by Ryals, R. K.
I look up then. Conor is sitting precariously on the edge of the cottage's steep roof, his head covered by a blue hood. I salute him with my mug.
"I'm not going to turn all rogue Demon on you, if that's what you're afraid of. I've learned to ignore the moon's call. Mostly, anyway."
Conor pulls his hood back, his blond hair pale in the moonlight, his eyes moving briefly to the moon before standing. I expect him to fly down, and I nearly drop the mug of coffee I'm holding when he suddenly jumps, landing in front of me, his feet flat on the ground. My hands sting only briefly where the liquid in my cup has sloshed onto my palms. Conor grins.
"Like a cat, gargoyles always land on their feet."
I don't reward him with a response. I just hold out my mug-filled hands instead, the reddish marks on my skin obvious but not painful. I've learned recently heat doesn't affect hybrids the same way it does humans. Conor shrugs before reaching for my mug, removing it quickly.
"Thanks. I wasn't expecting the hot drink offer, but . . ."
I snatch it back before he can say anything further. The Reinhardt charm dial is turned to high tonight, and I don't even try to fight the smile I feel coming. My gaze moves back to the moon. We are quiet a moment. I don't ask him why he's come here. In a way, I know why. The full moon and I don't have a good history, but I've survived full moons without him now, and my mind is quieter. Other things bother me more.
"Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to go back to the way it was before," I say quickly to fill the awkward silence.
Conor leans back against the door's frame. It's late, sometime past midnight, and Marcas is supposed to lead the hybrids to the Labyrinth's entrance at dawn.
"You mean the whole 'ignorance is bliss' mentality?" Conor asks.
I look at him. His eyes are on the moon.
"You're thinking I think too much, aren't you?" I say.
Conor's lips twitch, but he fights the smile.
"It's not a bad thing, thinking too much. Ignorance would never be an option for someone as practical as you. You need to know too much. You hate being in the dark, and you ask too many damned questions."
He says the words lightly, his voice tinged with humor. He is right. I'd rather know the monsters coming at me in the dark than be surprised by them.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask him. He doesn't expect the question, and his gaze moves to mine, his expression even. "And don't try and play dumb with me, Conor. Why are you going with us?"
Conor's expression becomes shuttered, his eyes lowering. "I won't leave the hybrids. Not now. Not until all of you have a safe place to go. Marcas' kingdom will give you that."
It is a generic answer meant to appease me.
"Before you met me, you never would have considered leading the hybrids out of the Acropolis, much less go to Hell for us."
I say the words softly, and my eyes move to the ground. The grass is thin near the door, and I can see brown soil, the dirt damp from falling dew. I kick at it with my tennis shoes. The words sound conceited. I shouldn't assume he's doing any of this because of me. Being forthright is something I normally don't do, but I've changed. I know it. I feel it.
"You're right. I wouldn't have led the hybrids if it weren't for you. Until I was assigned to you, I never let myself get close enough to the hybrids to see them as human. Or part human anyway," Conor replies. I don't look up.
"And Lyre?" I ask.
Lyre and Conor had been close once. If not emotionally, then at least intimately. Conor snorts.
"Em, using Lyre as an example of hybrid decency does not win your race points. Even when I thought she was human, she still had a bad attitude."
I want to laugh at that. Lyre will always be a sore spot for us. There are times I find it hard to reconcile Conor's past with her. Especially when I face her hatred day in and day out. And yet, there is good in Lyre, a loneliness that far surpasses anything I have ever felt.
I look back at the moon. Its glow is comforting, familiar.
"Have you spoken to Enepsigos since the Acropolis?" Conor asks quietly.
I shake my head. "Very little. She came to me once, at night, during a pull of the full moon, and taught me how to ignore the moon's call. I haven't seen her since."
Conor shifts. "And have you tried?" he asks.
I fight not to look at him. "Yes, tonight actually."
This seems to startle Conor, and he takes in a deep breath. "Why?"
I shrug. "I'm not sure. Maybe because I thought it would help. Maybe I hoped I could learn something that would help us all in the labyrinth. And you?" I ask, my eyes moving once more to the ground. "Why go with us now? You did your part."
He had helped us leave the Acropolis. He had fought his own kind. It was more than enough. Conor leans closer, his shoulder leaning against mine.
"In the long run, I am still your guardian."
This time, I snort.
"That's bullcrap, and you know it."
Conor's duty to me has long been over. It was over the moment we reached S.O.S. headquarters or he never would have left to help Dayton. I look up at him before lifting the mug in my hands to my lips. The liquid inside is still warm, and I wonder if it's because of the heat emanating from my hands. My temp is high tonight.
"You're afraid," Conor says quietly. "You're afraid of anyone wanting to go anywhere because of you, because they care about you enough to make that sacrifice, to see you safe."
My hands are shaking now as I lower the cup, and I hold it out to Conor. He accepts it, takes a large swallow, and grimaces before setting it down on the ground next to him.
"And I thought I liked my coffee strong," he jokes, but his words are not enough to break the tension.
My head is spinning now. Maybe I am afraid, but what he doesn't know is that I'm afraid, not because he admitted to caring for me, but because I just can't imagine anyone other than my adopted mother caring about me that much. I miss her. And I'm afraid of other things as well. I can feel the unease in Conor. No matter how attracted he seems to be to me, how much he thinks he cares, I wonder if it's enough to make him stay. He's blocking too well for me to get an idea of the turmoil he's dealing with, but I can see the war he's battling in his eyes.
Conor looks up at the moon. There are thin grey-black clouds floating over it now, and it dulls the light in the yard.
"You saw a vision once about Dayton and I," he says suddenly, and my head snaps up. "I thought I was in love with her once. We grew up together. I always felt the need to protect her. She had a lousy childhood, Dayton. She believed her parents had died in a car crash. She and her sister were sent to live with an aunt, a strange aunt, who ran an Abbey in Lodeston, Mississippi. Turns out, her aunt was the head of a Sethian Sect in league with a Demon, Damon Craig, Marcas' twin brother. Dayton's father is an Angel, and Damon believed that with her Naphil blood, he could mate her with one of his kind to produce a baby that would end the curse on Cain's children, a curse that causes them to crave human blood. In the end, he bound Dayton by blood to Marcas. I left two months ago to help Marcas and Dayton fight to sever the bond. At first, they only wanted unbound, but then things changed, and they found themselves fighting for hybrids instead."
Conor pauses, and I squint up at him, my heart pounding.
"And what does that have to do with me?" I ask.
Conor's head comes down, his gaze moving to mine.
"I loved the idea of protecting Dayton, and I still care for her on some level, but I wonder now if I would have died for her."
The words take a lot for him to say. I can see it in his pinched expression. His eyes are dark, his face shadowed by the moon, and he leans forward, his nose near mine.
"If I die in the labyrinth, it will be without regret."
My throat closes up. His words say it all, but I fight them. He is right. He has known Dayton all his life. He's only known me a few months, two of which he was gone. He doesn't know me. I don't know him. But I like him. A lot. My heart clenches at th
e sight of him, but there is too much turmoil between us to deny. Prejudice for one. His ancestry for another. Maybe this is the reason he refuses to voice what neither of us wants to admit. If it's not love I'm feeling, it's a spark of something similar. I respect him. I trust him. I admire him to an extent. It's a good start.
I pull the blanket closer around my shoulders with one hand while using the other to grasp the front of his sweatshirt, the fabric over his abdomen bunched in my palms.
"You won't die in there," I say firmly.
In Hell, my powers will be stronger than his. He may have more experience, more control than I do, but if I have to, I will guard him this time. Conor chuckles.
"I'm going to make it a point to try not to," he replies, his lips touching my head unexpectedly, his forehead suddenly against mine. I can't bring myself to look at him, my gaze on my hand fisted in his shirt.
"You're too serious, Emma Chase," Conor whispers.
I close my eyes, my lips turning up, the smile easy. "And you're not serious enough, Conor Reinhardt."
He chuckles again, the sound dark, before placing his hands on my hips.
"You'd be surprised."
My eyes are still closed, the moon pulling me from above, the electric charge between Conor and I pulling me to Earth. Neither of us moves. His forehead stays against mine, his hands warm on my waist, my hand still fisted in his shirt. There is hatred in the house beyond, and I know Lyre is up now, maybe for water, or maybe, like us, the fear of the labyrinth is too much, but whatever it is, I don't move. I don't open my eyes. For one moment, a simple moment, there is only me, the moon, and Conor. A gargoyle and a hybrid Demon, a Guardian and a mark, a boy and a girl.
My fist tightens in his shirt, my feelings so strong they are almost painful. Over the past two months, I have learned from the other hybrids that Demons tend to be possessive. In this moment, I believe them.
Chapter 14
Conor
It is one hour until dawn. Emma is asleep on the cottage's living room sofa, and I am sitting in the kitchen, my chair positioned so I can see into the room. One hand is under her cheek, the other across her stomach as she lies on her side. She is too tall for the couch, her bare feet curled behind her tightly. Even then, she isn't far from falling off onto the floor.
There's a narrow staircase on the right side of the kitchen, a thin wall between it and the rest of the room, and I hear plainly the sudden footsteps that sound on them. They are heavy footsteps, resolute.
"Reinhardt," a voice acknowledges.
I don't turn around.
"Bruno," I say instead, my fingers tapping the top of the white foldout table next to me.
I hear the refrigerator door open then close before Bruno Riley sinks heavily into a chair not far from my own. He is facing me, and he lifts the front legs of his chair off the floor casually, his eyes on me. There he sits, staring. My gaze stays on the living room.
"Am I supposed to find this intimidating?" I ask after a moment.
Bruno laughs. "Do you?"
"No," I answer firmly.
"Then I guess not," the hybrid says. His tone is even, indifferent. I peer at him briefly from the corner of my eye. He is holding an unopened can of root beer, his eyes on me.
"What are you doing, Reinhardt?" he asks.
I sigh. "I keep getting asked that question a lot lately."
Bruno laughs, the sound harsh. "Could it be because you once killed most of my kind and now suddenly you want to help us. You're a gargoyle. You've killed hybrids, Reinhardt. There's no doubt in my mind."
I don't dispute his words. The deaths I've caused in the past weigh heavily on me now. I can't help but wonder if they were just. They haunt me, both awake and asleep. The only consolation is most of my kills were to protect humans. In light of that, most of the Demons and hybrids I have destroyed were evil. But there had been some kills . . .
"People change," I say, brushing the thought away.
Bruno pops open the root beer, the sound loud in the quiet kitchen.
"Do they, Reinhardt? As quickly as you have? I find that hard to believe. Does this mean you no longer believe all Demon children have a thread of evil in their blood."
It isn't a question I can answer. Did I believe all Demon children were evil? In Emma's case, even Deidra's, no. In Lyre's case, maybe even Bruno's, I'm not so sure.
"Even humans have a thread of evil in their blood," I say finally.
Bruno snickers. "That wasn't an answer, Reinhardt."
I turn to look at him, my eyes hard.
"Do not question my morals, Riley, or my authority. I don't have to like all of you to want to help you."
Bruno meets my gaze without flinching, soda leaking out of his can onto the floor where he squeezes too hard on the aluminum.
"In the labyrinth, if it's a choice between any of us, except Emma, and you, will you save yourself or us?" Bruno asks, his teeth gritted.
I find it hard to dislike Bruno. He is a true leader, his protectiveness a virtue. It's also odd, seeing a Demon other than Marcas make other Demons his responsibility. Marcas is right. Unity is the hybrid advantage. I stand up, my eyes on Bruno. Towering over him, I point at his chest coldly.
"Ask yourself this instead, Hybrid. In the end when this is over, what will I be left with?"
Bruno's eyes narrow then widen, and he looks away. He knows the answer as clearly as I do. If the hybrids succeed, they will have a home in Hell, safely protected from Lucifer and ruled by a just ruler. I am left with nothing.
By helping the hybrids and killing fellow gargoyles, Will and I will be shunned from gargoyle society. When this adventure is over, I am left with nothing. No duty, no gargoyle family. I have no idea about my mother. I have avoided her for fear of her response. But even if she accepts me, she will be duty bound to turn me into the gargoyle council where I will sit in judgment. In the end, my sacrifice will mean nothing except to the hybrids.
Chapter 15
Emma
Only Marcas appears at the cottage door the next morning. He stands tall, stoic, his hands behind his back, his hair even blacker in the dim light of dawn. It smells and sounds like morning, the dampness sweet, a few lone birds twilling in the distance. But as I look around at the solemn group of hybrids, I realize it doesn't feel like morning. Dawn is about new beginnings, about a world awakening. It's saying hello to a new day. The expressions around me look like silent farewells.
"Hell," Marcas says thoughtfully, "is only dark in the nether realms, in the inner levels deep in the bowels of the underworld. The outer levels exist within the human world, parallel to it. Enepsigo's power is tied to the moon. Her realm is the outer most level of Hell just beyond mine. It will not be dark until you enter the labyrinth."
"That's a relief," someone mutters, but I didn't look to see who it was.
My eyes are on the training field beyond Marcas' shoulder. There, standing in the dew dampened grass, his body leaning casually against the stone fence, is Conor. Will Reinhardt is seated on the wall next to him, his expression grave, angry. They are exchanging words, heated words.
Conor's hand grips the fence's wall, rapidly becoming one with the stone before he closes his eyes and says something to Will that makes the gargoyle look away. When he turns back to Conor, his expression is no longer angry. It is grave and weary. Conor speaks again, and Will cracks a small smile before the two of them bump knuckles. No hugs, no awkward goodbyes, but the eyes say enough. My heart clenches. I care about Conor. I care about his carefree nature, his resolve to do right even when it seems wrong.
And then Conor smirks before lifting his hand in a silent gesture to a figure hiding behind a tree in the distance. All I see is red hair, and although I had once felt jealous of the girl I knew hid there, the feeling is mostly gone now replaced by amusement as she flips Conor the bird. It only makes him grin wider.
Marcas is still talking when I turn back to face him. His eyes move to my face, and I fight not to cowe
r. I picture the short, small redhead behind the tree, and it helps. If Marcas is human enough to love, then I can look past the darkness in him.
"It's time," he says, and we move forward as he leads us into the open field. Conor joins us, but Will only nods before turning to walk away. I think he's had enough of goodbyes.
"The older a hybrid becomes, the more powerful. As we age, we need less food, less sleep, less human amenities," Marcas explains.
He lifts his arm, and the air before us suddenly begins to shimmer. I feel Deidra shiver from behind me, and Ace snuffles nervously near my feet. Marcas had vetoed the drex's involvement the day before, but the creature is bound to me, and I refuse to leave him behind. I wait for Marcas to fight me over his appearance, but he only glances disapprovingly at the creature before gesturing at the opaque air now in front of us.
"As you grow, many of you will also obtain enough power to open portals between this world and Hell. This portal will take you to the labyrinth. I have no idea what Enepsigos has planned for you. The journey will not be an easy one. Stay alert. Take your time."
"And don't die, right," Lyre says crossly from behind me.
Marcas's expression remains even, although his eyes redden. "That too," he says simply. "The portal will open at the labyrinth's entrance. It is made of stone, carved entirely out of an underground cavern. Having the gargoyle will be an advantage there. There are no dead ends. There is only one direction, a straight, twisting circuit to the Spear of Destiny. There may be two tasks. There may be twenty. But no matter the number of obstacles you face, it will be laden with horror."
Fiona sighs, "I feel like Frodo being advised by Gandalf. Only we're supposed to seize a spear rather than destroy a ring."
I look at her over my shoulder. "You've read Lord of the Rings?"
Fiona laughs, her hand on her chest. "Um, no, but the movie was amazing. Orlando Bloom as an elf . . . yeah, enough said."
Gwenyth and Hesther are quick to agree as Gray mumbles something about Hollywood manufactured men. Marcas clears his throat, stepping aside so we can enter the portal. No one moves. Conor is standing next to Marcas now, and they exchange a look but don't interfere.