Secret of the Gargoyles (Gargoyle Guardian Chronicles Book 3)

by Rebecca Chastain

  “You better not delay our departure,” she said. Her chin-length black hair swung into her face when she stopped, and she tucked it behind her ear. Standing between the khalkotauroi and Marcus, she looked fragile and elfin, but her sultry dark eyes swept over Marcus as if she were sizing him up for dinner.

  “Naomi, when have you ever known me to slow things down?”

  A sour flavor coated my tongue, accompanied by the visceral churn of jealousy in my gut: They were flirting. Ugh.

  I grabbed the edge of the open freight car door and hoisted myself inside. Lacking coordination after the long day, I tripped on the tiger’s tail and stumbled into Rourke, hugging him to regain my balance.

  “Is she okay?” Naomi asked.

  “She’s fine, just a little slow in the head,” Marcus said.

  I glared at him over my shoulder, but he and Naomi missed it, both too busy looking into each other’s eyes.

  Face flaming, I gave Rourke a pat and twisted through the rest of the gargoyles to my cot at the front of the car, only then sneaking a peek out the open door again. The beautiful conductor radiated confidence, which wasn’t surprising; she had to be a strong fire elemental to do her job. Plus, she and Marcus had history. It was there in her body language when she casually touched his arm and echoed in his relaxed posture. And The Smile. The one that reappeared with nauseating frequency. Here was a woman in Marcus’s social stratum. Viewing my crush alongside Naomi made it all the more pathetic.

  I growled at myself, imitating the noise I’d heard most frequently from Marcus today. It didn’t matter what the man thought of me. It mattered how helpful he was with saving the gargoyles.

  Pushing the squirmy ugliness of jealousy down, I reached for my bag. I’d stowed it earlier under my cot, and I had to stand back up to get the leverage to budge it now. Underneath my change of clothes and snacks rested forty pounds of a gargoyle healer’s best tool: seed crystals. Pure quartz and infinitely malleable, the seed crystals could be used to heal all manner of physical injuries, including being grafted onto a gargoyle to replace chipped or severed body parts.

  Four fit comfortably in my hand and I rolled a few more into my pockets. Then I walked among the gargoyles, checking them with gentle probes of magic. Their life forces flickered with the same muted strength as they had before we’d carted them from their resting places, with little variation between each gargoyle. The years had been equally cruel to them all, pockmarking their skin and eroding rough patches. I could feel the peripheral ache of these wounds when I delved into each gargoyle, but I didn’t know how much awareness the dormant gargoyles possessed.

  For Rourke’s sake, I hoped it wasn’t much.

  I don’t normally have violent feelings, but I’d entertained a lot of fantasies in the last months of stabbing Elsa so she could see how it felt. She’d viewed Rourke as nothing more than a tool to be used. She hadn’t seen him as a living creature, and she hadn’t cared about hurting him. With people like her in the world, it was no wonder gargoyles were more willing to let the dormant ones die rather than risk exposing their vulnerabilities to humans.

  “I’ll never tell,” I whispered to Rourke. “You’re safe with us.”

  “Oliver, Celeste, do you want to come inside?” Marcus asked, swinging up into the freight car. Behind him, the massive khalkotauroi plodded toward the engine, his copper hoofbeats reverberating through the station. A cart piled high with hay bales trundled behind him, pulled by a pair of station stable boys. The giant fire-breathing bull would need a lot of fuel to power a train this size through the mountains.

  “I’m going to stay up here,” Oliver said, hanging over the edge. His tongue lolled from his mouth, his grin looking twice as goofy upside down.

  “Come down through the front if you change your mind,” Marcus said, pointing toward the human-size door at the front of the freight car.

  Celeste didn’t answer. She’d been quiet all day after we’d convinced Marcus to help. I didn’t know if she was naturally recalcitrant or if her worry kept her silent.

  The train released three shrill whistles, and coach attendants repeated the signal with their smaller silver whistles. A few more people rushed by the open door, racing to board before we pulled out of the station.

  Marcus tossed two balls of fire into the brass lanterns, using quick flicks of air to close the glass shields around the lit wicks, and then swung the enormous loading door shut. It rumbled on its runners and closed with a deafening clang of metal on metal, locking me inside the windowless container with seven mostly dead gargoyles and one grumpy fire elemental.

  * * *

  I spent the first half hour on the train sitting stiff and self-conscious on my cot, pretending to read a novel about a courtesan spy. Or maybe about a princess con artist. I couldn’t keep the story line straight, but I kept turning the pages and trying to look natural. I’d fretted over getting the gargoyles to their baetyl and surviving Reaper’s Ridge. I’d pictured all types of caves buried in the mountain and had run through dozens of techniques I’d used on gargoyles, hoping one of them would suffice for the baetyl. But I’d failed to consider the actual night spent on the train. Alone. With Marcus.

  He’d lain down on his cot after we’d pulled out of the station and we’d checked to ensure the rocking motion of the train wouldn’t topple any gargoyles. He hadn’t opened his eyes since. I didn’t think he was asleep, but I couldn’t be sure.

  With the rhythmic clack-clack of the tracks beneath us and the gentle sway of the freight car, it was hard to maintain the level of urgency that had hounded me in Terra Haven. Without that sense of dire purpose, the terrors of Reaper’s Ridge filled my thoughts.

  The storms that tore it apart were composed of raw, wild magic, completely unpredictable and impossible to control. If we got trapped inside a storm of pure fire element, we’d be burned alive in seconds, and it’d be the most merciful way to die. I’d heard the horror stories of the bodies found—from drowning victims lodged in trees to frozen remains discovered in the middle of the summer. There’d even been a few instances of people who had seemed to explode, as if the wild magic had burst them apart.

  Snapping my book shut—which elicited nothing, not even a twitch, from Marcus—I bounced to my feet and yanked open the door at the front of the car. A rush of roasted grass–scented air swirled into the freight car and lifted my hair from my neck. I stepped out onto the small platform and shut the door behind me. Two steps took me to the iron railing, and I leaned out to put my face in the wind.

  Terra Haven had disappeared behind gently rolling hills covered with yellowing grass and dotted with trees. Through gaps in the hills, I spotted the glint of Lincoln River and the lush fields of crops along the banks, but our route took us northeast around the mountains, and the river wouldn’t be in sight much longer.

  I pushed away from the railing and hopped the slender gap between cars, then opened the door to the overnight car in front of our freight car. When I closed the door, my footsteps slowed in the hushed atmosphere. Most of the right side of the car was walled off into a dozen smaller quarters for privacy and sleeping, and the empty walkway was weighted with silence. The faint aroma of lavender and thyme lifted from the thick carpet with each of my steps, and I lingered by the tall windows on the left to watch the hills roll past before the growl of my stomach urged me on.

  When I opened the door to the passenger car, a dozen faces turned to stare at me before dropping back to their papers and books. I patted the overhead railing to keep my balance in the rocking car as I walked up the length, and I did my best not to touch anything else. The car was immaculate. Plush red velvet seats with small brass buttons and armrest accents were set in groups of four around marble-topped tables complete with place mats folded into fans, crystal goblets, and real silverware. Most of the car’s occupants were dressed fine enough for a temple ceremony, not in dusty jeans and a T-shirt like I was. Even the black and gold carpet was swept clean, and when I passed h
im, the coach attendant tsked and used a soft brush of air and earth to erase my footprints. I mumbled an apology and rushed through the door.

  I crossed the gap between cars again and pulled open the next door, relieved to find the dining car. I made use of the washing fountain in the corner, which had its own attendant who cycled the water and cleaned it with a complex weave of air, water, earth, and wood to remove the grime I’d added to the basin.

  A galley kitchen ran along one wall and dining tables along the other. A group of women decked out in leather flight gear and colorful tunic tops lingered over drinks at a table set against the window, talking animatedly about the differences between flying dragons and pegasi, but otherwise the car was empty. I purchased two roasted vegetable potpies, which were made fresh for me while I watched, and half a loaf of rosemary sourdough bread. The chef presented the meal on a silver tray, the potpies in porcelain bowls, and the spoons were silver and wrapped in cloth napkins. He added a saucer with several pats of butter, two teacups, a fan of tea bags for me to select from, and a pot of boiling water. Staggering under the unexpected bounty, I wove carefully back to our freight car, exerting the full strength of my air ability to keep everything on the platter and upright when I navigated between cars.

  When I stepped into the freight car and closed the door behind me, Marcus cracked an eye.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked. It seemed like a rhetorical question since we hadn’t stopped for food all afternoon, and Marcus must have agreed. He sat up and silently helped me with the platter. We didn’t have a table, so we set it on the floor between us and braced it between our bags so it wouldn’t slide when the train leaned around a curve.

  “We’re attached to a first-class train,” I said.

  Marcus grunted and reached for the bread, tearing it in half.

  “You got a freight car attached to a first-class train,” I repeated.

  First-class trains were the fastest on the line and given top priority, which meant all other trains were shunted to the neighboring track or were held at a station to keep the track clear for this train. Used almost exclusively by wealthy FSPP, first-class trains didn’t haul freight, and they didn’t make stops at abandoned stations.

  “You said it was urgent,” Marcus said.

  “It is, but I can’t afford this.” I could barely afford the dinner I’d bought us.

  “The FPD is picking up the bill.”

  Really? That was news to me. “Thank you.” I couldn’t make my words flow together, and they came out in stilted phrases. “And for helping me. With the gargoyles. Even though it’s going to be hard.”

  He watched me while he chewed, face unreadable. Finally he swallowed. “I said I would help.”

  “I know. And I hadn’t thanked you. So . . . thank you.”

  “I haven’t done anything yet.”

  That sounded like the start of an argument I didn’t want to have, so I looked away from his intense stare and took a bite of the potpie. The crust melted on my tongue, flaky and buttery, and the sauce of the cooked vegetables was so delicious that I stopped chewing to savor it. Swallowing a moan of delight, I forgot about Marcus and concentrated on enjoying the gourmet meal. Far too soon, I swept the final drops of sauce from my bowl with the last bite of bread. I stuffed the morsel into my mouth and leaned back, eyes closed, indulging in a moment of pure satiated bliss.

  When I opened my eyes, Marcus’s unreadable gaze lingered on me. Self-conscious, and reminding myself how out of my league Marcus was and how mortified I’d be if he ever found out I had a crush on him, I stood up and squeezed into the middle of the dormant gargoyles. I knelt beside the tigereye fox from the park. Hardly the size of a bear cub, she lay curled into a circle, all her feet and her nose hidden under her fluffy stone tail.

  I gathered a soft mix of elements to test her health—

  Something heavy slammed into the front door, denting it inward with an explosive thunderclap of sound.

  5

  Marcus launched to his feet, a coil of magic swirling against his hand as he shoved the door open.

  Celeste stuck her head in, but her wide shoulders caught on the door frame, halting her forward momentum with a shriek of protesting metal. Cool evening wind whistled through the open door, blowing my hair into my eyes.

  “Rourke needs magic! He’s fading!” she yelled, grabbing the frame with her massive eagle feet and wrenching. The metal screamed but held.

  “Calm down!” Marcus barked. His authoritative posture was ruined a moment later when Oliver catapulted from Celeste’s back through the door above her head. Marcus ducked and threw himself against the wall with a curse. Oliver’s slender body fit easily through the narrow doorway once he tucked his wings tight, which meant he plummeted like a rock to the floor, shattering our dinnerware. Immediately, he unfurled his wings and launched over the gargoyles straight for me.

  I flung myself to the ground, covering my head with my hands. Oliver clipped the side of the freight car with a wing, deafening us all with the metallic reverberation. He landed heavily on the back of the black and white onyx wolf next to me, scrambling to maintain his perch on the gargoyle’s slick fish-scale sides and smooth flying-fish wings. His long tail struck me in the shoulder, knocking me sideways, and I scrambled to a safer location under the large tiger.

  “Mika! They need help!” Oliver shouted.

  “Everyone, CALM DOWN!” Marcus bellowed. “Celeste, let go of the door. Oliver, get your snaky butt over here.” He pointed to the empty floor space between our cots, kicking the dented silver platter out of the way and scooping the broken porcelain of our dishes into a net of air before tossing them out the open door. Oliver tried to take off, slipped, and crashed onto the fox. The impact shook the floor of the freight car and made my ears ring. Before I could check to make sure he was okay, he squirmed to his feet and wriggled to the location Marcus indicated. I crawled out from under the tiger and checked the fox. Bits of her tail had flaked off and a dull pain radiated through her body, but it was the weakness of her life signs that alarmed me.

  “What’s the problem?” Marcus demanded.

  “We’re too far from the city. Damn it! I’m an idiot.” Celeste had told me the only thing keeping these seven gargoyles alive had been their location in prominent, magic-laden places of Terra Haven. We’d removed them from the only thing sustaining them. I explained as much to Marcus even as I opened myself to the magic boost all the dormant gargoyles offered so they could feed off my magic. Compared to the magical enhancement of a normal, healthy gargoyle, their boosts were a mere trickle, but the amount of magic they offered wasn’t important.

  “We have to use magic for them,” I said. “They need to feed on it. They’ve basically been starving for decades, surviving on the scraps they could consume indirectly from people who used them for magical boosts. If they don’t get more magic, and quickly, they’ll waste away.”

  I hooked my heavy bag with a band of air and tugged. It wiggled in place, but I couldn’t lift it toward me. Then fresh magic gushed into me, and I felt Oliver in the enhancement—his eager energy and the coil of excitement that never dimmed inside him. A moment later, even more magic poured into me from Celeste, but I wouldn’t have been able to distinguish the signature of her enhancement the same way I could Oliver’s. Months of working closely together had tuned me to him in a way I hadn’t known was possible.

  Filled with magic, I wove cables of air and levitated my forty-pound bag more effortlessly than if I’d lifted it with my hands. As soon as it was in reach, I removed a seed crystal and began reshaping it to patch the fox’s wounds. Fortunately, they were minor enough that I could knit her tigereye flesh into the new quartz, closing a half dozen nicks without overtaxing her delicate system.

  “What can I do?” Marcus asked.

  “Use the elements—and use their boost to let them feed off you.”

  A few seconds later, the pummeling wind abated and the car quieted as Marcus coated the o
pening with a solid sheet of air, wrapping it around Celeste’s head when she refused to back up. A glow of fire element swept through the freight car, countering the cold air with a gentle heat. I stepped among the dormant gargoyles, checking each of them. The flicker of their lives stabilized, but they were all frighteningly weak.

  “We can’t keep this up indefinitely,” Marcus said.

  “I don’t think we’ll have to. As long as we make sure they get regular doses of magic, they should be okay.”

  “How regular?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.” I wasn’t even sure I was right, but I hoped I was. Neither of us could sustain a steady volley of magic from now until we reached the baetyl, not even Marcus and not even if we took turns.

  Once I was sure no other dormant gargoyles had been injured, I squeezed through them to Oliver’s side.

  “I’m sorry. I got scared. I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he said, head drooping. “I wanted to help.”

  “It’s okay. She’s fine, but you’re not.” A ragged patch had chipped from the ruff around his square face like a bad haircut, and the orange carnelian wound was sandpaper rough.

  “It’s no big deal,” he said, despite flinching away from my delicate touch.

  “Nothing we can’t fix in a few seconds,” I agreed. “And you’re always an incredible help.”

  Oliver didn’t say anything, but his wings relaxed and he lost his hangdog expression.

  I floated a seed crystal to my hand and reshaped it as I knit it into Oliver’s injury. At one time, it would have taken all my concentration to mold the crystal and weave the complex elements to mesh the inert quartz with Oliver’s living carnelian body. Now I could do it almost without looking.

  “Can you feel how much stronger the others are already?” I asked when I finished.

  “No.”

  “You can’t?”

  “He is not mated,” Celeste said. She no longer looked ready to rip apart the freight car, so she must have been able to feel Rourke’s increasing stabilization.