by Anton Strout
“Thank you,” I said. “My own particular lineage has not always been known for their generosity, so it does my soul good to hear you say such a thing. Before I release you, however, I would ask a boon from you.”
Wariness crept into the stone eyes of the monk, but after a second of hesitation, he nodded. “Ask, and if it is in my power to be of aid to you, I will try.”
“The many souls that currently inhabit the living stonework of Alexander Belarus are varied,” I said. “I cannot fathom why certain souls have lingered on earth long enough to take possession of these forms, but I do know after these many long months that not all of them are as kind as you. For my favor I would ask only that you do in turn what we have done for you. Help another of our kind if you can . . . Bring them to us or inform us of any unquiet souls you come across.”
Jonathan nodded. “Very well,” he agreed.
“Now, with regard to your own life,” I said, “your previous human life, that is . . . it would be in your best interest to stay clear of the Cloisters.”
Curiosity filled the angel’s face. “Oh, really?” he asked with a hint of disappointment in his words.
I nodded.
“It is best to let go of your past,” I said. “Who you were is behind you. Who you will be is up to you.”
The monk fell silent in contemplation. “You have given me much to think about, Stanis,” he said, “but first I would like to thank the three people who gave me over to your care earlier tonight.”
“Three?” I repeated. Alexandra and Aurora had been the only ones Emily and I had seen in Fort Tryon Park. Marshall would have been their likely third, but they said he was back at his store.
“There was the woman with the bladed staff, and the one you call Alexandra, and the man at the edge of the forest.”
“What man at the edge of the forest?”
The angel’s face sunk. “He wasn’t with them?”
“I do not believe so,” I said. “Describe him.”
The angelic monk thought for a second. “Everything happened so fast,” he said. “I think he had a close-trimmed beard . . . but also wild black hair. Oh, wait! The rings!”
“Rings?” Emily asked.
The angel nodded. “I remember the light of the moon shining off his hands,” he said. “They were covered in rings, every finger.”
Emily looked to me. “Do you know this person? Is this an associate of your human friends?”
“I am afraid not,” I said, “but I will inquire with Alexandra. She is . . . changed as of late. Perhaps there are people working with her now that I am unfamiliar with.” I turned to the monk, gesturing to the stained glass window overhead. “Go, fly. Introduce yourself to the quarry.”
The monk cocked his head at me. “Quarry?”
“It is a term my friend Marshall Blackmoore came up with,” I said. “A group of crows is called a murder; whales come in a pod . . . He coined the term that a gathering of our kind is known as a quarry.”
He smiled at that, and with an awkward leap into the air, the angel headed up and out of the church, fumbling for a moment with the window as he exited. When the window pivoted shut after him, the space was silent once more and I turned my attention to Emily.
“Do you think he will stay? Not every grotesque does . . .”
“I think he will be fine,” she said, reassuring me. “I almost envy him.”
“Why?”
“He knows how he died,” she said. “He knows where he is buried. I cannot say the same for myself. It is very unnerving to be in this form, Stanis, without knowing how one got here, not knowing the fate by which my human life was terminated. My death is as much a part of me as my life is, and not knowing . . . It leaves a cold and empty place within me.”
I took her hand in mine, squeezing. “Give it time,” I said. “You did much good tonight, helping out our newest addition to Sanctuary.” I spread my wings and looked out the stained glass window above. “It would seem, however, it is also time for me to help out my human friends.”
“How?” she asked.
“I need to find out who this ringed man from the forest is,” I said, leaping into flight. “Is he friend or foe? Either way, we can deal with him accordingly.”
Six
Alexandra
I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to the strange newness of my family’s ancestral home on Gramercy Park, especially up here in Alexander’s art studio/library. Even Bricksley seemed confused by it all, his tiny stone golem body waddling back and forth on the tiny legs that supported his single brick of a body.
“I know,” I said as I stared down into his big drawn-on eyes. I couldn’t help but smile back at the eternal one I had painted on him. “It takes some getting used to, but I tried to at least order the place the way it was before mind-controlled Stanis trashed it. My great-great-grandfather’s books on arcane societies go where they always have, in the last row of the stacks. If you would be so kind . . .”
Bricksley picked the small stacks of books from the floor and headed off as I set about sorting out the rest of the tomes still scattered all around the library/art studio that I had spent my life before Saint Mark’s hanging out in.
Despite the late hour, I found myself wide-awake thanks to the pit of nerves that filled my stomach and had the added benefit of fighting off sleep.
I worked in silence as I waited, the only sound that of Bricksley’s tiny feet scraping along the wooden floor as he went about his business.
“I see Bricksley is hard at work,” Stanis said from the doorway leading out to the terrace, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin.
I paused for a second to settle both my stomach and my nerves before turning around. “He’s like the Energizer Bunny,” I said, watching the animated brick totter across the floor toward the library with another stack of books in his tiny metal arms. “He keeps going and going and going.”
“It is a shame he is not built for flight,” Stanis said. He collapsed his wings in close and stepped through the doorway, entering the floor.
“I suppose I could work on that,” I said, stepping past him as I exited out onto the terrace, leaving Bricksley to his work. “Thank you for meeting me. I know how late it is and I’m sure you want to get back to your people.”
“It is no worry,” he said, once more stepping out into the night air, his voice short and firm with me. “This would not be the worst place in the world to take my statue form. After all, I did it here for the past hundred years or so.”
“Oh, right,” I said, feeling a bit foolish. “Of course. That was a simpler time.”
“Was it?”
“Before your father came here, before the awakening of all those other grotesques. How many people did you talk to in all that previous time?”
“Your great-great-grandfather was the sole person I was in contact with,” he said.
“See? Simpler.”
“But then you and I would never have conversed,” he said with a fanged grin.
I turned away from it, finding it unbearable.
“Don’t,” I said. “I don’t deserve your smile.”
When I looked back up again it had vanished from his face.
“What is wrong, Alexandra?” he asked.
“Even before I knew who or what you were, I always sensed your presence. Watching, protecting . . . I mean, a woman can take care of herself and all but somewhere at the back of my mind, I sensed you. I guess I just miss it, is all . . .”
“I am still here for you, Alexandra,” he said.
I bit my tongue.
The person I had been these past few months wanted to scream, That’s not true! at him. There were all the goings-on at Sanctuary, the hunt for the rogue gargoyles, and of course Emily.
But tonight wasn’t about me being selfish anymore, and besides, St
anis had made his choice in companionship, hadn’t he? He deserved that bit of happiness, the kind only a fellow grotesque could give him.
“I appreciate that you’re here for me,” I said, “and your efforts to help clean up the mess Caleb and I accidentally caused by awakening so many grotesques.”
His wings twitched, betraying the nerve I had hit, but I pressed on.
“But it’s come to my attention that I could be kinder about it. I bark orders at you, but we are all a team in this together. Or we were. I don’t know what any of us are anymore.”
“Where is this coming from, Alexandra?” he asked. “What is truly bothering you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I value what we have, what we had, and I’m afraid I’m losing that—and myself—in all the crazy.”
“Do not drive yourself mad,” he said. “I have had several hundred years to contend with both the mundane and arcane worlds and I barely know how to process it.”
Somehow the optimism with which he was taking my apology made it worse.
“Regardless,” I said, holding up a hand for him to stop. “I am sorry if I have been out of sorts with you. I will try to be more mindful.”
“I appreciate that,” Stanis said after a long moment, “and I will endeavor to do the same.”
We stared at each other for a good, long moment in silence . . . until I realized his silence came from the faint rays of the sun that had crept up, rendering him an inert statue.
I turned, once again the fool as I went back into my great-great-grandfather’s newly restored library, but I also felt better for having cleared the air with Stanis. However I felt, it was a step in the right direction, and one that was better left alone for now.
A dark, smug sense of satisfaction at having him away from his people for a day—and away from Emily, too—rose up, surprising me as much as it shamed me. Lord knows I was far from perfect, but I could contend with only so much emotional growth—or really, baggage—at one time.
Apologies now, slaying the green-eyed monster later. Right now, I needed to sleep, wishing for once I could induce it via the rise of the sun like a grotesque. There were other apologies to offer, but if I went for any of them at this time of the morning, I’d have a whole new litany of apologies to make instead.
I scooped up Bricksley from where he had fallen inert from transformation coming out onto the sunlit terrace. I stuffed him in my backpack, grabbed a few of the books I had gathered from inside, and headed back down to Saint Mark’s where my bed awaited me.
Seven
Alexandra
I awoke around seven, a rarity given the night schedule I’d been keeping. Considering last night’s near-death adventure, I felt remarkably well. I showered, dressed, and even ran errands for several hours before calling Rory and begging her to meet me at Marshall’s game store before it could open.
The two of us arrived at the same time outside Roll for Initiative, and when Marshall looked out his store window and saw my arms were full of maybe a dozen or so small boxes and bags, he ran to the door, unlocked it, and let us in.
“This is an odd but welcome surprise,” he said, locking the door once we were inside. “You’re not really a morning person these days.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, pushing past Rory. “Not really a fan of that big fireball up in the sky, either, but I thought why not get up early and do something proactive with my day other than hunting gargoyles.”
“I’m missing a contemporary class for this,” Rory said, laying down her Manhattan Conservatory of Dance bag.
“I know,” I said. “Sorry.” I walked over to the store’s sales counter off to my left and set about unloading everything in my arms.
“What’s all this?” Marshall asked.
“Breakfast,” I said. “I figured it’s been a while since we’ve all just hung out, so I thought I’d bring everything to you.”
Rory picked through a few of the bags, pulling an icing-drizzled muffin from one of them. “And you do mean everything,” she said.
“Oh!” I said, excited. “That’s a cruffin!”
“A what-fin?” Marshall asked.
Rory’s face transformed to a look of awe and she went from just holding it to cradling it with care in her hands.
“I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen one,” she said. “How long did you have to wait?”
“About two hours,” I said. “There was already a line when I got there.”
Marshall walked over to Rory, staring at the treat.
“But what is it?” he asked.
“It’s all the rage,” I said. “It’s a muffin on the outside, but inside it’s got the flaky layer of a croissant. Every food blog in the city has been losing their minds over them, so I figured, why not get the best for my besties? You got lucky. They limit them to two per person, but I promised them a discount here at your store to snag a third.”
Marshall looked up. “So generous of you,” he said.
Rory held the cruffin up to her mouth, not daring to bite into it yet. “It will be worth it,” she said to Marshall. “Trust me.”
“And if you don’t like it, I hit up a bunch of other places, too.” I pointed off to a red and yellow bag at the far end of the counter. “There’s an egg sandwich in that one where the ‘bread’ is made of maple-bacon pancakes.”
Marshall turned away from Rory and dove for the other bag. “You had me at bacon,” he said, unwrapping one of the sandwiches and tearing into it.
He and Rory fell silent for a few minutes as they devoured their first breakfast treats while I simply enjoyed watching them. When Marshall had polished off his sandwich, he basked in the glow for a moment with a big smile before coming back to earth.
“How’s the arm feel today?” he asked.
I flexed it back and forth. “Feels a little tight,” I said, “but good. Thanks again for the potion.”
“So what’s all this really about?” Rory asked, licking her fingers clean. “Last night neither of us could talk sense to you and you were practically biting our heads off. Today you’re either killing us with kindness or just trying to kill us by way of caloric intake.”
A twinge of guilt knotted my stomach. “Consider this a peace offering,” I said.
Marshall narrowed his eyes at me with skepticism. “I didn’t realize the three of us were at war with each other.”
Being honest with myself was one thing, but steeling my resolve to admit my shortcomings to my friends was far more uncomfortable.
Still, I needed to verbalize it out loud to them because just shoving food down their throats wasn’t going to be enough. I took in a deep breath, letting out the tension that was starting to build in my shoulders.
“I know I’ve been pushing myself too hard,” I said. “And Rory. And you, when we can drag you away from the store. If we keep going like this, we’re going to make mistakes, and someone besides me is going to get hurt. I don’t know if I can live with that.”
“What about the rest of New York?” Marshall said. “Last night you were so concerned with stopping every bit of gargoyle violence before it even had a chance to happen.”
“Caleb might have pointed out to me that I can’t help anyone if we’re not careful,” I said. “We’ll end up too dead to do anyone any good.”
“Hey, I’m all for not dying,” Marshall said.
“So we didn’t get through to you, but Caleb did?” Rory asked, crossing her arms.
“Oh, I went down kicking and screaming,” I said. “I fought him on it for a bit, but then we made a discovery that changed my mind.”
“Which is . . . ?”
Rory grabbed a chocolate-covered doughnut out of one of the boxes and sat herself up on the edge of Marshall’s counter.
“Apparently, the arcane community is hunting me down,” I said, rea
ching into my coat pocket and pulling out the now-withered vine Stanis had pulled off my body last night. “Some witch or warlock tried to snare me with some creepy little living plant trap up at the Cloisters. The witches and warlocks of Manhattan seem to be on to us. We’ve got to be more careful. I’ve got to be more careful.”
“Now you’re talking sense,” Rory said, her mouth covered with chocolate like she was a four-year-old. “It’s about time the madness stopped.”
“Oh, we’re not stopping,” I said, correcting her.
“We’re not?” she asked, wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand.
“No,” I said. “We’re just going to be a bit more cautious.”
“Speaking of which,” Marshall said. He wiped his hands off and popped out from behind the counter, heading off toward the back of the store. “Wait right here.”
“There are cruffins,” I said, finally picking one up for myself. “We’re not going anywhere.”
While Marshall vanished into the back room of the store, I bit into my treat not really knowing what to expect. An explosion of flaky layers and muffin textures filled my mouth. Each bite’s deliciousness added to the last, building to an overwhelmingly sweet but savory explosion. I couldn’t consume it fast enough and by the time Marshall came back to us, I had greedily scarfed the whole thing down.
“Oh. My. God,” I said. “It was worth waiting in line for.”
Marshall stopped. In his hands he held a black velvet bag that was just slightly smaller than your average plastic grocery one.
“Please tell me there are cruffins in that bag,” Rory said, as she hopped down off the counter.
I stepped closer, licking my fingers clean. “What is that?”
Marshall held the bag up to his chest as if he were about to clutch it. “After you two staggered in all bloody and wet last night,” he said, “I was worried. I guess your recklessness got to me, so I decided to do something about it.”
Marshall extended his arms, offering the bag to me, and I snatched it from his hands with the excitement of a kid at Christmas, startling him.