Gargoyles I, II, III: Dark Angel Alliance

by Rach Elle

  Junior nodded, “Yeah, you get used to that too.”

  The small sound of footsteps wrapping against the marble floor echoed in the ballroom. Kingsley looked over Junior’s shoulder to see Awilda. She stopped short, perhaps stunned to see the two of them conversing. Just as Junior turned his head toward her she looked away, bit her bottom lip nervously, and quickly ascended the staircase.

  Kingsley could hear Junior’s heavy sigh as he watched the girl enter Dr. Crispin’s room. Without taking his eyes off the good doctor’s door he asked, “What am I going to do King?”

  Kingsley wished he had an answer for his young friend; one that would make all of this go away. But he didn’t. He watched as Junior’s eyes lowered to meet his. “For now,” he began, “you keep your distance. You’re too emotionally involved. You need to clear your head and you can’t do that following her around all day.” To his surprise, Junior nodded in agreement.

  Kingsley looked into the blue eyes of Junior. Behind the sadness there was something else. Something he had never seen on this six-foot-six giant; fear. Junior was legitimately and understandably scared. With a deep exhale Kingsley placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. It was about as close to a loving embrace the two of them had ever shared. Oh sure, they’d hugged each other before. When they would reunite after much time apart; but it was always quick and carried connotations of nothing. Today, however, a hand on a shoulder was filled with both love and sorrow. With a heavy heart Kingsley spoke, “I’m sorry Junior; it’s the only way.”

  Junior swallowed the lump in his throat, “I’m not giving up on her.”

  “No one is asking you to. But a little distance might do you some good.”

  Junior clenched his jaw, “Agreed.”

  5

  Jamison entered the old hotel. He nodded in the direction of Darren, the concierge and continued toward the elevators.

  “Oh, Jamison,” Darren began, “Can you take a look at the heat? It’s freezing in here and the dial doesn’t seem to be working.”

  “I thought the lifts were top priority.”

  “Not when it’s this cold out.” Darren joked.

  Jamison sighed and smiled, “If it’s not one thing it’s another, I suppose.”

  Jamison climbed the spiraling flights of stairs all the way to the rooftop. He wished he could have just fixed the damn elevators so he could ride them up here, but Darren was a punk kid that thought he knew best. Too bad he was also a punk kid that just so happened to be the owner’s son. So despite his best judgment and common sense he climbed the steps first, breaking into a sweat along the way.

  Finally, Jamison pushed open the door to the rooftop. The cold wind plastered against his face, freezing the beads of sweat almost instantly. He looked around for the cinderblock he’d always use to prop the door open but it was nowhere to be found. With a groan he set his toolbox down in its place.

  Jamison walked around to the back of the casing that enclosed the generator and central heating and cooling unit. He climbed the rusty ladder to the top and grabbed the casing key he kept on a large ring that hung from his belt.

  A small noise sounded around the other side of the large metal box. He whipped his head around to see what it was, but nothing was there. Finally, he shrugged and cursed the pigeons that had undoubtedly made the noise.

  Jamison brought the key to its appointed hole and stopped suddenly. His tired eyes narrowed at the sight of the casing door. It was busted; dented all to hell. He looked up to see his cinderblock sitting on the edge of the metal box. He wrapped his fingers around the dented door and heaved it upward, opening the casing to reveal the generator and the heating and cooling unit. He cocked his head to the side in confusion as he reached in and grabbed onto an odd looking object that had been wedged into the HVAC. After tugging on it three times he finally put all his strength into it and pulled as hard as he could, dislodging the object and losing his balance. His foot slipped on a rusty rung and he fell to the rooftop with a painful thud.

  Jamison winced in pain as he worked to roll onto his side, relieving some of the pressure from his back. As he rubbed the sore spot he looked over to see the object he had pulled from the HVAC. His brows creased with confusion as he stared upon a single black combat boot.

  6

  Crisp finally, after taking each and every step painfully slow, reached the bottom of the staircase. He looked across the expanse of the ballroom and to the rose garden that sat just outside the wall of windows. It was still early morning and undoubtedly chilly but the sun was shining as if it was the middle of summer.

  His hand reached the end of the banister and he took a deep breath before letting go, officially walking on his own two feet toward the French doors.

  “Crisp.”

  Crisp stopped and looked over his shoulder to see Sonny closing in on him. The Scotsman reached him and held out his arm for support. Crisp scowled at his own inadequacies, “I’ve got it; thanks.” He said flatly.

  Sunders slowed his pace to match the doctor’s. “I take it Awilda told you everything that happened last night.”

  “Yep; sounds like you had quite the adventure.” His tone was laced with sarcasm.

  “Aye,” Sunders said without enthusiasm, “there’s just one thing I don’t understand.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How did you know?”

  Crisp stopped, “Know what?”

  “That she was the destroyer. You told me that theory before Junior ever abducted her in the first place.”

  Crisp winced at the thought of that night and continued walking; the feeling of dread he had had while watching Junior fly higher and higher with Awilda in his arms made his stomach churn. “It wasn’t a theory, it was a guess; an assumption. I simply assumed that Junior and the old man thought she was the destroyer.”

  “Well she is the destroyer.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  Sunders furrowed his brow as he opened the French door for the doctor. “Either it was an incredible guess or you knew something.”

  “Chalk it up to the former.”

  “I’d love to,” Sunders said as he allowed the door to close behind him. He continued walking side by side with Crisp toward the edge of the rose garden where Awilda would soon conduct a memorial service for her father and Regina Wilds. “Unfortunately,” he began, “I can’t seem to shake this feeling that you know much more than you’re letting on.”

  Crisp rolled his eyes, remembering James’ accusations the night before. “Yeah,” he scoffed, “there’s a lot of that going around.”

  7

  Las Vegas, Nevada…

  “Who is it?” Augmen asked.

  BeStone stared into the photographic eyes of Dr. Simon Crispin, “Let’s call him an old friend; one that I haven’t seen in a very long time.”

  BeStone stood with his clan of shifted gargoyles on top of an old hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada; having just received news that they’d pinpointed the location of Awilda Rose. She was in London, England. And if that wasn’t enough good news, Viattrice and Amelie had just arrived to report that the prophesized destroyer wasn’t alone. They handed him a picture of Awilda’s confidant; her personal therapist and travel companion – Dr. Simon Crispin.

  “If he left with Awilda then he’s probably in London too.” Augmen, the stronger of the two brothers deduced.

  BeStone smiled devilishly, “I certainly hope so.”

  He looked up at his most intimate clan.

  Parag stood by his side just as he had done for centuries. Viattrice looked to him with intensity all too familiar, and the most beautiful Amelie stood with the wind swirling through her thick, brown hair. The brothers, Augmen and Cypro, waited for his next order. They were ready and willing to obey. He liked that about them. Yes, he had constructed the most perfect clan over time. The others, honorary members, as he called them, were all living peacefully in their respective areas of the world. He had earned himself quite the network of allie
s; of which he was very proud. “Call out to the others,” he commanded, “Arrange a place to stay just outside of the city and have them congregate as soon as possible.” He turned to Parag, “Set up a little meeting with The Concierge. We must leave the country at once.”

  “The Concierge is behind bars, in case you’ve forgotten.” Parag said.

  “There was an explosion at the facility two weeks ago. I have it on good authority he survived.”

  Parag crooked a brow, “And what authority is that?”

  BeStone dead panned to his tall, Indian friend, “My sources are of no concern to you; you know this.”

  Parag clenched his jaw and silently swallowed his pride; conceding, he asked, “Say he gets us to England; London is a big city. How are we to find them?”

  “Ah,” BeStone smiled, “do I have a treat for you, my friends.”

  8

  London, England…

  Rue sat in her computer chair, cradling her head in the palm of her hand as she listened to Corey talk about his summer vacation in France. Her eyelids were heavy and threatening to close any second. To Corey it would appear she was bored by his story. Well, she was, but under normal circumstances she’d be able to at least pretend to be interested. Unfortunately, she’d spent the entire night stuck on a hotel rooftop, huddled into the fetal position as tightly as possible to shield from the harsh wind. Thankfully, the repairman was due to come into work the next day. All she needed was to create a reason for him to come up to the roof.

  Rue sighed at the thought of her lost, sacrificial combat boot.

  She looked over at the paper that sat on her desk next to her computer. She had narrowed her house search down to one flat not far from United Financial. That way she wouldn’t have to buy a car. Although, she considered purchasing a scooter for an even easier commute.

  Rue looked down at her attire. She had worn this same blouse three times already and she only had one skirt left; ever since the fight she started with Jessie Zane and her boyfriend a couple of days ago, causing her to rip her other one. She was proficient with a needle and thread; but with the damage she’d done to that skirt there was just no reviving it. She needed new clothes. Thankfully they were at the end of the work week and she’d have plenty of time over the weekend to pad her closet.

  Corey continued to babble and her eyelids continued to lower before she straightened at sudden attention. Sunders Harper walked by the office; his large frame passing in front of the opened door quickly. She stood, causing Corey to stop mid-sentence. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized to the younger man. “I just have to do something really fast.” She smoothed her skirt down her shapely hips and pulled her brown hair over one shoulder to give her otherwise drab look some sense of style. Corey looked a little hurt at the interruption. “Hold that thought Corey,” she felt bad as she crossed the room toward the door. “I want to hear more when I get back.” She lied. She couldn’t stand the thought of hurting the kid’s feelings, but she had been waiting to talk to Mr. Harper for many, many hours now.

  Sunders sat in his office with the main light off and his small table lamp on; just the way he liked it. It took some time but he eventually did come to appreciate the way Rue had arranged the space. With the filing cabinet behind him and the desk pushed more toward the middle of the room it did create a cozier atmosphere.

  A light knock sounded at his door but whoever was on the other side didn’t come in. He furrowed his brow, “Come in,” he called.

  The door opened slowly and Rue poked her head inside, “Is this a bad time?”

  Sunders tried to hide his cringe. He felt bad for the way he’d yelled at her the last time she’d just let her self into his office. Obviously she’d learned her lesson; although it wasn’t a lesson he’d intended to teach. Everyone on the fourth floor had an open door policy; except for Bill, but that was to be expected of a higher-up.

  “No, not at all,” he tried to soothe his voice to sound more welcoming and light hearted, “Come on in Rue.”

  Rue entered the office and closed the door behind her. She approached the desk, twiddling her thumbs in front of her stomach and avoiding eye contact.

  “What’s on your mind?” Sunders asked, leaning back in his chair as he studied her. She didn’t look like her normal self. Her hair was an uncombed mess, her blouse wasn’t pressed, her skirt had remnants of what looked to be yesterday’s lunch stained on the hip, and her face was almost completely void of any makeup, revealing the tired bags under her eyes. He didn’t know what had happened to her between leaving work yesterday and showing up today, but he wondered if this was how she really appeared when she thought no one was looking; disheveled and undone. He smiled; she was actually, quite charming this way.

  “Um,” Rue began, unsure of how to arrange her words. “I just wanted to let you know I’m done.”

  Sunders’ eyes popped, “What? You’re leaving the DAA?”

  “No,” Rue held up her hand to assure him she wasn’t. Her eyes carried a sudden sadness at the sound of joy that laced his words. “I mean, I’m done being,” she motioned to her attire, “this.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Rue took a deep breath, “No one likes me. The thing is; that’s not exactly something new. No one has ever liked me. In truth I’m blunt, rash, and I don’t think before I speak or look before I jump. When I learned that I would be starting a job here with the Finders in a different country I thought it was my chance to change all that. I thought if I was friendly then the women would like me. I thought if I wore clothes that were, well, appealing then the men would like me. And I thought if I was energetic and motivated and laughed at all of his jokes then my boss would like me.” Her voice trailed off as she stared into his green eyes. She swallowed a lump in her throat. “But none of it worked. So I’m here to tell you that I’m done with that. The Rue that you’ve worked with for the past week is not who I really am. I’m not perky. I’m not sociable and it’s going to take a lot for me to get used to being a subordinate. That’s not really my thing.

  “I don’t wear bright colors. I like black. And high heels are the bane of my existence. And you know what else?” She squared her shoulders with confidence, “The real Rue wouldn’t have put up with your attitude the other day.” When Sunders crooked a brow in question she continued, “I worked really hard to clean up your office. Obviously it touched some sort of nerve with you but there was no way for me to know that. I rearranged your furniture while wearing a pencil skirt. Do you have any idea how difficult that is? Regardless, I tried to do something nice and I didn’t get as much as a thank you. You just…”

  “You’re right,” Sunders said calmly.

  Rue stopped short, “Wait, what?”

  Sunders smiled apologetically and stood from his chair. His six-foot-five frame towered over hers. The light from the table lamp stretched as far as it could go but still couldn’t reach his face. She strained to see his features in the shadows. “Thank you,” he said.

  “Oh,” Rue stood awkwardly, unsure of where to go from here. She hadn’t expected him to react so calmly and patiently to her little rant. “You’re welcome.”

  After a moment of silence, Sunders held out his hand, “I’m Sunders Harper.” His smile widened as Rue looked to him with confusion. “You said the Rue I’ve been working with isn’t the real Rue at all. So I suppose a formal introduction is in order.”

  Rue could feel an uncontrollable upward twitching at the corner of her lips as she grabbed his hand and shook it lightly. Quietly, she said, “I’m Rula Jones.”

  “It’s nice to meet you Rula.”

  9

  Junior reached the bottom of the staircase and planted his feet on the stone floor of the living room. The sun shined through the large stained glass window and lit the place perfectly. Not a single lamp was needed; not even for the humans – speaking of which…

  “Where’s Awilda?” He asked Bawli who sat on the couch watching television. He cring
ed instantly. He shouldn’t have asked the question. He was supposed to keep his distance. It just felt so unnatural to not have her in the foreground of his mind. “I mean,” he shrugged, “not that I care or anything.”

  Bawli looked at Junior with an expression of confusion infused with a hint of who-do-you-think-you’re-fooling. “Haven’t seen her,” he said before turning back to the paused television.

  The door to the downstairs powder room creaked as it opened and seconds later Zeff rounded the corner, still shifted and holding his abdomen. He was clearly still in pain, but like hell he was going to become bed ridden like that Dr. Crispin chap. He winced as he sat down on the opposite end of the couch as Bawli.

  “’Bout time mate,” Bawli joked. “You’re moving slower than molasses. You’d think you were just impaled with a giant shard of glass or something.”

  Zeff smiled, “Just hit play already.”

  Junior considered joining the two and watching whatever movie they were in the middle of, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to see Awilda. He didn’t have to talk to her, he justified. Maybe just seeing her would ease his withdrawals. With a heavy exhale he crossed the living room.

  As he neared the ballroom his heart jumped at the sight of Awilda Rose. She looked beautiful in a pair of jeans and knit sweater with sleeves that were too long. She had her hair down in no particular style, but it didn’t matter. The brown and gray locks draped perfectly over her slender shoulders. He stood for a moment, trying to convince himself to turn away before she caught him staring when from out of nowhere Alvin grabbed her from behind. He held her arms behind her back as a look of pain swept her face.

  Junior moved closer, trying to control his anger. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation…