Gargoyles I, II, III: Dark Angel Alliance

by Rach Elle

  12

  Sunders arrived at the Vanderburen castle for the third time this week. He sighed before knocking on the large doors. He didn’t know how much more help he was going to be. But he had promised Awilda his undivided attention for the morning.

  A moment later the doors opened and Bawli stood on the other side. “Why do you even bother knocking?” The robust shifter smiled, “You practically live here at this point.”

  “Just trying to be polite,” Sunders said as he stepped into the foyer.

  “Making me get up and fetch the door is anything but, mate.”

  “Sorry, I’ll just let myself in next time.”

  Sunders and Bawli reached the end of the corridor and went their separate ways. Bawli headed back to the couch and Sunders to the large staircase in the ballroom. He placed his hand on the cherry banister and took the first step before Cooper entered the space.

  “Oi mate,” she called to him. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at the petite shifter. “She’s not in her room today. She wants you to meet her in the storage room.”

  Sunders crooked a brow, “Where’s that?”

  Cooper pointed to the other end of the ballroom. “Through the study; you’ll see a door.”

  “Oh, thanks.”

  Sunders turned and instead headed toward the back of the ballroom. He entered the study, which appeared to be everything he had imagined a study to be. In it sat a large wooden desk with a globe and a calligraphy pen propped perfectly in its holder. The walls were lined with shelves that homed hundreds of books. Everything looked clean, dusted and orderly; to the point of appearing as though no one actually used this room for anything. He looked around and saw the door Cooper had referred to. It was propped open slightly. He latched onto the bronze knob and let himself through.

  Sunders found his self staring into a large, dark expanse filled with random objects; some modern, some ancient. An enormous wardrobe sat to the left of him and a dust covered piano sat against the wall to his right. Unsure of where he was exactly he took the steps down into the submerged storage room.

  “Sonny?” He heard the small female voice call to him. His head whipped to the right to see a dark alcove. Suddenly the beam of a flashlight shined from the darkness in his direction. “Is that you?”

  “Aye,” he called. He heard the shuffling of feet before Awilda Rose appeared out of the blackness.

  She locked eyes with him, “Come here, I want to show you something.”

  Sunders followed, passing through the sea of objects, being careful not to step on anything. He reached the alcove and hesitantly entered.

  Awilda Rose stood near the back corner. “It took me a while but I was finally able to move that darn cabinet out of the way.” She said as her flashlight shined briefly on a large hutch that had recently been shimmied off to the side. “Help me with this please.” She placed her flashlight on the hutch so it pointed in her direction as Sunders crossed the small, dark space. He found himself latching onto what felt like a large canvas. Together they picked up the piece and carefully walked it out of the alcove and into the center of the storage room.

  Awilda returned to the alcove to retrieve her flashlight. By the time she got back she could see the awe on Sunders’ face as he stared upon the painting of The Guardian Angel.

  “I don’t believe it,” Sunders whispered, “It’s the original.” He bent at the waist and examined the piece more closely, staring in wonder at the raised brush strokes.

  “I found it here the first day I came to the castle,” Awilda said. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

  “You thought right,” he smiled.

  “There’s something else I thought you’d like to see.”

  He looked at her. Her angelic face carried a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. But that had been the norm this past week. Ever since learning her fate she’d become more reserved and quite; a recluse. He’d tried to help her; telling her all he knew and hoping together they’d find some way to fight; some answer for survival, but so far they’d come across nothing. Every time he saw her the depression only got worse. If this downward spiral continued at this rate she’d be a complete shut-in by the end of next week.

  He tried to muster a smile, “What’s that?”

  Awilda’s brown eyes panned upward. Sunders followed her line of sight until he reached the ceiling. For a moment he didn’t know what he was looking at. The ceiling was dark with random shapes in muted colors. He narrowed his eyes and suddenly the shapes took on meaning. They registered in his mind’s eye and soon he found himself staring upon a giant stained glass image. “The Ultimate War,” he breathed.

  “Yeah, apparently it tells the whole story.”

  “Aye; that it does,” His eyes moved across the stained glass panes swiftly yet meticulously; taking in all the detail frame by frame.

  “Speaking of the story,” Awilda continued, “you haven’t told me how it ends.” Her voice had little enthusiasm. They had yet to stumble upon a revelation or have an epiphany about her untimely end. He knew she had just about lost all hope.

  Sunders tore his eyes from the ceiling and forced them to land on the girl. “Well,” he began, “the devil killed Aaron and began to retreat into the depths.”

  “That’s when he made the prophecy.”

  “Not quite. See, there was still the matter of the Limrids; the ones that didn’t join the revolution.”

  “Like Tauggle.”

  “Aye; as a way of punishing them for their failure Satan stripped them of all power and strength; transforming them into scrawny, ugly decrepit creatures.”

  “Then he made the prophecy.”

  “Nah,” he could see Awilda growing agitated, “it was then that the Lord, in all His infinite patience and forgiveness proclaimed that the Limrids would be allowed to remain on Earth. Only after being claimed would they have the chance to learn humility and earn a place in Heaven. That’s when Fazal spoke up.”

  “Who’s Fazal?”

  “He was the leader of the Limrids; Satan’s right hand man. He was the only one privileged enough to communicate directly to the devil.

  “Anyway, Fazal asked the Lord what would happen if they refused to live by His rules. This prompted Satan to chime in and declare that he would show no mercy upon any Limrid that dare try to enter Hell unless they proved to him that they were worthy.”

  “How could they do that?”

  Sunders’ eyes grew dim, “By seeing the prophecy through to fruition.”

  Awilda’s voice was quiet and monotone, “Then he made the prophecy.”

  “Aye; some have even regarded Fazal as the reason behind the prophecy in the first place. Without his blatant disregard to the Lord’s rule the devil may never have been prompted to prophesize. Oh sure, he mostly likely would have tried to wage war again, but at least then it would be without the added prospect of a destroyer.”

  Awilda exhaled loudly, “So basically I have this Fazal guy to thank.”

  Sunders smiled, “Basically.” When she didn’t answer and simply looked away, he softened his voice, “I’m sorry I haven’t been of more help. I wish I had an answer for you but…”

  “It’s alright,” she cut him off. “At this point I’m no longer looking for a solution.” She thought for a moment, “Tell me what’s going to happen to me.”

  “What?”

  “During the prophecy; what will happen exactly?”

  “I don’t really know.”

  “Oh come on, with how much you’ve delved into the world of gargoyles you’re telling me you haven’t come across one single piece of literature that describes the prophecy? Folk lore, legend; nothing?”

  Sunders wished like hell he could tell her more. He had never felt so inadequate with his knowledge of gargoyles before. “I know that in the past the war always began in a remote, dark location; like a cave. Most legends speak of dragons but that could just be a description used to make the true manifestation more palatabl
e. I know that Satan will possess you.”

  “And the second destroyer.”

  Sunders snapped to attention, “What second destroyer?”

  Awilda wrapped her arms in front of her body and trembled. “Tauggle said that there’s always a second destroyer and they’re always a man. But they’re not chosen like me; they volunteer. You haven’t heard about anything like that?”

  Sunders creased his brow and wracked his brain, “Something about it sounds vaguely familiar.” He cursed himself for not being able to remember. The word volunteer struck a chord. He could remember reading the word but couldn’t place where. After a moment of trying to recall and failing he looked at the young girl in front of him. “Why don’t you ask Tauggle about what will happen? He’s seen it firsthand.”

  Awilda’s brown eyes quivered, “Because,” she croaked, “unlike you, he has no hope for me.”

  Sunders and Awilda emerged from the storage room. They crossed the study together and entered the marble expanse of the ballroom. They walked in silence until they reached the bottom of the staircase.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said without looking in his direction. She turned and headed up the stairs.

  Sunders headed for the foyer to show his self out when the image of Junior leaning against the corridor wall came into view. The large, tattooed shifter had been waiting for him.

  Junior pushed himself off the wall and closed the distance between him and the Finder. “Um,” he began, a little unsure of his words, “How is she?”

  Sunders shrugged, “About as good as anyone can expect.”

  “She hardly comes out of her room anymore. Every now and then she goes and talks to Crisp, but that’s it.”

  “She needs time to think; to process.”

  Junior tried not to push too hard, “But it’s getting worse.”

  “You could go to her, you know.”

  Junior wished he could agree. He wished he could take Sunders’ advice and go to Awilda; sit next to her on her bed and hold her until this whole thing was over, but he couldn’t. Kingsley was right; he needed to keep his distance. And after what Tauggle said, about there being no loopholes and never a surviving destroyer he realized he needed to be a man and stay away from her; no matter how much it killed him. He knew he would never be able to turn her away if she approached him; or climbed into his arms. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t stop himself from taking the first step.

  Junior looked into the Finder’s eyes, “The only time we see her anymore is when you come over.”

  “I don’t mean to interrupt,” Zeff said as he rounded the corner, “but Cooper’s calling a little family meeting in the dining hall.”

  Sunders nodded, “I guess that’s my cue to leave.”

  “Actually,” Zeff cut him off, “we were hoping you’d join us.”

  Junior and Sunders entered the dining hall to see everyone except Awilda and Crisp sitting at the table. They took their seats next to Kingsley and across from Zeff and waited for Cooper to begin. A moment later Tauggle floated into the room and took a cross-legged, seated position on the edge of the table.

  “Alright,” Cooper said at the head of the table, “Looks like we’re all here; well, most of us, anyway.” She was clearly referring to Awilda and the doctor. “First thing’s first; Sunders,” she made eye contact with the Finder, “how is it going with the DAA?”

  Sunders shrugged, “They haven’t come knocking on your door yet.”

  “True,” Cooper crooked a brow, “What’s the timeframe before we can all go back to our normal lives?”

  “I wish I had an answer for you,” Sunders took a deep breath. “Honestly, there are more Protectors than I was expecting and they’re getting really anxious. I don’t know how much longer I can keep up a false investigation. Sooner or later someone is going to suggest looking into this area.”

  “We’re not doing anything to draw attention to ourselves,” Junior began, “Why not let them comb through here? We’ll continue to hang low until after they’re satisfied.”

  “Agreed,” Cooper nodded.

  “I suppose,” Sunders’ words trailed off.

  “What?” Cooper asked.

  “Well, I wanted to pose an idea.” He said cautiously.

  “Which is?”

  “What if I told another member of the DAA about you?”

  “Absolutely not,” Cooper shot him down.

  “Now just hear me out,” Sunders raised his hands to calm her down. “His name is Bill; he’s my manager and he upholds the values of the Finders more than anyone I know. He’s not interested in killing. He just might be able to help sway the investigation and get the Protectors to leave for good. He has more pull than I do.”

  “Are you off your trolley?” Cooper bit.

  “It doesn’t sound that crazy,” Bawli chimed in. When everyone turned to look at him he continued, “We’ve already revealed ourselves to a Finder, the receptionist and the resident physician. All of which have been smart choices so far.”

  Cooper pinned him with a disapproving glare, “Need I remind you that the Finder is the reason we’re in this mess in the first place?”

  Bawli’s shoulders slumped in concession. In a small voice he answered, “No; never mind.”

  “Alright then, case closed. Now,” her smile brightened as she moved onward to the next subject, “I wanted to let you all know that I’ve decided not to cancel any of our upcoming bookings.”

  Zeff scoffed, “I thought we agreed…”

  “I know,” Cooper looked to him apologetically, “but we can’t lose the income or tarnish our reputation.”

  “Income is not an issue, you know that.” Zeff grumbled.

  “It is to me,” Cooper insisted. She knew her family had left her with an inheritance that would suffice for a lifetime, but that was just a formality; something every child in her family received when they became of legal age. She was sure if her parents truly had had a say in the matter they would have denied her every penny.

  Cooper shook the resentment for her bloodline from her mind and returned her attention to the clan sitting in front of her. “The point is,” she continued, “we don’t know when the prophecy will happen. It could be next week or it could be six months from now.”

  “Definitely not six months from now,” Tauggle chuckled. Everyone turned to look at him. “The signal’s getting stronger,” he explained as he tapped the side of his head. “I can’t imagine this being drawn out longer than a month.”

  “Alright,” Cooper said, bringing everyone’s attention back to her, “but between now and a month from now we have two bookings. That’s two obligations we’re going to keep. After that we’ll play it by ear depending on Tauggle’s weird, ESP thing. Besides, having a bit of a celebration here might bring you-know-who out of her shell a little. You know, take all our minds off of certain pressing matters.”

  “When’s the next to-do?” Mason asked.

  “In seven days. That should give us all enough time to put on our happy faces and learn to pretend like the apocalypse is not upon us, yeah?” She plastered a fake smile on her face. “Now, say it with me; the world is not going to end!”

  Everyone sitting around the table reluctantly repeated her words less enthusiastically than she had hoped. It was more like a sea of grumbling, mumbling, and cursing under their breath. All except for Tauggle; he threw his hands in the air and cheered the phrase triumphantly.

  He watched disappointedly as everyone stood from their seats and somberly exited the room. He brought his attention back to Cooper. “I’m not going to lie,” he began, “This was not the best pep rally I’ve ever attended.”

  Cooper dropped down into her chair, suddenly feeling drained. “How many pep rallies have you been to?”

  “Two; including today. And the first one was all about getting ready to slaughter the human race. Say what you want about Lucifer, but he knows how to make mass killing seem like a whole lot of fun.”


  13

  Wiltshire, England

  5 Days Later…

  The sun had set two hours ago and the luscious, green meadows sat peacefully. The only sound emanating from the blades of grass as they danced in the light, cold wind. The moon was bright and lit the fields with a dull, blue/gray hue. Nothing moved in the valley below. But sitting atop a large hill was a mansion; expensive, luxurious, and bustling with activity.

  Mr. Benjamin stood on the top of his balcony overlooking the foyer below. The granite flooring with inlays stared upward at him. Most of his guests had arrived by now and it was his time to make an entrance.

  Mr. Benjamin casually descended the staircase, his brown hand running along the white banister until he reached the bottom. After taking a deep breath and straightening his tie he lengthened his lips into a smile and headed into the ballroom.

  The ballroom was an extreme expanse with heavy, velvet drapery framing the raised windows. The chandeliers glistened above and the slick floor was clean enough to see your reflection. But Mr. Benjamin never bothered to look down. He kept his eyes steady and lifted, acknowledging each guest as he passed. He figured there were around two hundred people here tonight, not including his staff.

  Mr. Benjamin headed toward the back of the room, passing the buffet tables and the quartet along the way. He reached the back wall and stood to admire the piece de resistance; the original scribe of The Ultimate War by Arav Dave. It sat perfectly in its glass casing, flanked by security and armed with an alarm set to go off at the slightest touch.

  “Magnificent,” Mr. Diedre marveled.