Incarnate (A Spellmason Chronicle)

by Anton Strout

  “Hey, pretty mama,” he said when he pulled away. He held me at arm’s length by my shoulders. “So very groovy to make your acquaintance.”

  Given the raw and powerful vibe coming off of him, I couldn’t help but smile. “Likewise,” I said.

  Fletcher looked to the wilted flower still in my hand. He reached out with the index finger of his left hand and touched it. Leaning forward, he blew a sweet, gentle breath across my palm. The petals of the wildflower fluttered to life, their motion tickling the palm of my hand. I looked away from the flower and stared up at the man.

  “E.T. phone home,” he said in a mock croak, and laughed with a childish delight at what he had done. After almost a full minute of it, he regained control over himself and stroked his beard before gesturing with his arms out to both sides.

  “Welcome to Strawberry Fields,” he said.

  “Of course,” I said as recollection hit me. I hadn’t been up in this part of Central Park in more than a decade, having almost forgotten about its existence. “This is the memorial to John Lennon.”

  Fletcher nodded, his eyes sparking. “Yeah, John was good people,” he said. “Always treated me kindly.”

  I raised an eyebrow at that. “You?” I asked. “You knew John Lennon?”

  He nodded again. “Yoko, too. You know, people give her a bad rap and all, but she’s really a sweet lady.”

  I shook my head. “But Lennon died, like, forever ago, and you’re . . . what? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight . . . ?”

  Caleb laid his hand on my shoulder, his eyes telling me to proceed with caution, but before I could, Fletcher was laughing again.

  “Age is just a number, lady,” he said, grinning. The smile radiated a preternatural warmth from him, one that confirmed to me that we were dealing with something more than some young stoner hippie. If there was such a thing as Father Nature or whatever you’d call some sort of spirit of the forest, this guy glowed with an aura of it.

  The smile slowly faded from his face. “Somehow I don’t think you came here to talk about me, am I right?”

  “No offense, Fletch,” Caleb said. “Listen, I’m sorry I haven’t come by lately. I don’t want you to think I only show up when I need something.”

  “But that is what you do,” the man said, his face going serious with a dark power that danced behind his eyes. I felt the weight of it, and by the way the color was draining out of Caleb’s face, so could he. A long silence passed between the two men as I waited and watched, each second becoming more and more uncomfortable.

  “It’s all good, brother,” Fletcher said, with a laugh and a hearty clap on Caleb’s shoulder that broke the spell of the tension. “Just keepin’ ya honest.”

  Caleb relaxed while the two of us watched Fletcher scan the entirety of the memorial circle.

  “Let’s move off to the side here,” he said. “We’re a bit too much in the middle of everything. I’d hate to harsh the mellow of the mood here.”

  Fletcher went off to the one side of the circle where there were no benches, only trees. I was relieved, since it moved us farther away from the rowdiest group of guitar players who were busy launching into their six hundredth chorus of “Hey, Jude.” With no benches nearby, Fletcher sat himself down cross-legged on the pavement and waited for us to do the same. When we had lowered ourselves, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a clandestine whisper.

  “Lay it on me,” he said, slapping his hands down on both knees. “I’m all ears.”

  “We came into Central Park seeking something,” Caleb said.

  “Hey, man,” Fletcher said. “It’s all good. You need some herb, no worries. I got the hookup.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s not why we came,” I said.

  Fletcher’s face fell. He looked almost hurt.

  “My bad,” he said. “Continue.”

  “My friend and I were seeking out the special cemetery,” Caleb said. “The one for those of a more supernatural persuasion.”

  “Checking out a plot of your own?” Fletcher asked with a chuckle. “Not planning on dying, are you?”

  “He’s tried,” I said. “Didn’t really work out for him.”

  “Oh?” Fletcher raised one of his bushy eyebrows.

  “Long story,” Caleb said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, I thought I was leading us right to it, but I got . . . well, lost.”

  “Nature can be tricky like that,” Fletcher said, erupting into a bout of laughter.

  Caleb sighed. “It can also be tricky in that it attacked us. We were covered in vines that were trying to tear me and my friends apart, and green so isn’t my color.”

  A darkness clouded the man’s eyes.

  “I do not think an attack like that would happen unless nature was provoked,” he said.

  “Well . . .” Caleb started, but I interrupted.

  “That’s on me,” I said. “We’d been wandering lost for a bit and I thought we might make some progress if we cut a new path. I wouldn’t have done it, though, if I had known what might happen.”

  Fletcher frowned at me from deep within his beard and jerked his thumb at Caleb. “This one should have known better,” he said.

  Caleb shrugged. “What can I say, Fletch? I’m all about finding shortcuts. In fact, if I didn’t take shortcuts I never would have ended up finding you a few years ago trapped by that wizard who had taken up occupancy in Belvedere Castle.”

  “Ugh,” the man said with a shudder that dispelled his growing menace. “Him and his cat, not to mention all those little blue creatures scurrying around . . . Don’t remind me!”

  “So can you help us or should we go find ourselves a nice druid?” Caleb asked.

  “Druids,” Fletcher said with another shudder. “Always disrobing in my woods, calling on my power. Like I have nothing better to do than help them frolic or engorge their phalluses in the name of nature!”

  “We just need to check out a few things,” I assured him. “I need to make sure a certain family’s mausoleum is secure. And . . . there’s another, more sensitive matter . . .”

  “Are you familiar with the Butcher of the Bowery?” Caleb asked.

  Fletcher’s face went dark and he nodded. “It was a particularly bad time for those of us who lived through it,” he said. “But yes, I recall Robert Patrick Dorman.”

  “We think he may be back,” Caleb said. “In the form of a gargoyle. Judging by a trashed town house we’ve been to. There are other gargoyles working for his cause every night.”

  “We need to locate where his body rests in the cemetery, though,” I said. “So . . . can you do it? Can you get us to the cemetery? Please . . . ?”

  Fletcher examined my face and I did nothing except meet his eyes. After an all-too-long examination of me, Fletcher nodded.

  “I will grant you safe passage,” he said, “but first, I would ask a boon of you.”

  I let out a long, slow breath, cringing a bit inside.

  “And that would be . . . ?” I asked.

  “Lately I’ve seen a surge of these winged creatures over this city,” he said. “Some of them even foolish enough to try to enter my woods, and while either I or the forces of this forest have driven them back, they still have managed to elude me. You want into the cemetery? Fine. I’ll grant you this, but in return I first want you to bring me one of these winged creatures.”

  “In what condition?” I asked. “None of them will want to come willingly. And why don’t you just go get one yourself?”

  “I wish to examine the nature of these creatures, but it is no matter how one is delivered to me,” he said. “As to why I don’t capture one for myself . . . I am afraid the park and the woodlands here are my domain. To venture into the rest of this city would prove impossible.”

  “Fletch, if we could capture the Butcher, we wouldn’t need t
o go to the cemetery,” Caleb said.

  “I didn’t ask for the Butcher,” he said, shaking a finger at him.

  “No, you did not,” I said with a dark smile. “You just want any one of these misguided creatures. Fine. I’ve met enough of them that have wanted to take a swing at me. It’s time I return the favor. I’ll get you one. Pretty sure I can bring one of them down.”

  “Really, now?” the hippie asked, looking me up and down. “You sure you’re up to that, lady?”

  “I know a guy,” I said, standing up, brushing my pants off.

  “Hey,” Caleb said, also rising. “That’s my usual line.”

  “Sorry,” I said, heading for the path leading out of Strawberry Fields. “Better ready yourself for that trip to your secret cemetery.”

  “I like your lady,” Fletcher said, laughing and applauding me as I went. “She’s got moxie, that one.”

  “Or a death wish,” Caleb said, running to catch up with me.

  I didn’t bother to correct him. Given the various factions out there either wanting my help or trying to kill me, I couldn’t worry about that. All I could worry about was how I was going to find and run down one of my problem gargoyles. Luckily, I did know a guy who might prove helpful.

  Well, more grotesque than guy, really.

  Sixteen

  Stanis

  “Could you fly—I don’t know—stealthier?”

  There was little bite in Alexandra’s words, only worry and concern. Cradled in my arms, Alexandra yawned as her eyes searched to either side of us as I flew through the massive canyons of Manhattan’s lit-up buildings.

  “Excuse me?” I asked, spreading my wings to slow my flight.

  “I know it’s late,” she said, pointing to our right where people moved behind the glass windows of the apartments, “but the Upper East Side is still mostly residential. We just need to be extra cautious and keep ourselves out of view.” Then she added, “Pretty please?”

  “As you wish,” I said and slowed my pace even further as I maneuvered us away from any apartment with its lights on at this time of night.

  We circled the area, Alexandra’s eyes sliding shut as I flew, only to flutter open with a look of panic again.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Just tired,” she said. “Three nights of this while researching what I can find written about Dorman, and I’m beat.”

  When her eyes slid shut again, I smoothed my flight as best I could, allowing her a momentary reprieve from our worries. I remained aerial, searching the streets below until a crackle of voices rose up from the speaker of Alexandra’s phone in her pocket.

  She woke with a start, leaned her ear to her chest, then pointed up ahead.

  “Dispatch is reporting activity on the next block,” she said. “Take us down in the alley between those two buildings, please.”

  I aimed for the narrow space between the upcoming buildings, drawing in my wings as we approached. Once in, there simply was not room enough to expand my wings and I dropped down into the dark and deserted alley faster than I would have liked. My knees buckled with the impact of my landing.

  Alexandra—shaken—took her arms from around my neck as she swung down out of my hold on her and set her feet on the ground. While it took Alexandra a moment to adjust to the darkness of the alley, she kept pressed close to me, which I found I did not mind. She lingered a moment longer before finally stepping away, feeling around as her eyes continued to adjust.

  “How’s Emily?” she asked from the other side of the alley.

  I paused, surprised to find her asking.

  “She is well,” I said with caution. “I have set into motion the tools that may lead to Emily discovering who she was in life.”

  “Is that important to her?” Alexandra asked, turning back to me.

  “She is unique among my people in that she does not remember any part of her past,” I said. “Some of those at Sanctuary have shown no concern for who they were, simply embracing what they are now. But as to Emily . . . yes, I think it is quite important to her to understand the person she once was.”

  Alexandra fell silent, and turned back to examining the contents of the alley, which left me uncomfortable. I decided against reciprocating and asking her about Caleb, and instead took the opportunity to better take in our surroundings.

  “I do not see one of my kind here,” I said.

  Alexandra continued farther away from me as she searched.

  “Here’s a compelling piece of evidence,” she said, picking up a crushed trash can that stuck up out of broken slats of wood that I imagined had once housed the can itself. “Judging by the damage, I would say at least one of your fellow grotesques was here. No doubt they didn’t stay long, especially when someone caught sight of them long enough to call in the complaint.”

  I leapt into the sky, flourishing my wings fully open along the length of the alley, hanging in the air above Alexandra, looking down.

  “If the voices on the police scanner were correct a moment ago, it has not been all that long,” I said. “And I suspect the trail of the hunt has not yet gone cold.”

  “Agreed,” she said. “You take to the sky. I’ll check out the rest of the alley.”

  “As you wish,” I said, and shot straight up into the night sky without another word.

  From above the buildings on either side of the alley, I watched Alexandra down the narrow gap toward Eighty-third Street, stepping carefully to avoid the scattered trail of debris from whatever had happened here. I flew along, following the signs of a grotesque’s path of destruction. Evidence of its exit from the alley continued out onto the cross street, marked by an off-duty cab half-crushed farther down the block. A pile of broken bricks sat at the corner of the building on the north side of the street and I aimed for it, following the signs of chaos into the gated area between two other residential buildings.

  The crunch of stone grinding violently against stone rose up from somewhere in the new alley and I swooped down out of the sky at the far end, stopping myself short when I discovered Alexandra there already.

  She jumped back with a tiny yelp.

  “My apologies,” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, pushing by me, holding a finger up to her lips to silence me. Somewhere nearby the sounds of struggle filled the air. “We need to keep moving.”

  “There’s no one else in this alley—”

  Alexandra was already running back past me toward the end of the alley I had swooped in from. Confused, I spun around to follow her progress, catching sight of her disappearing down a right turn off the main alley I had not noticed.

  I followed after her and tore down the even darker interior alley. A struggle echoed out from somewhere far in front of us, but as we approached the dead end of the alley, the sound was already fading.

  “Whatever went down just happened,” Alexandra said. She pointed to the wall to our left, which was in the act of crumbling away from whatever had impacted it.

  As I ran to the spot, a few of the bricks rolled to a stop at my clawed feet.

  “None of the walls have broken down,” she said. “Which means no one escaped this dead end that way.”

  “Then that means . . .”

  “Up, up, and away, Stanis,” Alexandra said.

  I searched directly above us, making sure I had clearance to rise. At the top of the buildings the sky was a flurry of activity, none of it discernible . . . except for the fact that something was falling.

  And falling fast.

  I dashed toward Alexandra. She had not quite registered what I had, a look of fear overtaking her at my rapid approach. She braced herself as my clawed hands grabbed her shoulder, careful not to dig in. Using only the smallest fraction of my power, I shoved her away from where she stood against one of the walls. Even with that small amou
nt of my strength, she shot across the alley as if I had thrown her. Her feet danced on, then tripped over a large trash bag, sending her into a tumble until she came to a rest against the far wall.

  Alexandra’s head poked up from behind the bag of trash, her eyes furious.

  “Stanis, what the—”

  Alexandra did not get a chance to finish her sentence. Chunks of stone rained down over me where she had stood a moment ago, a cloud of dust rising up all around.

  These were not just chunks of stone, I realized. Hands, arms, and legs stuck up from the jagged pile settling around me.

  Through the cloud of dust, I could make out Alexandra’s shadowy figure as she stood up and came toward me. “You okay?” she asked, coughing.

  I spread my wings wide and flapped them several times to clear away the dust. Alexandra’s cough continued until the air around us was clear once more.

  “I am unharmed,” I said, which took some of the tension out of Alexandra’s face and shoulders.

  I looked up, unable to make out any sign of activity above.

  Alexandra looked up, then back down to the ground as she stepped with caution among the pile of broken limbs, approaching me. When we were face-to-face she grabbed on to my shoulders.

  “We need to get up there, now,” she said, then added, “Pretty please . . . ?”

  “Hold on,” I said, and without any hesitation, I shot straight up into the air with all my strength.

  Alexandra’s arms clenched tight around me and I felt the breath go out of her.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  She nodded, even though all the color had drained from her face.

  “It’s just the falling sensation in my stomach,” she said. “Caused a quick wave of nausea.”

  “Should I put you back down?”

  Alexandra shook her head, locking eyes with me. “No,” she said. “There’s simply no time for chundering up the great Technicolor Yawn in the fast-paced world of gargoyle tracking.”

  I did not fully understand what she meant, but I assumed it meant I had just been spared a great indignity. Her eyes were filled with determination, and instead of worrying any further, I concentrated on my flight.