Gargoyle Rising

by Meraki P. Lyhne

  The laughter died down, and Meino wiped his eyes. “God, I needed that.” He hadn’t laughed like that for a long time, and it was actually the first time he’d heard Burkhart laugh uncontrollably.

  “Good.” Burkhart handed him the backpack to strap on the almost packed sleeping bag condom.

  Meino chuckled to himself as he finished and strapped it on. He then helped cover Burkhart’s wings with the trench coat, and they left the cemetery to find a kiosk or someplace still open so Meino could buy food.

  He’d lost weight the past week. Considering how much they walked and how little he actually ate, he wasn’t surprised. He kept to high protein food sources and was officially put off protein bars. He viewed them only as on the run sustenance, and the mere thought of them almost made him gag. He could envy Burkhart for not needing to eat.

  “Two humans wish you harm,” Burkhart announced, making Meino’s heart skip a beat.

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry. They can’t when I’m here. You are their... intended money victim.”

  “Oh, great, we have to live at night, and the scumbags are out.”

  “Yes. We should be discrete about this. Let us stop up here.”

  Meino eyed the place, thinking it was only a place someone who really wanted to get mugged would stop. “Do they have weapons?”

  “A knife. Stay behind me.”

  “Can it penetrate you? You feel soft when animated.”

  “Yes, but I have no organs or blood, so it does not matter.” Burk stopped to face Meino in the mugging-zone.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “I don’t know. I have only been animated three weeks with you.”

  “Good evening,” a man said, stopping by them. “Do you know what time it is?”

  “No,” Meino said, figuring the guy asked so Meino would pull out his phone and thus show off the items for them to determine whether or not it was worth stealing. He hadn’t brought it and didn’t really care what time had to tell him—only sunup and sundown were relevant to him, and Burkhart would announce that in time.

  “Well, hand over your money then,” the guy said, while the other man pulled out the knife Burkhart had mentioned. He could have mentioned that it wasn’t some little Switchblade but a big-ass hunting knife.

  “No,” Burkhart answered calmly. “But you could hand over what you have. Plus, the knife. We need the knife.”

  The men laughed incredulously.

  “Now,” Burkhart insisted.

  “How about I just use it on you?”

  “You could do that, but then my coat would take damage. That would be unfortunate.”

  Meino snorted laughter at Burkhart’s matter of fact and unfazed tone.

  “Are you for real? Is this guy for real?” The knife-guy shot a glance at his friend, who shrugged. “Look, pal—” Knife-guy held out the blade. Burkhart grabbed his hand and squeezed. Knife-guy screamed, and his friend jumped before he kicked Burkhart in the side.

  Burkhart seemed untouched by the kick. “This will not make me like you. Hand over your money.”

  “We don’t fucking have any!” the friend shouted. “Why do you think we wanted yours? Please, just let go of my friend.”

  “I like his jacket,” Meino said.

  Burkhart looked over the frightened man. Meino could almost see the thoughts running through the guy’s head—should he run and save his jacket, or stay with his friend and try to help him?

  “It does fit you,” Burkhart said. “Take off your jacket. And do not empty the pockets before you do.”

  “But... my house keys are in there.”

  “I’ll give you your keys once you hand over the jacket,” Meino said, feeling kind of bad about robbing them. The fact that they tried to rob them first did put a damper on the guilt, but he saw no reason to run off with the guy’s keys.

  The guy shrugged out of his jacket and threw it at Meino. “Now let my friend go.”

  “Wait for your keys,” Burkhart said while the knife-guy whimpered. A tear escaped his eye to roll down his cheek as he stared hard at the powerful hand grasping his own.

  Meino hurried through the pockets and found the keys, but also a wallet. Looking through it, he found thirty Euros in various size bills and an ID with the mugger’s picture on it. “No money, huh?” Meino took about half and tossed the wallet to the guy. “Compensation for the trouble you caused.”

  Burkhart grabbed the blade of the knife and let go of the hand. The guy snatched his hand away and cradled it against his body, hunching over it as if to protect it from further harm. It looked completely white from lack of blood circulation. Meino didn’t get to see if it was broken, because the two men turned and ran.

  Burkhart ushered Meino the other direction. “We should hurry on our way.”

  Meino followed, pocketing the money and donning the jacket. “Did you break his hand?”

  “Yes. Two bones did not handle the pressure. Why did you only take half their money?”

  “Just because they were dicks doesn’t mean I have to be. But I need money to eat, too. And clothes to keep warm.” Meino hadn’t thought about bringing money when they left the garage, and he was happy that his savings were in a bank and not under the mattress. The only problem was that he’d read enough crime fiction to know that people with connections could track him if he used his credit card.

  “You are a good man, Meino. I like that about you.”

  Meino smiled to himself. “How far to the next cemetery?”

  “Three hours walk that way. Or half an hour by air.”

  “Three hours it is.”

  They continued for another half an hour, Burkhart entertaining Meino by telling him about fun things people did from the comfort of their own homes. Like a mother jumping on her bed with her seven-year-old son and making the boy promise not to tell dad. And about a food fight in a kitchen engaging the whole family and their dog.

  They finally reached a store, and Burkhart scanned it from outside before he took the backpack. “Go on. I wait here.”

  “See you in a bit.” Meino walked in and found what he needed to make sandwiches, but he also bought one premade to eat once he left the store. The weather was getting colder, so he wasn’t worried the food he’d bought would spoil before he had a chance to eat it. He did hope he could get warm food, soon—at least warm food that wasn’t junk food.

  A man is interested in talking to you.

  Meino glanced around to see who Burkhart could mean. He noticed an attractive man with a full but neatly kept beard who was looking his way, and he wasn’t very inconspicuous about it. Neither were his glances at Meino’s ass or crotch.

  “Well, I’m not interested in talking to him,” Meino whispered, then snatched three cans of tuna and left for the counter. On his way, he remembered to buy more bottles of water. Upon exiting the store, the man followed, and Meino hurried to Burkhart. The man stopped short when he saw Meino step up close to Burkhart.

  “Excuse me.” The man smiled and walked around them, hurrying away.

  “He had no ill intentions,” Burkhart said, looking after the man who turned his head once but then kept going.

  Meino sighed. “No, he had different intentions.”

  “Did you not like his attention?”

  “Well... yeah, but... I can’t do anything about that when we’re on our way to a cemetery to spend the night.” They began walking in the opposite direction of the man.

  “We have time.”

  “And what, I leave you in the meantime?” That wasn’t even the problem. The main problem was that Meino was shy even when he didn’t have a Gargoyle staring at him every second of the day no matter how many walls or locked doors were between them. That was the reason he hadn’t played with his erection in the shower or in bed for three weeks.

  Plus Meino had never been with a guy. Had it not been for Burkhart pointing out the man’s attention, Meino never w
ould have noticed.

  “You may enjoy life without me, you know. I protect you.”

  That made Meino stop to look at Burkhart. “Do you see yourself only as my watchman?”

  “It is my purpose.”

  “No. I want you as my friend, too.” It struck Meino that he didn’t really know anything about the Gargoyle, and every conversation they’d had revealed only what Burkhart had witnessed of the world while watching it pass him by. “I want to experience things with you. All you’ve only seen when watching others.”

  Burkhart smiled and was about to say something, but sadness crept into his eyes, and he closed his mouth again.

  “What?”

  “I was about to... mention the Charger.”

  Yeah, that thought also made Meino sad every time his mind ventured to the lonely car in the garage.

  They walked on.

  “What do you like most about traveling?” Burkhart asked.

  “I’ve never actually traveled anywhere in real life. Dad and I planned. Fantasized about where we’d go and what we’d see. After he died, I traveled into books, but I’ve never really been anywhere.” It struck him that that had changed. “This is my first real adventure, Burk. And I’m sharing it with you.” The thought made him smile. “We’re on an adventure together right now.”

  Burkhart smiled too. “So we are, little one. A safe trip, since we don’t take to the air.”

  Meino chuckled. “Yeah.” But the thought of them being on an adventure together changed his entire perspective on the cold ground he was sleeping on, the crappy food, and the two muggers they’d just robbed. In fantasy tales about a group on a quest, they never slept in five-star hotels, ate at restaurants, or didn’t have to squat in a bush. It dawned on him just how much his life was like those tales, yet the hardship was so different in his mind when it was real and not a montage in a book. Looking back at the last week as a montage, it all looked different. Bearable. Adventurous, even.

  He had it all for his trip to fit in a fantasy book—a quest, antagonists, a backpack, and some hardship. And he had his own Gargoyle. How could he not have seen it as some great adventure? It made him want to write it down. He’d always wanted to write a story, but he’d never had the time. Now it was what he had most of. He needed a notebook for that, though. And a pen.

  “You smile.”

  Meino looked up at his travel companion. “We’re on a quest, Burkhart. We’re the main characters in an urban fantasy.”

  “Ah, a story to be told, like the ones you and your father made up in the crypt. You flew on me as a child, taking me with you into your imaginary worlds.”

  “Yeah, but now you get to go with me.”

  “I like that.”

  “I want to write it down. Tell our story like a journal.” Meino’s brain fired off images of their trip so far. Viewing everything as material for a book seemed to distance the happenings to the point that Meino could handle it.

  “If the ones after us get their hands on such a journal it could bring us danger,” Burkhart pointed out.

  “Oh, yeah.” Back to real life and a magical war that scared him. “Maybe just notes then? And once we reach our destination, we’ll write the story together. Remember all we’ve experienced together. Would you want that, too?” Meino couldn’t hide his excitement. It gave him new energy to continue their journey, and even the prospect of eating another cold sandwich became bearable.

  “I like your idea and, more importantly, I like being a part of your idea.”

  Meino smiled brilliantly at Burkhart, thinking how lucky he actually was without having noticed. All that magic and enemies of the Gargoyles and having to flee for his life had put it all so close to him that he’d entirely missed the adventure of it.

  A thought occurred to him. “We could write it as letters to my dad. Letters to tell him of our journey. Some people send themselves postcards when traveling and bind them all together when they arrive home to make some kind of little booklet of their journey. Why not make a book that way? Sending them off would keep them out of the fire-breather’s hands.”

  “That is an option. But who do we send them to?”

  “Someone in the Order? Do you know of an address?”

  “No. And I know of no names. I have been hidden longer than most have lived. Without meeting another Gargoyle of theirs, we will not know who to contact. And I will need to be close to one of the humans to know if they are of the Order. The mark of the allied humans can only be detected when they are within our range of sight. It is to protect them from being recognized from afar by others. Like the fire breathers.”

  “I see.” That new knowledge made Meino think about the Order and the fire breathers and just how old a war he was on the fringes of. It was scary, so he pushed the thoughts aside, thinking instead of how much he liked the idea of writing the entire story through letters to his dad. They’d find a way.

  “But what would you tell your father in those letters? Only your adventures or about the dreams you reach for as well?”

  “I don’t know.” Meino thought while they continued to walk. He then stopped and turned to look at the Gargoyle as a word triggered a memory from the crypt. “He once read me something. I don’t remember all of it, but I remember he said something about having to reach farther than I could grasp or something.”

  “He quoted you a poem,” Burkhart said. “You asked about his favorite story, and he said his favorite story was the one you made. Your life would become his favorite story. You asked how you could make your life an interesting story, and he quoted Robert Browning. A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, meaning you should never stop trying for the impossible.”

  Meino gaped. Once Burkhart described it, Meino remembered that night in the crypt, too. He remembered his dad telling him about his journal. He’d been given one, too—a leather binder full of blank pages. It was in storage with the rest of the books from his dad.

  “I already have the journal to write our story in,” Meino said quietly, half lost in thought. He began walking again, wondering about that night. “Do you think that’s why I have the idea about writing this down?”

  “It may have lain dormant in your subconscious.”

  “You remember my dad too, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I remember him very well.”

  “We could both write letters for the story. Who would you write?”

  “I think I would write your father, too. I would thank him for showing you how to animate me to be part of this adventure. I would thank him for giving me you.”

  Meino’s stomach fluttered at being just as needed to Burkhart as he needed him. He still didn’t get how he could be so comfortable around the stone creature after such a short time, but then again, he didn’t remember the first several days as being comfortable at all.

  It had taken time. The rest would take an adventure.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was time to move things along. Rebecca had spent more than a month trying to get closer to Alex, but the man seemed so self-efficient that he barely spent time with his study group—a group Rebecca had finally managed to become a part of.

  She wasn’t proud of the way she’d gone about it, but it was necessary to secure God’s will and way on Earth and secure His most prized creation—mankind. Reminding herself that she was the keeper of her Heavenly Father’s children, Rebecca had no problem placing the swab of crabs in a girl’s bed. With help from her brother Tavi, the rumors of the girl spreading crabs to some of the guys made the girl withdraw from social gatherings, and she had been asked to stay away from the study group—at least until they were sure she would no longer pass on the little critters. Rebecca had taken her place instead.

  But Rebecca was failing. She couldn’t afford to fail. Father trusted her to see it through, to find more information, to infiltrate. If she didn’t find a way in, soon, Father would be very displeased. Maybe enough to remove her
from the team. To demote her.

  She was a Warrior of God, and she would fight for her place in His ranks. And she’d use any tools at her disposal to be worthy of the responsibility she had been entrusted.

  She would give it one more attempt to make Alex cooperate before she would classify the situation at a point where her hand was forced to use more drastic measures.

  Alex half-lay across the table looking like he did anything but sleep at night. Finding the right mindset and the resolve to ramp up the flirtation, Rebecca reached across the breakfast table and shook Alex’s arm.

  “Oh, my God, just let me sleep,” he groaned and looked up.

  Rebecca stroked his arm. “What have you been doing? You’ve looked dreadful for days.”

  He smiled and stretched, and she let her gaze travel down his body, making sure he didn’t miss her attention.

  “I found a good book or two. And I can’t stop once I do.” Alex leaned his elbows against the table. His attention shifted to her once in a while, and Rebecca didn’t know if it was to let her know he had noticed her attention and wanted more, or if it was to politely decline her advances and let her draw back with her honor intact. With that guy, anything was possible—even that he was trying to communicate that he wanted her to go on, but that he thought open flirtation wasn’t right at the breakfast table.

  Rebecca obviously had too little experience with the mating dances of the profane.

  “How’s the dissertation coming?” Brett asked, ruining the moment for Rebecca to learn what Alex could have intended by that look.

  “Oh, don’t even go there! I have to finish this line of thought first. It’s at least in the same end of the field.”

  “What subject?” Rebecca asked.

  “Comparative religious art.”

  Oh, finally. Something she actually knew something about and could assist him with. “That sounds interesting.”

  Alex smiled shyly and glanced at Brett. “Right now, I don’t think so.”

  “I told you that subject would get boring!” Brett said, pointing at him with a fork. “Didn’t I tell you that you would be either a zombie or have run away from home before you finished that subject?”