by Kim Harrison
“No, thank you,” he said, looking confused. “Um. Yes, that’s the statue.” Vincet pointed at the closest statue, and Jenks slipped the second sweetball away. “It won’t attack until the moon is higher,” Vincet added, more at ease now that the food was put away. Wings shivering, he glanced up at the moon, a day shy of full. “It attacks at midnight, not the lunkers’ clocked midnight, but the real midmoon when it’s at its zenith.”
Jenks’s attention dropped to the twin statues spaced about ten feet apart, surrounded by new annuals and low shrubs. Both had a Greek look about them, with a classic beauty of smooth lines and draping robes. The older statue was black in places from pollution, making it almost more beautiful. Carved ringlets of hair pulled back and braided framed a young-looking face, almost innocent in her expression. Her stone robes did little to hide her admittedly shapely legs from her thighs down. There was a flaccid water sack on her belt, and her fingers were wrapped about the butt of a sword, pushing into the pedestal at her toe.
The second statue was of a young man with smooth, almost feminine features. An empty ankle sheath was on one bare leg not covered by his stone robe. He was lithe, thin, with a hint of wild threat in his chiseled expression. The sign between them, framed by newly planted, honey-smelling alyssum, said that both statues had been donated by the Kalamack Foundation to commemorate Cincinnati gaining city status in 1819, but only the statue of the woman looked old. The other was a pearly white as if brand-new. Or freshly scrubbed, maybe.
A distant argument over burned rice became audible from over the grass between the garden and the nearby townhouses. Tink’s tampons, humans were noisy. It was as if they didn’t have a place in the natural order anymore, so they made as much noise as they could to prove they were alive. His garden and graveyard stretching an entire block within the suburbs, now made his by human law and a deed, was a blessing he’d come to take for granted. Rachel and Ivy never seemed to make much noise. ’Course, they slept a lot, and Ivy was a vampire, if living. She never made much noise to begin with.
“Did you clean it?” he asked Vincet, and the young pixy shook his head, looking scared.
“No. It was like that when we got here. Vi wakes as if in a trance, mindless as she hits the base of the statue until the burning brings her down. Then she screams until the moon shifts from the top of the sky and the statue lets her go.”
Jenks scratched the base of his wings, puzzled. Though he didn’t move from the back of the bench, his wings sent a glitter of dust over them. Holy crap, he had to pee again.
Vincet pulled his frightened gaze from the white stone glinting in the light of a nearby streetlamp. “I’d fight if I could. I’d die defending my children if I could see it. Is it a ghost?”
“Maybe.” Pulling his hands from his hips, Jenks crossed his arms. It was a bad habit he’d gotten from Rachel, and he immediately put his fists back on his hips where they belonged.
A sudden noise in the trees above them caught them unawares, and while Jenks remained standing on the back of the bench, Vincet darted away, clearly surprised. It was Bis, returning from his circuit of the park under Jenks’s direction. Jenks was used to giving orders, but not while on a run, and he nervously hoped he was doing this right.
With a soft hush of sliding leather and the scent of iron, the cat-size gargoyle landed on the back of the bench, his long claws scrabbling for purchase. Bis could cling to a vertical slab of stone with no problem, slip through a crack a bat would balk at, but trying to balance on the thin back of the slatted bench was more than he could manage. With an ungraceful hop, he landed on the concrete sidewalk between the bench and the statues.
“Nothing larger than an opossum near here,” the gray, smooth-skinned kid said, his ears pricked to make the white fur lining them stick out. He had another tuft on the tip of his lionlike tail, but apart from that, his pebbly patterned skin was smooth, able to change color to match what was around him and creep Jenks out. He had a serious face that looked something like a pug’s, shoved in and ugly, but Jenks’s kids loved him. And his cat, Rex, was enamored of the church’s newest renter. Jenks sighed. Once the feline found out Bis could kick out the BTUs when he wanted to, adoration was a foregone conclusion.
Bis was too young to be on his own, and after having been kicked off the basilica for spitting on people, he’d found his way to the church, slipping Jenks’s sentry lines like a ghost. Bis slept all day like a proverbial stone, and he paid his rent by watching the grounds during the four hours around midnight when Jenks preferred to sleep. He ate pigeons. Feathers and all. Jenks was working on changing that. At least the feathers part. He was working on getting Bis to wear some clothes, too. Not that anything showed, but if Bis was wearing something, Jenks might catch him sneaking around on the ceiling. As it was, all he ever saw was claw marks.
“Thanks, Bis,” Jenks said, standing straighter and trying to look like he was in charge. “You grew up around stone. What’s your take on the statue? Is it haunted?”
It might have been a jest if anyone else had said it, but both of them knew there were such things as ghosts. Rachel’s latest catastrophe, Pierce, was proof of that, but he had been completely unnoticed when bound to his tombstone. Only when it had cracked had Pierce escaped to harass them. Get a body. Become demon-snagged. Confuse Rachel into a love/hate relationship. Something was wrong with the girl. But now that he thought about it, maybe that’s why Vincet’s daughter was trying to break the statue. Tink’s a Disney whore, not another ghost.
The gargoyle flicked his whiplike tail in a shrug. His powerful haunches bunched, and Vincet darted back with a flash of pixy dust when Bis landed atop the statue in question, his skin lightening to match the marble perfectly. Looking like part of the statue itself, he scraped a claw down a fold of chiseled hair. Bis brought it to his nose, sniffing, then tasting. “High-quality granite,” he said, his voice both high and rumbling. “From Argentina. It was first worked hundreds of years ago, but it’s only been here for a hundred and twenty.”
Impressed, Jenks raised his eyebrows. “You got all that from tasting it?”
Smirking to show his black teeth, the kid pointed a claw to a second sign. “Just the high-quality part. There’s a plaque.”
Vincet sighed, and Jenks’s wings went red.
Wheezing his version of laugher, the gargoyle hopped to the spot of light on the sidewalk. “Seriously, something is wrong. Both statues are on the ley line running through the park. No one puts two statues on a ley lines. It pins it down and weird stuff happens.”
“There’s a line?” Jenks asked, seeing Vincet looking understandably lost. “Where?”
Bis pointed at nothing Jenks could see, cocking his ugly, bald head first one way, then the other as he focused on the flower beds. “Lines don’t move, but they shift like the tide under the moon—unless they’re pinned down. Something is absorbing energy from the line—right between the statues where it’s not moving.”
“It’s the statue,” Vincet said, glancing at the shadowed hole beside the dogwood tree where his family lived. “It comes alive when the moon is high and the pull is the strongest. It’s possessing my daughter!”
“I don’t think it’s the statue,” Jenks murmured, hands on his hips again. “I think it’s something trapped in it.” Puzzled, he stared at nothing. His partner Rachel was a witch. She could see ley lines, pull energy off them, and use it to do magic. Bis could see ley lines, too, which made Jenks doubly glad he’d brought Bis with him. “You can see it, huh?” Jenks asked.
“It’s more like hear it,” Bis said, his big red eyes blinking apologetically.
“It’s almost time,” Vincet said, clearly scared as he glanced up at the nearly full moon with his fingers on the hilt of his sword. “See? As soon as the moon hits that branch, it will attack Vi. Jenks, I can’t move my family. We’ll lose the newlings. It will break Noel’s heart.”
“That’s why we’re here,” he said, putting a hand on Vincet’s shoulde
r, thinking it felt odd to give comfort to a pixy not of his kin. The pixy buck looked too young for this much grief, his smooth features creased in a pain that most lunkers didn’t feel until they were thirty or forty, but pixies lived only twenty years if they were lucky. “I won’t let any of your children die tonight,” he added.
Bis cleared his throat as he scraped his claws on the sidewalk, silently pointing out the danger in making promises that he couldn’t guarantee. Vincet’s wings drooped, and Jenks took his hand from his shoulder. “Maybe I should go to sleep,” Jenks said softly. “If you kept all your children awake, it would have no choice but to attack me.”
“Too late.” Bis made a shuffling hop to land on the bench’s seat, wings spread slightly to look ominous. “The resonance of the line just shifted.”
“Sweet mother of Tink,” Vincet whispered, wings flashing red as he looked at his front door. “It’s coming. I have to wake them!”
“Wait!” Jenks flew after him and caught his arm. Their wings almost tangled, and Vincet yanked out of his grip.
“They’ll die!” he said angrily.
“Wake the newlings.” Jenks’s hand dropped to the butt of his sword. “Let the children sleep. I’m sorry, but they’ll survive. I’ll protect Vi as if she was my own.”
Vincet looked torn, not wanting to trust another man with his children’s lives. Panicked, he turned to a secluded knoll and the freshly turned earth of his newling’s grave, still glowing faintly from the dust of tears. “I can’t . . .”
“Vincet, I have fifty-four kids,” Jenks coaxed. “I can keep your child alive. You asked me to help. I have to talk to whatever is trapped in that statue. Please. Bring her to me.”
Hesitating, Vincet’s wings hummed like a thousand bees in the dark.
“I promise,” Jenks said, only now understanding why Rachel made stupid vows she knew she might not be able to keep. “Let me help you.”
Vincet’s wings turned a sickly blue. “I have no choice,” he said, and trailing a gray sparkle of dust to light the dew-wet plants, he flew to his home and disappeared under the earth.
Watching him, Jenks started to swear with one-word sentences. What if he couldn’t do this? He was a stupid-ass to have promised that. He was as bad as Rachel. Angry, he fingered the butt of his sword and glared at the statue. Bis edged closer, his eyes never leaving the cold stone glinting in the moon and lamplight. “What if I’m making a mistake?” Jenks asked.
“You aren’t,” the gargoyle said, then stiffened, his glowing eyes widening as he pointed a knobby finger at the statue. “Look at that!”
“Holy crap, what is it doing?” Jenks exclaimed, the heartache of a child’s death gone as the moonlight seeping through the branches brushed the statue, seeming to make it glow. No, he thought as a gust of wind pushed him back. The stone really was glowing, like it had a second skin. It wasn’t the moonlight!
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Jenks said, dropping to land beside Bis on the bench.
“Yeah.” The kid sounded scared. “Something’s trapped in that stone, and it’s still alive. Jenks, that’s not a ghost. This isn’t right. Look, I’ve got goose bumps!”
Not looking at Bis’s gray, proffered arm, Jenks muttered, “Yeah, me too.”
Across the street, three TVs exploded into the same laugh track. The glow about the statue deepened, becoming darker, less like a moonbeam and more like a shadow. It stretched, pulling away to maintain the same shape as the statue, looking like a soul trying to slip free.
“Fewmets!” Bis barked, and with a ping of energy Jenks felt press against his wings, the shadow separated from the statue and vanished. “Did you see that? Did you freaking see that!” Bis yelled, wingtips shaking.
“It’s gone!” Jenks said, unable to stop a shudder.
The bench shook as Bis hopped to the sidewalk and tucked under the slatted wood. “Not gone, loose,” he said from underneath, worrying Jenks even more. “Hell’s bells, I can hear it. It sounds like bird feathers sliding against each other, or scales. No, tree branches and bones.”
Uneasy, Jenks slipped through the slats of the bench to alight beside Bis on the sidewalk where the heat of the day still lingered, watching the same empty air that the gargoyle was staring at. A thin lament rose from the small hummock of Vincet’s home. The sound hit Jenks and twisted, and he wasn’t surprised when the glow about the door brightened, and in a glittering yellow pixy dust, Vincet emerged with a small child in his arms.
She was in a white nightgown, her fair hair down and tousled. Two wide-eyed children clung to the door, a matronly silhouette beside them, crying and unable to leave the newlings.
The memory of the past night’s torment was on Vincet when he joined them under the bench. “It’s Vi,” he said, grief-stricken. “Please, you said you’d help.”
Jenks awkwardly took another man’s child, feeling how light she was, stifling a shudder when the girl’s unnatural, silver-tinted aura hit him. A piercing wail came from her throat, too anguished to be uttered by someone so young. Bis’s ears pinned to his skull, and Jenks shifted his grip, binding her swinging arms and tightening his hold on her.
“Please make it stop,” Vincet said, touching his daughter’s face to wipe her dusty tears.
Though it went against his instincts, Jenks brought the girl to his shoulder. Like a switch, the child’s wailing shifted to an eerie silence. Bis hissed and backed up, the scent of iron sifting over them as his claws scraped the sidewalk until he found the earth.
Jenks shivered. Not knowing what he’d find, he pulled the child from his shoulder and held her at arm’s length.
At the shift of her weight, the child opened her eyes. They were black, with silvery pupils—like the sky and the moon—and her weird-ass aura.
“Trees,” whispered Vi, clearly not Vi at all. Her voice was wispy, like wind in branches. “This cold stone is killing me.”
Bis hissed as he clung to a tree like a misshapen squirrel, black teeth bared and tail switching. Vincet stood helpless, wings drooped and silent tears falling from him to dry into a black, glittery dust. He reached out, and Vi screamed wildly, “I have to get out!”
Jenks held her with her bare feet dangling. It wasn’t Vincet’s daughter speaking. Under the hatred streaming from Vi’s eyes was a pinched brow and a fevered panting. Whatever gripped Vi was drawing the ley line through her. That’s why she burned.
“Something is wrong with it,” Bis hissed, half hidden by the tree. “The statue is sucking up the line like it’s feeding off it, and I can hear it going right into her.”
“Who are you?” Jenks whispered.
The young girl’s eyes rolled to the moon. “Free me, Rhenoranian!” she begged it. “I beg you! Have I not suffered enough!”
Rhenoranian? Jenks’s wings blurred into motion. It sounded like a demon’s name. His hands holding Vi were warm from her heat, and he gently set her down, catching her shoulders as she swayed, oblivious to him. “What are you?” he asked, changing his demand as he knelt before her. “You’re hurting the girl. Maybe I can help, but you’re hurting Vi.”
Vi’s eyes tore from the moon as if seeing him for the first time. “You can hear me?” she whispered as her wings smoldered, limp against her back. Eyes focusing on Jenks, Vincet, and Bis, Vi seemed to shake herself. “Gracious Rhenoranian! You are wise and forgiving!”
Jenks rocked backward when Vi flung herself at him, her little arms encircling his knees. Bis hissed at the sudden movement, and even Vincet dropped back.
“Please, help me,” she babbled, her long hair tangled as she gazed up at Jenks. “I’ll do anything you ask. I’m trapped in that statue—a moon-touched nymph put me there, jealous of my attentions to her sisters. Rhenoranian sent you. I know he did. I’ve waited so long. Break the statue. Quick, before she comes back! She’s going to come back! Please!” Vi begged.
Vincet watched wide-eyed as Jenks disentangled himself, pushing her off him and making her stand up. H
is hands warmed where they touched her shoulders, and he jerked away. “You’re burning the child,” he said. “Stop, and maybe I can help.”
Anger flashed in the girl’s face, then vanished. “There’s no time. Break the statue!”
“You are killing my daughter!” Vincet shouted. “You already killed my son!”
Vi’s eyes went wide. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at the second statue of the woman. His jailer, probably, and likely dead and gone. Nymphs had vanished during the Industrial Revolution, long before the Turn, brought down by pollution. “I’m sorry,” she panted, but the edges of Vi’s wings were starting to smolder. “I didn’t know I was hurting anyone. I . . . I can’t help it. It’s Rhenoranian’s blood. It keeps me alive, but it burns. I’ve been burning forever.”
Rhenoranian’s blood? Did he mean the ley line?
Behind them, Bis hissed. “Jenks?” he questioned. “I don’t like this. It’s eating the line. That’s wrong like three different ways.”
“Of course it’s wrong! That’s why it burns!” Vi shouted, then went silent, frustrated. “Break the statue and let me out, and I’ll never bother the child again.”
Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Jenks clattered his wings in acknowledgment to Bis. It sounded almost like a threat. Let it out or else. But the line energy running through Vi was making her tremble, and the higher the moon got, the worse it became. Soon, she would be screaming in pain, if Vincet was right, and his chance to talk to it would be gone.
“Tell me what you are,” he said, grasping her wrist and bring her attention to him, but when Vi looked at him, Jenks let go, not liking what lay in the depths of her eyes.