that persisted from our impact. I didn’t feel like I’d been hurt. Our plated, gargoyle forms made us pretty tough. I caught balance on the air, using my tail to maintain a spot next to Peter. “I think I got this,” I yelled.

  “No need to shout,” he said.

  “I think you can let go.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep.” I gave his claw a little squeeze for emphasis.

  Peter released me, dropping back so I was in his line of sight. After a few moments, he pumped his wings hard. He circled silently above me, but remained close to the bookstore.

  I watched Peter as he eclipsed the moon with a wing. Moonglow shone through the membranous film spanning between the boney segments, creating a glittery halo in the sky. His body gleamed dark metallic in the night, majestic on the wind. I pumped my wings once, trembling midflight from the massive lift obtained from the stroke. One more beat against the air sent me back to his side. I smiled over at him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “Tessa?”

  “Yeah?” I said, still a bit too loud. I made breast-stroke motions beside him in the air.

  “I wouldn’t advise running away again.”

  “I don’t know where else I’d go,” I replied after a moment. “I mean, look at this.” I gestured at my scaly body. “I can’t go anywhere. And besides, I feel like I’ve lost … me.” I looked away. That sounded a little lame.

  “Well, I’ve found you.”

  Despite his pushing me to get past dwelling on what I’d lost, his words were a huge help. His carefully chosen statement inspired conflict in me. I yearned for comfort and he had to know it, but I was also being assimilated into his world against my will. I still fought that. Judging from his shift in demeanor, he didn’t like that.

  We soared a bit longer until Peter led me back toward the bookstore, where I impressed myself by not piling up on the rooftop. We rushed down the long staircase where we burst through the door, encountering Ezra on the other side.

  I hunched beside Peter. Judging from Ezra’s state of agitation, he’d been waiting for us to return for some time. He’d probably heard me scream.

  My heart sank when I saw the way Ezra glared at Peter with his colorless, frigid eyes.

  “Go to your room, Tessa.” Ezra didn’t take his eyes from Peter.

  “Did someone see us?” I asked.

  “No,” Peter answered. “The shroud hid us, being that close to the store.”

  “Now, Tessa!” Ezra thundered.

  “Go easy,” Peter growled.

  I gave Peter one, last, resigned glance. He looked stoic, as if he’d dealt with similar outbursts from Ezra many times. Guilt pricked at me. If he was accustomed to Ezra’s temper in the past, that was different. This time, he’d taken me out of my room knowing Ezra would flip out, but he’d done it anyway.

  I paced toward my room. The conversation between the two followed me down the hallway.

  “You’re going to pay for the damage to that building.”

  “Of course, I will. But you can’t expect to keep her locked up inside the store.”

  “Don’t presume to tell me what to expect.”

  “She isn’t a child—”

  “I know that, Peter.”

  “—and neither am I. I rescind my wishes to be treated as such with your damned books.”

  * * *

  Later when I answered the knock, Peter was there, leaning against the wall. I let the door hang open so he could follow me inside.

  “I’m sorry you got in trouble,” I said, walking to my mirror. Adjusting to my new reflection was taking some patience. “And I’ll find a way to help you pay for the damage we caused. I mean, it was my fault we hit the building.”

  “Ezra will be fine. He’s angry about many things that have to do with much more that our venturing out.” He watched me stare myself down in the reflection. “I’ve already given Ezra enough to pay for the damage, along with a note of apology to deliver in the morning.” .He leaned, continuing to watch me. “I think I’ll give up reading until he calms.”

  I picked up my brush and began pulling through knotted, windblown hair. Turned out, flying was hard on the tresses. “I just can’t wait to hear what he says to me,” I replied.

  “I have something for you here,” Peter said. I noticed he didn’t add to my statement about what sort of punishment I might be in for. “It’s not much but I hope you’ll like it.” Something pink rested in his dark claw. It looked completely unnatural to see pastel against armored grey.

  “What, you pay for something I did and then you give me a gift?” I smiled, shaking my head. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know that. I was going to give it to you earlier,” he stated.

  “Okay.”

  He held out a length of shell pink ribbon. “I was just remembering what you said earlier. About losing yourself. You don’t have to give up everything. You’re still you inside.” Circling behind, he stepped over my tail and tied the ribbon around my neck. “You’re beautiful, Tessa,” he said over my shoulder, locking our gazes in the mirror. A dainty letter “T” dangled from the ribbon, glinting silver against my scaly throat.

  Peter let his canine chin rest gently against my shoulder. “Welcome to the world of scales.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled. I also didn’t mean it. A welcome to madness wasn’t something I could accept, even if he was the only reason I hadn’t gone over the deep end. I wanted to hug him but fought the urge easily when I considered what it would feel like to touch another, scaly gargoyle like that. I could barely stand touching my own skin when I was all “garged out”.

  He gave my shoulders a quick squeeze and headed back to the hall.

  Chapter 9

  July 4—Independence Day. NOT!

  I find it amazing how just weeks ago I was ready to stretch my wings and find independence. I had a plan and I was ready to give life an honest-to-goodness attempt.

  Now I really do have wings but no plan.

  Ezra is bipolar. It’s all I got.

  Today’s good news: Peter brought me a meat and cheese pasty and a caramel macchiato from Starbucks. I know he’s trying to cheer me up. And I really am trying to find some happy. Thank goodness I’ve always been fairly resilient.

  I miss Brea.

  * * *

  I spent the next few days giving a weak attempt at settling into my new routine. I’d wake up early, eat some of the food that kept appearing in my room—Thank you, Ezra—wait until I could shower as a human and go downstairs a little before it was time to open the store each day. It seemed even as a gargoyle, I was still chronically early for everything and didn’t need much sleep. I’d work the day away, staying busy as I could to make the time go by faster, then I’d go back to my room, lock the door and wait for the change to happen, which was like being chastised for breath
ing. I existed; I was punished.

  Some mornings I tested myself in the sunlight, if there was any. Most days in London, the sun didn’t shine through the clouds or fog. Each time I examined my skin in the sun, however, my flesh did that eerie thing where I could see straight through it to the gleaming bone, lavender membranes and grey tendons. Whatever Ezra did to make me a gargoyle affected every cell of my existence.

  I tried not to think about it. I was more upset about being taken. Would other people be angrier about being stolen from the life they lead? Before being changed into a gargoyle and confined to a bookstore by a nutty old wizard or whatever Ezra was? Would they be more devastated by the loss of their families and homes than I was at the loss of my mortality and human body? Peter had lived an incredibly long time so I assumed I would, too. I had no way to gauge whether what I was feeling was the way anyone else would be dealing with it. I couldn’t help feeling a bit grateful that I wasn’t missing a family right then. I would be even more crushed than I was if I only mourned the loss of my freedom and best friend. Lemonade, freshly squeezed.

  The ability to stop brooding came easier when I reminded myself to find something worthy of a smile several times each day. If I had difficulties doing that, I knew that generally, finding Peter and sharing in his antics with customers would do the trick. He had a wonderful sense of humor and was so quick-witted when speaking that I always found myself smiling and joining in. We made a good team, and the customers of Librorum Taberna were happy ones.

  I found myself staring out my window into a dreary late afternoon after Peter had locked up for the night. I pulled my earbuds away and dropped my iPod on my bed and changed into a pair of comfy capri-style sweats and a Spiderman t-shirt. I headed into the hall, planning to go downstairs to try my luck at finding a good read for the night when I heard a metallic clinking sound coming from the direction of Peter’s room.

  His door was open a crack and I made quick work of dispelling any guilt induced by my curiosity when I peered inside.

  The sounds were made by a weight machine. Peter lay shirtless on an incline bench, thick arms spread wide, gripping a long, heavily weighted bench-press bar. The muscles of his chest and shoulders bulged as he pushed the bar up, straightening his arms. Sweat glistened on his skin, running in rivulets down his ripped abdomen. The waistband of his pants was soaked and his long ponytail hung wet against a shoulder. His room smelled of salty sweat, but I imagined it was much better than a boys’ locker room.