Guild of Secrets

by Shannon Lynn Cook

  “I want more,” the man says. “I snuck her out from under Rafe’s nose, risking my life. I won’t take less than a hundred.”

  A hundred dollars? Surely I’m worth more than that.

  There’s a pause, and I stand behind the couch, waiting to see if he’ll say anything else.

  “You just think about it. I have her hidden—believe me when I say you won’t find her.”

  Believe me when I say I’m not going to stay here and let them try.

  Even though I don’t recognize the voice, I know it’s Trent. But who he’s talking to, I haven't a clue. Don’t think I want to know.

  Quickly, I hurry for the window. I’m just pushing back the drapes when the door swings open. I turn, pressing my back against the dusty curtains.

  Trent—the Trent from the poker table—walks into the room. This must be his preferred human shape. Pixies usually have one—they very rarely walk around in their normal state. They’re too vulnerable.

  “You won’t get very far,” he says, his eyes taking stock of me. He’s not so jumpy in this form, doesn’t have to put any effort into holding it. “It’s barred.”

  I turn back, and sure enough, thin strips of metal run across the window to keep anything from getting in…or getting out.

  Outside the window, not too far away, waves crash against coastal rocks, creating spray in the breeze. From the moody look of the water, I assume we’re somewhere north, above San Francisco.

  “Where am I?” I demand. “What do you want?”

  “What do I want?” He smiles in a chilling way, his expression matching the one he gave me when he wore Rafe’s form. “I want you. Slowly…over and over.”

  I sidle to the side, keeping my back to the wall, trying to put as much space between us as possible.

  “But come to find out you’re worth more alive and…untouched.”

  “What have you done with Gray?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know, little Fox?” He steps forward, his gaze hungry. “But right now, it’s just you and me.”

  Just as I’m about to see if I can claw my way through the wall, he stops himself and lets out a breath.

  “I’m hungry,” I say, deciding to play the part of the obnoxious prisoner. “And thirsty too.”

  He waves his hand like it’s not his concern. “I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with it.”

  “I highly doubt you’ll get your ransom if I’m dead,” I point out.

  A slow and extremely disturbing smile spreads over his face. “They have twenty-four hours to pay me what I’m asking, or I’ll kill you myself.”

  “Who?” I ask, though I highly doubt he’ll tell me.

  Trent studies me, his head slightly cocked to the side. “You don’t know?”

  I shake my head.

  He comes closer, looking slightly less creepy. “You’re wanted by the Entitled.”

  My stomach plummets, and I go cold. “Why?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care. All that matters is they pay me. I stole you from Rafe, from his careful, careful watch.”

  Feeling braver, I take a step from the wall. “You know, if you’re that desperate for a hundred bucks, I can cut a deal with you myself.”

  The pixie widens his eyes and then his long, flat mouth tips up in a grin. “Oh, pretty, pretty Fox—you were listening to my private phone call. I knew you were a naughty one.”

  I step back as he draws closer, and my hands begin to sweat as he takes slow, predatory steps toward me.

  “And I’m not asking a hundred dollars,” Trent says, his oddly fresh and minty breath in my face. “I’m asking for one hundred thousand.”

  I stare at him, unable to quite comprehend what he’s telling me.

  “And they’ll pay it,” he says, running his hand up my arm. “Oh, they’ll pay. But even if they don’t…I’ll get exactly what I want.”

  Without a thought of how he might retaliate, I slap him as hard as I can. My hand stings, and the sound practically echoes in the small room.

  The pixie composes himself almost immediately and grabs my wrist, wrenching it behind my back and pushing me face-first against the wall. He presses against me, his breath in my ear, pulling my arm up into a painful angle. “Careful, pretty Fox. I like it when you fight. If you push me too far, you might have less than twenty-four hours.”

  I shake with fear and fury, and I grit my teeth. I could struggle, but I have no doubt he’s telling the truth.

  “This could have been different,” he whispers, brushing my hair aside, pinning me in place with his body. He then blows on my neck, sending goosebumps along my flesh. “We could have been friends, you and I.”

  “We could still be friends,” I say softly, wondering if there’s any chance I can use the same trick on him twice.

  “Tsk, tsk, little vixen.” He now trails his finger from my hairline down my neck. “I won’t be so easy to fool again. And you’re helpless without your Taser—just a little Fox who can’t affect me with her persuasion or charisma. How frightening it must be for you. Your strongest tool—useless.”

  I don’t answer, but I’m sure he can tell from the way I tremble that I’m terrified. And he likes it.

  “You haven’t asked me how I lured you out of the restaurant,” he says. “Aren’t you the tiniest bit curious how I came to be in custody of Gray’s phone?”

  I do want to know, almost more than anything.

  “I posed as you,” he breathes, answering without prompting. “Followed him as soon as you split up yesterday. He didn’t suspect a thing.”

  “What did you do to him?” I demand.

  Trent laughs, enjoying his story. “I shot him in the leg and left him to bleed to death.”

  I’m silent on the outside, but inside I’m screaming, fighting, yelling.

  Is Gray alive? Did someone find him in time? Did they get him to a healer or take him to a human hospital?

  Trent’s phone rings, and he suddenly steps away, releasing me. “I’m afraid I must take this. You understand, don’t you?”

  Without waiting for a response, he answers the call and strides through the room, shutting the door behind him. After it closes, there’s the unmistakable sound of a key turning in a lock.

  ***

  The electricity must be turned off because the lights don’t flicker on when the switch is flipped. I look around the dusky room, not relishing the thought of spending the night in the dark—not with Trent coming and going as he has been all day.

  I can spin a basic light illusion, but I’d only be able to hold it for twenty to thirty minutes at most, and I’d be exhausted after. Too exhausted to protect myself, if it came down to it.

  Trent hasn’t checked on me in several hours, and I’m beginning to wonder if he’s left the house altogether. Maybe he won’t be back until morning.

  I walk to the locked door, staring at it. I haven’t tried to open it—there was never a point. Trent was always on the other side, talking to someone on his phone, sometimes muttering to himself.

  But I haven’t heard him for the longest time.

  I send a tendril of magic toward the lock, gently testing it, getting to know its design. It’s just a simple bedroom lock, the type you can open with a flathead screwdriver. Even I, who have practiced so little with this part of my magic, could open it.

  But Trent has worked around Foxes. He should know this wouldn’t hold me, and that in itself makes me pause.

  I listen at the door, second guessing myself and my magic. I probably only stand here fifteen minutes, but it feels like a lifetime of doubt.

  It’s fully dark by the time I work up the courage to send my magic into the simple mechanism and open the door. I can see well enough, a perk to Fox magic, but the darkness still feels ominous.

  My stomach rumbles, telling me I’m ravenous from a full day of no food despite my complete lack of appetite. I’m not too thirsty, not yet. I pulled just enough water from the air, right into my cupped hands, so
I was able to satiate the need.

  I’m in a larger living space, perhaps a den of some sort, and the drapes are open to the night. A waning crescent moon shines through the window, and its reflection lights the ocean with eerie, pale light. There’s no sign of Trent.

  The front door is just in front of me, calling, begging me to step through it and disappear into the night. But it can’t be this easy.

  My hand hovers over the doorknob, but my intuition screams at me, warning me not to go outside. It’s so intense, I take a step back, confused by what I’m sensing.

  Hide.

  I hear the word in my head, but the thought confuses me. Why hide when I can run?

  And then I see it, the swooping shadow that passes the window, floating like a wraith in the night, as large as a human but winged like a bat.

  Terror strikes me, stealing my breath.

  I’ve never seen one before, not outside of photographs they showed us in school. It’s a gargoyle, preying in the night. It won’t usually kill you when it sinks its fangs into your flesh—no. But it will paralyze you as it feeds on your magic, all the while injecting liquid poison terror into your veins.

  If you're caught early enough in the night, they’ll suck your magic dry, leave you as empty as a human. Most people go mad after an attack. Many kill themselves to be free of the memory.

  Trent’s lured them here to guard me, making sure I don’t get far if I run. He must have left bait for them before dark, calling to them with condensed, decaying magic, the kind that comes from earth scavenged from below Aparian graves.

  Another flies in front of the window, its leathery wings brushing against the glass. I crouch behind the couch, trying to stay out of view, telling myself I’m safe enough inside.

  More join the first few—I hear their sharp cries and the wind they create as they flap around the house.

  I sit, pulling my knees to my chest, shaking as I try to stay out of sight. And then I hear a high-pitched scraping noise—the sound of a nail on a chalkboard.

  Or talons against glass.

  More noises join the nightmare symphony—sounds of gnawing, like a dog chewing on a table leg and full bodies slamming against the siding. The roof creaks above me as one walks across the ridge, dragging its wings, its claws scratching across the sandpaper-like shingles.

  And then my phone chimes with a text.

  It’s a strange sound in the midst of the nightmare, with the gargoyles circling the house. I wait for the second notification, listening carefully for its position in the house.

  In what seems like an eternity later, it chimes from the left, toward what appears to be the kitchen.

  Shadows crawl over the windows, flashes of wings blocking the moonlight.

  I’m paralyzed to the spot. How can I crawl those fifteen feet to retrieve my phone?

  But if I don’t, how will I call for help?

  And then there’s a noise below, the sound of a shutter swinging open.

  Or a cellar door.

  There’s a shuffling below me, underneath my feet. I look up, terrified, and find myself face to face with an open door. Beyond it, steps descend a narrow stairway, disappearing into perfect darkness.

  It’s a basement.

  Movement catches my eye in the dark—I can sense it more than see it. I’m frozen to the spot, my heart racing, my legs shaking. I stifle a scream as the creature’s eyes come into view. They glow like liquid gold, lighting a face that’s human but grayed and grotesque.

  The gargoyle climbs the steps, its gaze locked on mine, its wings dragging on the creaky, wooden stairs. My fear calls its hunger, and it hisses, showing fangs.

  The movement startles me out of my frozen bunny state, and I reach into the air, call a gust of wind, and slam the door shut in its face. It screeches in a pitch that hurts my ears so badly, I almost crumple on the floor. But I brace myself, reach with my magic and frantically feel the lock. I flip it as the gargoyle tries the knob, and then I turn the deadbolt and race into the kitchen for my phone.

  The creatures on the outside see the movement, and it sets them into a flurry of beating wings and more shrill cries.

  I have twenty-four missed calls and eighteen messages.

  With fumbling fingers, I dial the most recent caller, the easiest to find in my terrified state.

  Rafe answers before I even hear it ring. “I’m nearby, but I can’t—”

  “There are gargoyles,” I say in a rush, my voice quaking. “Trent’s left, and he called them and—”

  “Madeline!” Rafe commands, cutting me off. “It’s a test, one only you can pass.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say, nearly sobbing.

  “You can command the creatures. Use your persuasion.”

  I duck behind the cabinets, hiding from the beasts as they continue to throw themselves at the glass. The windows are going to shatter soon.

  The monster in the basement continues to howl, making it nearly impossible to hear Rafe.

  “I can’t control them!” I holler into the phone. “Didn’t you hear me? I said gargoyles!”

  “You are unique.” Though his words are calm, his voice shakes. “The Entitled has baited them to see if you are who they believe you to be. Only you can control them. Sweetheart, you can. I know you can. Throw the door open, step outside, and order them to fall at your feet.”

  “Rafe,” I sob. “I can’t.”

  “You can,” he says calmly. “I’ve felt your magic when you’ve used your persuasion—it’s different. Even Jonathan says it’s different. I wouldn’t send you out there if I thought you’d fail.”

  I set the phone on the counter and cover my face with my hands. I’m not who they think I am. I can’t control gargoyles—no one can.

  Rafe calls my name on the other end of the line, wondering where I went, but I can barely hear him. The sounds merge together into a great rush of white noise.

  There are too many monsters, and they’re in a frenzy. They’ll kill me if I step outside, and then they’ll fight over my lifeless body, tearing me to shreds before they’re finished.

  But it’s only a matter of minutes before they break the windows and swarm inside.

  No matter what, I’m done. I can either die cowering on this peeling linoleum floor, or I can face them head on, see if I can do this impossible thing Rafe swears I am capable of.

  Oddly resigned to my fate, I stand, brush my ratty braid behind my shoulder and make my way to the back sliding glass door, the one that looks out over the ocean.

  The nightmare creatures crawl across the deck, fly around the house, beat against the glass. Their gold eyes fix on mine as soon as I make myself visible. I can feel their hunger, their need, their desperation.

  “Get back,” I whisper, pushing a little magic into my shaking voice.

  The ones closest—those against the glass—shudder and stumble away.

  That’s not possible.

  I take another step forward, almost entranced by their reaction. “Get back,” I command, this time using more magic.

  The ones near the deck fall to their bellies, cowering, twitching, crawling like rodents.

  And I realize I just might not die tonight.

  Feeling the power swell inside me, encouraged by their response, I unlock the door with my magic, throw it aside, and step onto the deck.

  “Enough!” I yell, screaming into the night. “Cease your hunt!”

  There are dozens upon dozens of the creatures. Every one of them goes still, falling from the sky, prostrating themselves before me.

  “Back to the darkness!” I command. “Disappear into the night!”

  With a great beating of wings, the monsters lift into the sky, silhouetted by the moon. They fly in all directions, until there are none left, and the only sound on the breeze is the crashing of waves against the rocky coast.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I stand, clutching the old, splintering railing, adrenaline coursing through my veins.


  My phone rings, its chime tiny in the night.

  Slowly, feeling as if I just cheated death, I turn and stumble back into the cottage.

  “It worked,” I inform Rafe the moment I answer the phone, my voice hollow.

  “Yes, it did,” a man says behind me, startling me so badly, I’m not sure if Rafe responds.

  I whirl around, clutching the phone to my chest.

  “Hello, Madeline,” says the man who stood on my doorstep inquiring about my parents not a week ago.

  I stumble back. “Where’s Trent?”

  The man waves the question away. “I disposed of him. He was most irksome.”

  “You killed him?”

  “I apologize.” He bows his head. “I should have left the honor to you, but I assumed he was so far below you, you wouldn't mind.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Curtis.” He’s watching me most strangely, and I take several steps back. “And I knew your parents.”

  “Yes…you’ve mentioned that before.”

  “No.” He smiles. “I knew your real parents.”

  My stomach rolls, making me thankful I haven’t eaten recently.

  “You don’t know who you are.” He shakes his head, saddened. “And you have no idea how long we’ve been looking for you, hoping that you were alive. Fearing you were not. You are special. Very special.”

  He’s likely insane…but I did just command a legion of dark, monstrous beasts with my voice. So there is that.

  “When you were born, you were kidnapped by a Griffon working for the Royal Guild, someone who didn’t want you to learn who you are or what you’re capable of. He had orders to kill you, but fortunately for us, he was weak and couldn’t follow through. He did, however, successfully hide you from us. Madeline, you’re not just a Fox,” he explains in a conversational tone, almost as if he’s telling me a fairy tale. “You are a daughter of an ancient Urocyon faction bloodline that’s rich with power—the original rulers of Aparia. The rightful rulers. Every fortieth to fiftieth generation, there’s a female born to that bloodline with unique magic. We’ve been waiting for you for a millennium.”