by Rach Elle
Bawli’s face relaxed, “Ah, yes,” he said as he resumed staring out the window, “Arav’s friend.”
Sunders’ eyes popped, “I’m sorry? What do you mean by Arav’s friend?”
When Bawli didn’t answer Kingsley explained, “You know that big painting in the ballroom? Yeah, well, that BeStone guy and the gargoyle overlooking the sleeping city are one in the same.”
Sunders shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around what the old man was saying. “That would make him centuries old,” he said, “How is that possible?”
Kingsley shrugged, “I’m three-hundred. I don’t see you gawking in awe toward me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Elizabeth interrupted. “We’re here to talk about Bawli making a decision to put himself in danger for no good reason.”
Bawli looked at the Finder, “We’re taking you up on your idea. I’ll meet with your superior. But I’m not going alone. The others will be nearby in case anything should happen.”
Sunders couldn’t hide the smile and sense of relief that washed over him. “Understandable, but I highly doubt you’ll need them. Bill will be an asset in getting things back to normal. Well, as normal as they can be.”
“You’re all insane,” Elizabeth bit, “It’s dangerous and reckless.”
“Bill is a friend of mine,” Sunders tried to calm her down, “He won’t do anything to hurt Bawli.”
“He better not,” Elizabeth pinned the Scotsman with a look of death that he recognized even through the shadows. “Because if he does,” she narrowed her eyes, “I’ll kill you myself.”
“Wow,” Kingsley blurted, “Okay then. I think it’s time Lizzie and I leave you two to iron out the details.” He placed his hands back on her shoulders and led her to the door.
“Be careful Bawli,” she called over her shoulder.
“I will Lizzie.”
“Don’t do anything stupid. Think of your redhead.”
With that, Kingsley shut the door behind them; leaving Sunders and Bawli alone in the dimmed art studio.
Sunders crooked a brow, “Your redhead?”
Bawli grimaced, “Never mind.”
Sunders shoved his hands into his jean pockets and gazed around the room, waiting for the large shifter to continue the conversation. Instead, he just stared out the window as if completely distracted by something else. “Hey,” he began, “you alright?”
Bawli nodded slowly, “Why do you ask?”
“You don’t seem like yourself. Not that I know you all that well, but from what I’ve gathered you’re usually more,” he searched for the right word, “alive.”
Bawli exhaled deeply, “I’m fine.”
Sunders pursed his lips, uncomfortable with the silence. He squinted through the darkness at a canvas that sat on an easel in the back corner. Through the rapidly dwindling natural light he could see the basic concept and the most prominent color. “Is that your redhead?” He asked.
Without looking away from the window, Bawli nodded.
“Who is she?”
Bawli shrugged, “My Responsibility, I suppose.”
Sunders crinkled his nose, “Your responsibility? As in; your daughter?”
Finally, Bawli peeled his eyes away from the window and looked at the Finder. “No,” he began, “As in my Responsibility. She’s the one I was put on this earth to protect.” When it was clear Sunders had no idea what he was talking about, Bawli cracked a small smile. “I suppose all the books and research in the world can’t teach you everything.” He took a deep breath, “Every shifter has a Responsibility. They are the one person we are obligated to protect. It isn’t until our Responsibility dies that we may resume our lives as normal humans.”
“Normal humans?”
Bawli nodded, “We begin aging again and lose all ability to shift; almost as if this portion of our lives never happened.”
“And this redhead is your Responsibility?” Sunders pointed to the painting.
Bawli shrugged, “As far as I can figure. I won’t know for sure until I meet her.”
“Wait,” Sunders held up a hand, “You’re painting pictures of her but you haven’t actually met her yet? How do you even know what she looks like?”
“I’ve dreamt of her many times.”
Sunders’ mouth quietly formed the shape of an ‘O’ as he allowed the shifter’s words to hang in the silence. “So,” he continued, “Is that how that BeStone guy is still alive? He just hasn’t found his Responsibility yet?”
Bawli winced, “Something like that.” He didn’t feel like going into detail. After a moment of the Finder staring at him awkwardly he said, “At least it means I wasn’t dreaming of the dead.”
“I’m sorry?”
Bawli took a deep breath, “Many times I have dreamt of BeStone Soltan. His existence proves that my redhead is not just a figment of my imagination; an unconscious desire.”
Sunders snapped to attention, “Wait,” he shook his head, “BeStone Soltan?” He watched as Bawli nodded. He wracked his brain, “Where do I know that name from?”
“He was Arav Dave’s muse,” Bawli answered; uninterested.
Sunders shook his head; disapproving of his inadequacies when it pertained to gargoyle lore. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “that must be it.” After a few moments he finally brought his focus back to the here and now. “Alright,” he began, “Just tell me when and where to set up this little meet and greet and I’ll get Bill on board.”
Bawli somberly held out a piece of paper with coordinates written on it. Sunders slowly took the piece and looked at it for a moment. “Thanks,” he said. When the large shifter didn’t respond he added, “I really think you’re doing the right thing here. I’ve known Bill for a long time. He’s just as committed to co-existing with your kind as I am.”
Bawli shrugged and resumed staring out the window.
Sunders furrowed his brow, “Everything will go smoothly, Elizabeth won’t have to kill me and you’ll be with your redhead in no time.” He turned to leave just as Bawli scoffed.
“I’ll never be with her; not really,” he said sadly.
Sunders stopped and turned toward the large shifter, “But you just said she’s your…”
“Do you know what I dream about?” Bawli cut him off, “When I dream of her, I mean.”
Sunders suddenly felt very awkward. He wasn’t exactly a therapist; and he was just about the worst person to ever get uplifting advice from. “What’s that?” He asked.
“I dream of touching her face and feeling the warmth of her skin. So you see, even if I met her and fell for her completely, I could never have my wish.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Bawli cracked a sad smile and forced a chuckle under his breath, “You really don’t know anything about us, do you?” He looked toward the Finder, “We can’t feel temperatures; hot and cold. Except for some extreme cases our bodies are regulated twenty-four-seven.”
Sunders thought for a moment, “That doesn’t really sound like a bad thing though. You never have to worry about the weather. And hey, I’m sure you save a lot on heating and cooling bills,” he joked. His laughter faded almost instantly at the sight of Bawli’s earnest and sad eyes.
“I didn’t think it would be an issue either,” he began. “But I’ve been this way for forty-three years. After a while you begin to feel desensitized to everything; not just temperatures.” He closed his eyes and smirked, “I can only barely remember what a hot shower feels like. Every once in a while I can imagine the way my skin used to react to the waterfall; the slight sting upon contact. If I’m lucky I’ll form goose bumps just from the memory; like a phantom sensation. What I wouldn’t give to have a hot shower again.” He opened his eyes and his smile faded, “And what I wouldn’t give to feel her body heat.” He looked at the painting of the redhead. “But it’ll never happen. For you see, if she truly is my Responsibility then I won’t lose this curse until after she’s gone. Perhaps I can manage a few seconds in
the transition; before her body runs cold forever, but that will be it.”
Moments later Bawli watched as Sunders left the room, leaving him to be in peace. He felt odd for dropping his plight onto the Finder’s shoulders like that, but he was too tired to care. The Finder was right, he wasn’t his self today. He felt defeated and sorrowful; like he’d been blanketed in dread since opening his eyes this morning. It was all due to his most recent dream, he was certain.
Bawli returned his gaze to the glass paned window and breathed a heavy sigh. He appreciated Elizabeth’s concern for his well-being; as cumbersome and motherly as it was. But he knew he was the only logical choice to be the one to meet Sunders’ superior and potentially walk right into a Protector ambush. He knew it; the rest of the clan knew it; there were no two ways about it – Bawli was truly expendable.
32
Paris, France…
BeStone and Parag reached the entrance to their hideaway. The sun had set an hour ago and the world was shrouded in darkness, but that didn’t mean the humans all retreated into their homes. No, they were still out; gallivanting as if this earth was created solely for them. Egomaniacal bastards.
The two gargoyles surveyed their surroundings to make sure the coast was clear before approaching their doorway. Parag bent down and removed the large round, iron lid from the pavement and stepped aside to allow BeStone to enter first. He followed shortly, recovering the hole behind him.
After a few moments of navigating their way through the sewer they came upon their little hideaway; a crossroads between tunnels that led in all different directions. As they rounded the corner the rest of the clan came into view. The brothers were lying in their hammocks while Amelie sat in a chair Parag had acquired from a dumpster outside. Viattrice sat on the mattress she and Amelie shared. The curtain that hung in front of their bed for privacy was pulled open; revealing her to the rest of the clan. And last but not least – Fazal sat in the corner. His shoulders were slumped forward in defeat as he stared down at his shackled wrists and ankles. His white hair was long and flowed down his back and his pointed ears poked through the locks. He was smaller and leaner than BeStone remembered him to be. But then again, it had been a century since he last saw him.
“Well,” Viattrice began.
BeStone looked at the tall, curly haired female, “Well, what?” he asked.
“Did you get what you went there for?”
BeStone held up a small bag in response. “I’m afraid we have encountered another obstacle, however.” He watched as the entire clan stiffened. “This clan is involved with the Dark Angel Alliance.”
“What does that mean?” Augmen asked.
“It means the Protectors are aware of their existence.”
Viattrice scoffed, “That’s not exactly news. Protectors have been after us for years.”
“True, my one, but this is different. This clan seems to welcome the invasion. They open their doors for Finders to come and go as they please.”
Viattrice dropped her arms, “What? But the Finders can lead the Protectors right to them.”
“They are aware of this,” BeStone held up his hand to calm her down, “but they seem to trust the Finders with their lives; a moronic illusion, if you ask me.”
Parag nodded silently beside the horned gargoyle.
“Did the Finder see you?” Amelie asked; her soft voice laced with worry as BeStone nodded. “What if they followed you? They could lead the Protectors to us.”
“Not to worry, my only one,” BeStone cooed, “we made sure no one had followed us. We are safe here.”
“So what are we supposed to do now?” Augmen asked.
“We stick to the plan.”
“You mean the ever changing plan?”
BeStone’s eyes hardened on the older brother, “I beg your pardon?”
“Come on Stone, it’s not like we’ve stuck to the plan so far. We were supposed to abduct Awilda Rose, remember?”
“That was before we knew the savior was involved.” He looked around at his clan. They all carried faces of doubt, even Parag. “My friends,” BeStone began, “Our goal has not changed. The end game remains the same. But just as a virus will supersede its antidote, we need to adapt as well. Let’s not forget, having the savior in our corner is a very good thing. We need to utilize him to the best of our abilities.” He squared his shoulders. “Cheer up, my friends,” he grinned, “this is shaping up to be the best year of war yet.”
33
“This is an X-Blade F 35. It’s the perfect learner scooter and will get you about town with ease.”
Rue rolled her eyes. “I told you,” her patience was wearing thin, “I don’t need a learner scooter. I want a motorcycle.”
The salesman creased his brow, unsure of the girl in front of him. The last thing he wanted to do was sell her a vehicle that was going to get her killed. These things were difficult to handle. But, he could tell he would be hard pressed to change her mind. Finally he scoffed under his breath, chalked it up to American arrogance and led her to the motorbikes. “This is a Can-Am Spyder Roadster. It’s fast but practical with room for two.”
Rue studied the motorcycle in front of her. The body was huge, like, four-wheeler huge, but with only three wheels; two in the front and one in the back. It had two designated seats and room for storage. It definitely did look practical; but that was hardly the feature she was looking for.
She crinkled her nose and allowed her eyes to wander the small parking lot until they landed on a shining star. “What’s this one?” She asked as she headed towards it, forcing the salesman to follow her.
They approached a black motorcycle. It looked a little heavier and stronger than a dirt bike, but was still miles away from a Harley. She could picture herself taking this thing off road or weaving through traffic.
“Um,” the salesman scratched the back of his balding head, “This is a Honda Hornet; used. It has some kilometers on it already so…”
“That’s okay,” Rue cut him off, “I’m only looking for in-town driving anyway.”
More like hardly any driving at all. She had decided to go with the last flat she and Sunders had seen the day before. She had put in her application and paid the deposit in cash, prompting the landlord to overlook the waiting period for any stupid background or credit checks. The flat sat only twenty minutes walking distance from United Financial so she could walk to work every day. That was the plan, at least. She had no intentions of buying a vehicle of any kind. But when it was revealed that her flat came with a designated covered parking space out back the memories came rushing back to her. She could feel the motorcycle she had in America rumbling beneath her. She longed for the snug fit of the helmet and the leather jacket on her skin. The longing had become too much for her and overnight she had decided she would buy a motorcycle; if for no other reason than a joy ride every once in a while.
“I’ll take it,” Rue said as she finished inspecting the bike in front of her.
“Are you sure about this miss?” The salesman sounded worried, “This is a beast of a motorbike. It could get away from you very easily if you don’t know how to handle…”
“I’ll be fine,” she cut him off. “Now, where do I sign?”
Rue stood in the lobby of the dealership, waiting for Baldy to gather the paperwork. Her eyes drifted over to her left toward the small gift shop. She decided to browse with no intentions of buying anything.
She waded through all the cheesy, cheap crap; mugs, key chains, shot glasses and bumper stickers. Finally, after nearing the back wall, her eyes landed on something completely ridiculous yet fantastic all at the same time. Directly in front of her, hanging on the wall, was a leather jumpsuit. It was black and the fabric hadn’t been stretched and warped yet. Shivers ran up her spine as she thought of wearing it while racing through the city.
She couldn’t deny she had some serious doubts about purchasing the garment. She wasn’t exactly the jumpsuit type. But she just couldn’t
bring herself to turn away.
Rue’s trance was broken by the sound of the salesman calling her name. In a rushed decision she quickly pulled the jumpsuit off of its hanger and carried it over to make a very impractical purchase.
34
Sunders sat at his writing desk in his flat staring at the pages of the book in front of him; The Complete Works of Arav Dave. He had been meaning to get back to his research for a few days now. His conversation with Awilda as he looked upon the magnificent stained glass ceiling in the storage room continued to play in his head. She had spoken about a volunteer to sacrifice for the sake of the prophecy. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t get that word out of his head. He supposed if she had used any other word it wouldn’t have had as much of an impact for him. It wasn’t the idea of a sacrifice or the imagery of the manifestation that struck a chord; it was the word – volunteer. He knew he’d read it at some point in relation to the prophecy, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember when or where.
With a sigh, Sunders turned the page and continued to skim through. He had brought the book home with him, which seemed to really please Bill. Perhaps because Bill thought that meant he was taking his investigation home; that he was fully invested. Little did Bill know, he was about to find out just how invested Sunders truly was.
A small smile appeared on his pale face as he thought of tomorrow night. He would meet with Bill in a secluded, private location, and reveal to him the find of the century; a real gargoyle. Bill would meet Bawli and the three of them would have a chat. He would explain that gargoyles were not the savage, brutal creatures they had once thought. But in fact they were peaceful. He figured he’d play up on the idea that they were dwindling in numbers, therefore leading Bill to think they were an endangered species. Aye, that would surely get him to sympathize. He would agree to call off the Protectors; rendering the trail cold and pointless. Of course, Sunders would go back to being the piece of shit that couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag, but at least Bill would know the truth. And Bill’s opinion was the only one he truly cared about. The man had been his mentor for the past thirteen years. He was the only one worth showboating for.