Gargoyles I, II, III: Dark Angel Alliance

by Rach Elle

  Sunders continued to scour the book in front of him before the screen on his laptop caught his eye. His head whipped toward the computer to see the satellite image of his ex-wife, Darla’s house. The place looked perfect, as always; manicured lawn, clean gutters, and a backyard tree house that looked like it was built by a master craftsman. There was just one thing different about this very moment.

  Sunders narrowed his eyes as a black car entered the driveway and parked. He knew it didn’t belong to Darla or her current husband. No, he squint his eyes; this was someone else; as evidenced by the decals on the side of the car. He wished he could make them out; see what company they apparently worked for, but the bird’s eye viewpoint wouldn’t allow it. He watched as a man got out of the car and walked up to the front door before disappearing inside.

  Sunders shook his head. He knew he shouldn’t care so much about his ex. But for some reason he couldn’t shake this inexplicable need to have her in his life. Whether it was because he was still holding onto a flame that clearly didn’t burn at both ends, or because living vicariously through her was the closest he’d come to having a normal life in years; he didn’t know.

  Sunders buried his face in his hands, trying to mask his shame and convince himself that calling Darla just to check-in was a bad idea. Goddamn, he thought; he was fucking pitiful.

  35

  “It’s not that we don’t want to help you, love,” Viattrice said. “I suppose we’re just wondering where your other two girlies are.”

  Awilda stared at her reflection in the mirror. She sat in a chair wearing a loose fitting t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with her hair damp and hanging down her back. Behind her stood Viattrice and Amelie. “They’re around,” she shrugged, “But I thought it’d be good for us to hang out.” She lied. Truth was, she had a feeling both Cooper and Elizabeth would be against this little ounce of crazy she was throwing around. After all, wasn’t chopping off all your hair in defiance a sign of a mental breakdown? She figured the girls would be more interested in getting to the root of her problems and playing head doctor than just giving her a makeover. These two on the other hand, she looked up at the two female gargoyles, they really couldn’t care less about her mental stability.

  “Well,” Amelie smiled as she grabbed a lock of Awilda’s hair in one hand and the scissors in the other, “we’re honored. And we’ll be happy to help you out.”

  Viattrice tried to hide her eye roll. She didn’t think it was a very good idea growing attached to the destroyer considering the fact that she was probably going to wind up dead sooner rather than later. But of course she couldn’t spread that little piece of joy around.

  She watched as Amelie began cutting with reckless abandon and winced as her eyes caught the sight of a box of brown hair color sitting on the counter. Bloody hell, she thought. This chick was going to make them play house all bleeding evening. In truth; she wasn’t too worried about herself growing too fond of the destroyer. But as for Amelie, well, she was a few knives short a block.

  “Are you getting all dolled up for any particular reason?” Amelie asked in her sweet, English accent.

  Awilda shook her head, not at all concerned with the effect the movement could have on her haircut. “No, I just thought a change was in order.” At least that one wasn’t a total lie. She did think it was time for a change, but it wasn’t because she was bored with her old look; more like bored with her old life. Everything she’d known up until this point had been a lie. It was almost as if Awilda Rose had never existed; not really. She had been playing a part and not even known it. She was the innocent daughter, the sweet granddaughter, the trusting patient, and then the psycho locked away in a mental institution. In every role she was a subordinate. She listened and followed others and never questioned their authority; unbeknownst to her that all that unwavering obedience was leading up to her greatest role yet – Satan’s puppet.

  “Well, I guess there is one thing,” Awilda began. “There’s going to be a wedding reception in the ballroom on Friday.”

  “Ah,” Amelie smiled and nodded her head, “And you want to make some heads turn.”

  Awilda blushed, “I guess so.” More like one head turn.

  Awilda imagined wearing one of Cooper’s stunning gowns and descending the spiral staircase in the ballroom. She closed her eyes and saw Junior standing at the bottom as per usual. He would be watching over the reception in a suit and tie tailored to perfection. His expression would be stern; until he caught the sight of her out of the corner of his eye. Then all of that stoic fierceness would melt away and he’d look at her like she was the center of his world.

  A smile spread across her face as she imagined the two of them dancing. He probably wasn’t light on his feet like Zeff. In fact, she pictured him to be the simple, sway from side to side type. And she loved that. She wouldn’t want any fancy footwork; twirling or dipping. No, just feeling his hand on the small of her back would be enough.

  As Awilda listened to the continuous slicing coming from Amelie’s scissors, she wondered where that night would lead. Maybe she would be caught up in the moment and actually have the courage to follow Junior upstairs to his room. Maybe she would join him in his bed.

  “Alright, I think that’s it!” Amelie beamed.

  Awilda opened her eyes and looked into the mirror to see her short bob. Her once long, stringy hair now hung no lower than her jaw line. The change was drastic. She hardly recognized herself. “I love it,” she said.

  Cooper exited her bedroom and began walking down the upstairs hall. It wasn’t long before her ears perked at the sound of chatting. She curiously picked up her pace until she reached the open bathroom door. She quietly peered inside to see Awilda sitting in a chair and Viattrice and Amelie looking confused at a box of hair color.

  “Do you have any idea how to use this?” Amelie asked.

  “No,” Awilda shook her head. “I was hoping you did.” She read the instructions, “I think it says we have to mix it up.”

  “That seems lazy,” Viattrice smirked, “making us do the dirty work. Why didn’t they just do it for us?”

  “Um,” Awilda furrowed her brow at the instructions, “I think it’s because after a while the chemicals will explode.”

  “Well by all means, let’s dump it on your head then.”

  Cooper’s shoulders slumped slightly at the sound of the three girls laughing. Like this was a bloody slumber party. Before any of them could turn their heads and see her spying she stepped out of sight and continued down the hall at a much slower pace.

  Cooper neared the top of the staircase, cursing herself with every step. She didn’t like this feeling of being left out. It made her feel petty. What was the big deal with Awilda anyway? It’s not like the girl was the most fun to be around. Hell, she could spend one hour on the town with Alvin and Mason and have more fun than she would in a lifetime with Awilda Rose.

  Cooper jolted slightly as Tauggle suddenly appeared by her side. She gasped and placed her hand over her heart, “Don’t do that,” she breathed.

  “Sorry,” Tauggle grinned. He reached out and stopped Cooper in her tracks. His arm wrapped around her waist and his other hand clasped onto hers. He pulled her into his body and looked into her large doe eyes. “We never finished what we started,” he said as they began to sway back and forth as if they were dancing. He dipped his head low until his lips touched the curvature of her neck.

  Cooper swooned at his kiss. She wanted nothing more than to give into him. But if the idea that she was falling for a bloody Limrid wasn’t enough to ruin the moment, the fact that she actually felt a tinge of sadness from being excluded from the girl party was. Reluctantly, she stepped back and out of Tauggle’s embrace. “I’m sorry,” she said without making eye contact, “I’m not exactly in the mood.” Without any further explanation she turned and headed down the stairs – alone.

  36

  Wiltshire, England…

  The sun had set a few hour
s ago and the city was drenched in darkness. BeStone arrived at his destination and instead of knocking on the front door he landed on the third story balcony he’d visited previously.

  “It’s open,” he heard through the French doors.

  BeStone let himself into the mansion’s study to see Hasmukh standing by the roaring fireplace. He smiled. “You look much more like yourself.”

  Hasmukh crooked a brow as he took a gulp of his scotch. Instead of wearing a suit and bowtie he wore a pair of loose fitted slacks and a black tank top. The low collar revealed his most identifying characteristic; a set of jewels embedded in his flesh just below his collarbones. They were of various shapes, sizes and colors, with the middle one being an iridescent white with gold trimming. From a distance they looked royal; luxurious. But up close the scarred tissue and the way his flesh had hardened unevenly around the jewels became all too apparent.

  “Did you bring what I asked for?” Hasmukh asked, ignoring BeStone’s comment.

  “Of course,” BeStone tossed a small bag across the room for Hasmukh to catch. “A lock of her hair I pulled from her brush, I swiped her toothbrush for her personal belonging, and I even chipped out a chunk of the castle floor; the ground upon which she walks, as per your request.”

  Hasmukh placed the bag on the mantle above the fireplace. “Perfect. I’ll go to her tomorrow.”

  “Actually,” BeStone cut him off, “My sources tell me they’re having another human gathering on Friday. Perhaps then would be the opportune time.”

  “You want me to wait nearly one week? The war is growing closer. You of all beings must be able to sense that.”

  “Oh yes,” BeStone nodded, “But I do believe Friday would be your best option. They will all be distracted; less interruptions and obstacles to jump over.”

  Hasmukh looked at the bag filled with the items he had requested. He contemplated BeStone’s words and habitually began playing with the ring on his left hand; twisting it on his finger left to right, then back again. “I suppose you’re right.”

  BeStone smiled softly, “You still wear his ashes on your finger, I see.” He motioned to Hasmukh’s jewelry; a small bulb that sat atop a gold ring. Inside it was filled with the ashes of Kyran; Hasmukh’s Limrid and lover from so long ago.

  Hasmukh’s eyes hardened, “He keeps me strong, you know that.”

  BeStone nodded. Kyran had given Hasmukh his powers, thus rendering himself as the power source. Without at least a piece of the Limrid, Hasmukh’s powers would fade over time until he’d eventually lose them completely.

  BeStone smiled. His long time enemy was smart; he had to give him that. He’d found a way to preserve a part of the Limrid and keep him near even in death.

  His eyes drifted across the room toward a large, locked cabinet against the back wall. Even though he had never seen the contents inside firsthand, he knew what they were; alters, obscure ingredients, but most importantly – the Grimoire. Yes, inside that cabinet was Hasmukh’s second most valuable possession; his book of spells. He had acquired it so long ago from a witch that had the unfortunate displeasure of crossing paths with him.

  BeStone winced; he knew that displeasure all too well.

  After a moment of silence, Hasmukh looked into the eyes of the dark skinned gargoyle before him. “Is there anything else?” He asked flatly.

  BeStone’s expression was stern, “Can I trust you?” When the man didn’t respond, he continued, “It’s very important we have the same agenda. Awilda cannot die.”

  A slight smirk played on Hasmukh’s lips, “You can trust me just as much as I can trust you; which, unfortunately is not at all. So I suppose we’ll both be surprised at the outcome.”

  “I’ve done my part here.”

  “And I shall do mine. Now leave me be.”

  “I’m afraid that answer won’t do. I need to know you’ll follow through with our plan…”

  Hasmukh’s aggravation climbed to a rolling boil. In a sudden movement he threw his glass of scotch into the fire. The glass shattered against the back of the fireplace and the flames roared vigorously, flickering in the reflection of his dark eyes. “You’re testing my patience.”

  BeStone wanted to respond. He wanted to lunge forward and hold Hasmukh’s head in the fire, listening to his screams as his flesh melted off his face. Instead he clenched his jaw, turned and headed back outside. Without a word he jumped onto the balcony’s railing, spread his wings and leaped into the night sky; seething, but obedient nonetheless.

  Hasmukh stood completely still for a few moments; listening to the flap of BeStone’s wings grow further and further away. After taking a large breath to tame his anger he turned toward the open door to the study. “Now,” he smiled, “where were we?”

  In response, two gargoyles rounded the threshold and entered the room. They were brothers; equal in height, but not in mass. The oldest one, Augmen, was broader and stronger than his little brother, Cypro.

  “What are those ingredients for?” Augmen asked.

  Hasmukh looked at the bag of items BeStone had just delivered. He shrugged, “A spell.”

  “To do what?”

  “To invade the mind of Awilda Rose. It’ll put her in a dream-like state, even though she won’t actually be dreaming. Once there you can convince her to do just about anything. BeStone thinks it’ll be an advantage during the prophecy. You know, keep the destroyer on a tight leash.”

  Augmen’s eyes were hard and unwavering, “And what if we asked you to use that spell for a different purpose?”

  The Indian art collector crooked a brow, “Go on.”

  “We don’t have the same objective as the rest of the clan. We want to end the prophecy the old fashioned way.”

  “The savior victorious and the destroyer dead,” Hasmukh clarified.

  Augmen nodded, “We need to kill Awilda Rose, but it has become very clear that the clan she’s with won’t let that happen. It is possible for Viattrice and Amelie to get close enough but they share the same agenda as BeStone.”

  “Via what and who?” Hasmukh cut him off.

  “Viattrice and Amelie,” Augmen restated. “They’re a part of our clan. They’ve been with BeStone longer than either of us. I don’t believe there would be any way we could convince them to work in our favor.”

  Hasmukh barely heard that explanation, “Does BeStone care for the females?”

  Both Augmen and Cypro nodded.

  “Interesting,” the Indian drawled. “So what is it you want from me?”

  “All we need,” Augmen began, “is for you to lead Awilda to us and give us the spell. We’ll do the rest.”

  Hasmukh thought for a moment; staring into the fire as if in a trance. Finally, he looked toward the brothers, “While the idea of helping you to betray BeStone delights me, I’m afraid I have little to gain from your proposal. I’m terribly sorry, but the answer is…”

  “We have the Eye,” Augmen cut him off.

  Hasmukh’s breath caught, but he worked like mad to cover it up, “I beg your pardon?”

  Augmen looked over his shoulder at his little brother. On cue, Cypro reached into the pack he had hanging from his waist and pulled out an object wrapped in linen. Carefully, he began to unwrap; removing layer by layer until finally revealing the piece within; the Egyptian Eye.

  Hasmukh looked at the object across the room and shrugged, “I have no use for that anymore.”

  “Really,” Augmen objected, “you have no use for this priceless artifact?”

  “Young man,” Hasmukh smirked, “Look around you. I am in no short supply of priceless artifacts. My net worth is leaps and bounds beyond that tiny piece of stone you hold in your hands. The Egyptian Eye would be but a drop in the bucket for me.”

  “But it’s not about money, is it?” Augmen asked. He watched as Hasmukh studied him from across the room. “That’s why you refuse to sell the original manuscript of The Ultimate War.”

  “How do you know about that?”
<
br />   “BeStone told us; years ago.”

  Hasmukh sighed, “And that’s how you know about the Eye.”

  Augmen nodded.

  “How did you find it, anyway?”

  “We swiped it from BeStone.”

  Hasmukh’s eyes popped open, suddenly very interested. “BeStone had the Eye? All this time?” A smile played on his brown face and a vicious chuckle vibrated in his throat, “I bet he would be simply horrified to lose it.” His mind raced with images from so long ago. His greedy heart beat proudly in his chest as he pictured the defeated look on his enemy’s face. It was all coming together in his head; a perfectly laid out plan to finally exact the revenge BeStone deserved.

  After a moment of contemplation Hasmukh looked up at the brothers, “Well gentlemen,” he smiled devilishly, “it looks as though we have a deal.”

  37

  London, England…

  Rue sat on her living room floor with her elbows resting on her coffee table. This was the first night in her new apartment. It was still pretty bare; only items in it were the few things she’d brought with her overseas and the furniture this place came with. She figured over time she’d be able to decorate a little. She wasn’t exactly the Martha Stewart type, but she was pretty confident in her abilities to hang a few pictures and maybe paint a wall or two.

  She wrapped her fingers around her wine glass and brought the liquid to her lips, sipping it only slightly before placing it back down on the table. She sighed and continued to write on the legal pad in front of her.

  This letter to her mom didn’t feel the same as most of the others. She wasn’t on autopilot as she wrote. Instead, she spoke of recent days; mostly her co-workers, the day she’d spent with Sunders and the date she’d gone on with Corey. She’d actually enjoyed the evening much more than she had anticipated. Once the guy got over talking about himself they were able to enjoy each other’s company. She still didn’t look at him romantically though. Maybe it was the age difference. Although to be fair, he was only like, five years younger than her. That hardly made her a cougar. Still, he seemed a little immature; which had a tendency to bring the sex appeal to an all-time low.