Magic of the Gargoyles

by Rebecca Chastain

  Sweat slid down my spine and beaded on my forehead. Walter’s magic shifted, earth twining into the crystal bars. He was setting the net again, and I knew, ironically, I wouldn’t escape from the anchors I’d created. With a cry, I shifted my push on air to a pull, and the crystal bars shot past me. I slammed my full strength into the web of earth beneath Walter.

  Wood, air, and fire spiraled and snapped in a containment field Walter had taught me. Only, instead of forming a circular cage of power, individual lines of binding magic arced from each shard, forming a bundle of ropes. Each rope unfurled and snaked to Walter, knotting around his legs.

  Walter countered, slicing at the bonds with destructive magic faster than I’d cut his anchors. I didn’t stop him. Instead, I spread the net wider and wider, through the fragments on the table and under the table, and scattered a yard in every direction. We were working with quartz, my specialty; even though Walter had more strength, he couldn’t match my speed or dexterity. He severed a dozen anchors while I grew thirty more. Cables of magic climbed his body, grappling his wrists, his torso, his neck, his ears, thumbs, and belt loops. Each strand cut through Walter’s magic, weakening him until he was unable to sever the smallest of my anchors. I didn’t stop, though. I wove the net through every shard and fragment until Walter was ensnared in a woven cocoon of magic, immobilized except for his eyes. Not even his mouth could open with the snarl of magic wrapping his jaw shut.

  The trap was erratic at best, since the shards were scattered haphazardly around the room. If I let my hold slacken even a fraction, I knew Walter would find a way to wiggle free.

  Casting about the room, I saw the crystal bars. One was at my feet, and I belatedly felt the sting of where it had slammed into my shin. The other four were against the bathroom wall. Not daring to pull a drop of magic from the net, I gathered the bars with my hands and placed them evenly around Walter and the shards, squeezing behind my worktable and pushing aside my coffee table until I had an approximation of a circle. It took extreme dexterity to weave the frayed ends of the modified trap into the crystal bars while maintaining magic through hundreds of irregular fragments. I didn’t stop until all the shards were tied off and each crystal bar reinforced. I looked for weak links like I’d exploited in Walter’s trap, finding none. With numb pride, I stepped back and examined my work.

  It was . . . beautiful. Every line of magic glimmered with broken refractions of light from its shard of origin, giving Walter the illusion of being swathed in spun crystal.

  A muffled whimper made me turn. The hatchlings! I stumbled to the bookcase and demolished the cages holding them. With all my practice and Walter’s magic weakened by my trap, it was easy. I threw open the balcony door and darted outside. On the railing, Anya, Herbert, and the cygnet were ensnared together. I disbursed Walter’s sinister magic cage and rushed back into my room to check on my prisoner.

  “Mika! Are you okay?” Kylie gripped the balcony railing, eyes darting from me to Walter.

  At the sight of her, my adrenaline crashed, and the world blackened, swirled with excessive color. I dropped to the floor, my legs collapsing beneath me.

  “Mika!”

  Kylie was at my side, supporting me against her body. “Is that Walter?” she asked.

  I nodded, the movement taxing my exhausted body.

  “I’m through waiting, Mika Stillwa—” Althea burst into the room and stopped in her tracks. “Wha-what is . . . Who is . . . Mika?”

  The kernel of compassion that had led Althea to Blackwell-Zakrzewska kicked in, and the apprentice healer crossed the room to press her hands to my temple. A cool wash of magic slid across my skin, giving me a measure of strength.

  “What is going on here?” she demanded.

  Feet pounded on the stairs, and we all turned toward the commotion in the doorway.

  14

  “I run a proper house,” Ms. Zuberrie protested. “Who do you think holds the blight at bay on this block? Where were you last year when those heathens were burning the tops off all the trees on this street? I could have used a squad then.”

  Three guards, linked and magic primed, stacked up at the door. Two more fell in line behind them. Althea shrieked and cowered behind me. Kylie clutched my hand. Behind the guards, I could just see Ms. Zuberrie’s white-blond head craning to peer over the guards’ backs.

  The guards scanned the room with eyes that missed nothing and showed no surprise at Walter’s frozen form. In head to toe gray, the only markings on the five were small elemental symbols on their stiff collars, one guard for each element. No ordinary guards, these were a full-five squad, elite guards trained to work as a unit against extreme threats like full-five militia groups and rampaging magical creatures. They converged on my tiny apartment.

  With practiced efficiency, Terra Haven’s most deadly warriors swarmed through my studio—not pausing at the sight of the traumatized hatchling gargoyles clinging to the railing. Two crossed the balcony and disappeared into Kylie’s room. The wood elemental remained at the door, his tall frame blocking Ms. Zuberrie. Moments later, they reconvened, magic relaxed and link dissipated. The water and earth elementals—a slender woman with copper hair and a tall woman I’d mistaken for a man at first—moved to the far side of my worktable, studying Walter. The fire and air elementals, two men cut from the same broad, unyielding cloth, stood between my bed and the coffee table, looming over where Kylie, Althea, and I crouched. The giant wood elemental managed to make the two burly guards look diminutive when he stepped fully into the room.

  “See, I told you nothing was wrong,” Ms. Zuberrie said. “Mika’s a good girl. She wouldn’t . . .” Ms. Zuberrie clutched the door frame, her eyes riveted on Walter. But my landlady was nothing if not resilient, and she recovered with remarkable speed. “Mika, just what is going on here?” she demanded, marching into my room. She made it two steps; there simply wasn’t any more space in my studio apartment.

  “Ma’am, we’ll take it from here,” the air elemental said in a deep voice.

  “That’s good to know,” Ms. Zuberrie said, “but I’ll not be going anywhere. This is my establishment.” She gave the guard her sternest glare, which he ignored.

  “I . . . I have nothing to do with”—Althea flapped a hand toward the network of magic squeezing Walter—“with that.” She stood, puffing her chest and looking down her nose at me. “Mika, consider our—”

  “Ma’am, please go with Officer Marciano. We’ll need your statement,” the air guard said, cutting off Althea’s haughty speech.

  “I really don’t have time—”

  “We appreciate your cooperation,” the wood giant Marciano said, his quiet, authoritative voice ending Althea’s protests. He guided the healer apprentice from the room with one large hand on her back, sweeping Ms. Zuberrie along with them. The loss of three people made my apartment almost breathable again.

  Kylie and I scrambled to our feet. Standing didn’t lessen my growing claustrophobia. The dragon leapt from the bookcase to my chest, and Kylie braced my back while he clambered to my shoulders, getting tangled in my long hair. Wincing, I gathered my hair and planted my feet to balance the extra twenty pounds of rock wrapped around my neck.

  “Who can explain what happened here?” the fire elemental demanded. He had dark blue eyes, a five o’clock shadow at eight in the morning, and a jaw that could bench press twice my body weight.

  “Ah, that’s Walter Pratt,” I said.

  “And you are?” asked the air elemental. His brown eyes were bracketed with crow’s-feet, and some silver lightened his brown hair. I found it much easier to talk to him than the fire elemental.

  “I’m Mika Stillwater.”

  “Kylie Grayson,” Kylie said, holding out her hand. The air elemental smiled a fraction and shook her hand. “I’m so pleased with how quickly you responded. Can you tell me who tipped you off to Walter’s intentions?”

  “She sounds like a reporter,” the fire elemental growled.

 
“Do you know who Walter Pratt is, Guard . . . ?” Kylie let the question trail off.

  “It’s Captain Monaghan,” the air elemental said. “And, yes, we’re well aware of Mr. Pratt. I’d like to know who bound Pratt.”

  I could feel Kylie gather herself to speak, so I cut in. “I did, sir.”

  “Just you?” the fire elemental demanded.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The squad members exchanged glances. Kylie couldn’t let the silence rest.

  “Captain Monaghan, can you explain how you learned of Pratt’s presence in Mika’s room?”

  “Velasquez, please escort Ms. Grayson to her rooms and take her statement,” the captain said.

  “Ms. Grayson.” The fire elemental motioned for Kylie to precede him from the room.

  “Winnigan, check the rooms across the hall, then assist Marciano,” Captain Monaghan said, addressing the redhead water elemental. He turned to the earth elemental. “Seradon, what do you—”

  “Sir, I think I should stay.” Kylie faced the captain, ignoring Velasquez’s outstretched hand.

  “Ma’am, it would be best if you returned to your rooms—”

  “Let me put it this way, Captain,” Kylie interrupted. “I’m not leaving Mika’s side unless I’m carried out.”

  Velasquez twitched in Kylie’s direction, then crossed his arms and settled back on his heels at a gesture from the captain. I felt a wash of gratitude for Kylie’s loyalty and support, even if she was partially motivated by her quest for a story.

  “Very well, Ms. Grayson. But”—he held up a hand when Kylie opened her mouth—“you must remain silent.”

  Kylie crossed her arms and pinched her lips in an unconscious mimicry of Velasquez’s posture. It wasn’t nearly as intimidating on Kylie’s slender frame.

  The guards shuffled aside for Winnigan, the water elemental, to squeeze past and exit the apartment. With six people—one frozen and two men whose presence took up twice as much room as their extra-large bodies—my apartment felt short on air.

  “Walk me through what happened here,” Monaghan said. He pulled a record bauble from his pocket and activated it with a brush of air magic. Kylie mimicked him, though she didn’t have the high-tech bauble to focus her magic on and instead had to hold a sphere of air while I talked. Monaghan’s expression tightened, but he didn’t say anything and Velasquez only growled once.

  I started with Kylie’s article in the paper, then stammered my way through the explanation of Walter’s attack. Monaghan listened without interrupting. I did my best to ignore Velasquez, who did a phenomenal impression of a grumpy gargoyle. Seradon, the earth elemental, continued to examine Walter as I talked, but she cast frequent glances at the hatchlings.

  “Pratt is a stronger elemental than you,” Monaghan said when I finished. “At best, you’re a medium spectrum. He’s nearly a full spectrum. How is it that you were able to overpower him?”

  I stared at Walter’s cocooned body. “I didn’t. I mean, I couldn’t overpower him, but I was faster. I have a knack for quartz.”

  “I’ll say,” Seradon muttered.

  “You said you learned how to do this”—the captain tipped his head toward Walter—“from Pratt, but this isn’t his MO. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I modified Walter’s trap.”

  “Spur of the moment, in the middle of your struggle with Pratt.” Captain Monaghan made it sound like an accusation.

  “Through jagged quartz,” Seradon added.

  I nodded.

  “Mika’s got more skill with quartz in her pinkie than most full-spectrum earth elementals have in their entire body,” Kylie said.

  The squad members let that ride.

  “Is it true that you healed the hatchlings?” Seradon asked. She moved closer to peer at the dragon, but she never put her back to Walter.

  “Mika’s a gargoyle healer,” Kylie confirmed.

  “I just used quartz to heal their burned-off limbs,” I said, uncomfortable with accepting the label of healer when I didn’t know what I was doing.

  “No. I could just heal limbs,” Seradon said, holding the dragon’s paw. He nuzzled her hand. “You regrew and . . . knit them back together.” The dragon trilled. Seradon stepped back and refocused on me. “I’ve never met a healer who wasn’t full-spectrum before. Of course, I’ve never met a midlevel earth elemental who could work such complex magic.”

  “I can’t. I mean, it’s only with quartz. It’s my specialty.”

  “A full-spectrum pentacle potential–strength specialty,” Seradon mused. “That’s a new one, too, but I don’t have another explanation.”

  Captain Monaghan wasn’t convinced and made me demonstrate the net I’d used to ensnare Walter on a free shard. By the time I finished, Winnigan had returned to crowd the room.

  The captain finally turned to Kylie, who was bouncing on her toes to restrain her questions. “You asked me how we knew to come,” he said. “We’ve been tracking Walter for two weeks, and the night of the auction, we were able to identify his magical fingerprint, so to speak. When he started throwing his magic around here, we mobilized.”

  Kylie blurted out several more questions, but I didn’t listen. I kept replaying FSPP Seradon’s compliments and confirmation that I was a gargoyle healer. When the captain addressed me again, he had to repeat himself before I noticed.

  “Can you undo it? I think we’ve let Walter stew long enough, Ms. Stillwater.”

  “Uh.” I eyed the tangled mess of earth and wood and fire. I was tempted to say no and let Seradon unravel it, but when Kylie gave me an encouraging nod, I knew I had to at least try.

  I stepped away from Kylie and closer to Walter. Seradon circled around the far side of the table to stand behind Walter. Velasquez, the fire elemental, shifted to stand behind me, forcing Kylie to move back near the door. Winnigan and Monaghan moved to ring Walter. I felt the readiness in the squad—to apprehend Walter, but just as likely to control any backlash of magic that got away from me.

  There was a flurry at the balcony door. Anya, Herbert, and the cygnet careened into the room. Anya dropped to the captain’s feet, Herbert landed on a clean edge of my worktable, and the cygnet alighted on Velasquez’s shoulder, buffeting his head with her crystalline wings. The fire elemental cursed and steadied the hatchling, then glared at me. I looked away before he caught my smile.

  All mirth died when I stared at Walter. He was facing me, hate burning in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, I reached for my magic. It came in a gargoyle-enhanced rush. Working on what I’d learned when I’d destroyed Walter’s traps, I unraveled the larger strands of magic from the crystal bars, feeding the destructive magic into each shard at the source. The anchors released like unsnapped buttons, quick and efficient. This wasn’t Walter’s magic; it was my own, and it responded with gratifying alacrity. Still, even after the bars were removed, there were hundreds more anchors, and it was at least ten minutes before I felt the weave holding Walter weaken.

  Suddenly Velasquez lifted me and deposited me behind him. I yelped and dropped my magic. The squad ignored me. As a unit, they converged on Walter, who was fighting free of the remaining bonds. For a second, Walter’s magic flared, hot and bright, and then the squad snapped null cuffs to his wrists and plucked the bow from his waist.

  “It was all her!” Walter shouted. “She primed the auction. She stole the hatchlings. I had nothing to do with it. She was holding me captive. Arrest her! She’s—”

  The cygnet launched from Velasquez’s shoulder, her clawed lion’s feet slashing toward Walter’s face. He screamed in terror.

  Velasquez plucked the hatchling from the air, opened a window, and gently tossed her out. She squeaked and flapped around the bay windows to the balcony door, angling for Walter again, only to be brought up short by Anya’s hiss. Squawking her disappointment, the cygnet landed on the captain’s head, purple-veined crystal feathers ruffled. Even Velasquez smiled at the sight.

  15

&n
bsp; “Check it out,” Kylie said, slapping down the Terra Haven Chronicle onto my desk.

  I rolled the final vial into a cloth and slid it into the pouch with the others. When I glanced up, I groaned.

  “Gargoyle Healer Mika Stillwater Instrumental in Capturing Felon” was typed in boulder-size letters across the top of the page. Below it was a picture of Walter being dragged down Ms. Zuberrie’s front steps by the full-five squad, with me framed in the doorway, the dragon hatchling standing on two legs on my shoulder.

  “Did you see the byline?”

  “Kylie, I saw you race ahead of the squad to take the picture,” I said. She planted her fists on her hips and pouted. “Congratulations on getting another front-page story. But really? Instrumental?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about the bold letters proclaiming me to be a gargoyle healer, either. I had the potential, but I still had a lot to learn. I would have said “fledgling healer” or “healer in training.” Or better yet, I wouldn’t have mentioned me at all.

  “Don’t be modest, Mika. It’s no fun. Now read!”

  She spread the paper open and moved the bag of vials to the coffee table. Herbert cracked an eye at us, then curled up tighter on the edge of my table in the sunbeam. His limbs were still mostly translucent crystal, but the veins of rose quartz and blue dumortierite were longer, reaching nearly to the tips of his wings and down to his toes. The other hatchlings were healing, too, and none seemed slowed by their crystal limbs in the meantime. Even the lion was outside today, perched on the eaves.

  “You’re not reading,” Kylie said.

  I read. I squirmed through the parts that mentioned me, feeling that Kylie exaggerated my actions in the events, but her depiction of the full-five squad was dead-on. Reading about Walter’s imprisonment filled me with a sense of triumph all over again.