Mistress of the Stone (22 page)

Dooley tripped and landed face to face with Luísa. She put a finger to her lips and whispered a prayer. They stared at one another, frozen for what felt like an eternity. Dooley’s eyes were ringed with tears and soot, and the faint shadow of relief on his face.

“Mistress,” he whispered.

She reached out and grabbed his hand, but Daltry pulled her back.

“They’re coming,” Daltry warned.

Dooley squeezed Luísa’s hand. “No, they’re not.”

He jumped up like a madman and barreled straight at them, knocking two of them down. Dooley laughed, dancing on one foot and then the other as he lured them away from his captain.

“What are you playing at, boy?”

Dooley shook his head. “Not playing, Frenchie. Running!”

He dashed into the jungle with the brigands right behind him. Luísa got up from her hiding place just as a shot rang out.

“Dooley, no.” She clutched her rapier, but didn’t draw it out. What good was one blade against so many? Even if Daltry fought in his wolf state, they’d have no chance.

“He was a brave lad, Luísa. He did it to save you.” Daltry took her by the arm. “Come now. We have to go.”

They heard no more shots, but the jungle lay far from still. Men tramped through the brush, cursing and yelling at one another. Daltry froze for a moment, his ears pricking to the slightest sound, then gave Luísa’s shoulder a little squeeze and a hopeful smile.

“By God, that lad must be part cat.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s still alive.”

Luísa squeezed her eyes shut with a prayer. “
Gracias a Dios
.” She tugged at Daltry’s sleeve. “Can’t we do anything?”

“And make his sacrifice in vain? No, we move on. They’ll give him the lash, but at least he’ll live.”

They picked up their pace to put as much distance as they could between them and the crew of the
Vengeance
. The jungle returned to its natural din, vibrant with the business of survival when it held its breath once more.

Daltry grabbed Luísa by the wrist and forced her to the cover of a wide tree.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Company.” He held his breath, his body so tense it seemed ready to spring like a capstan pulled too tight.
 

Overhead, the thick flap of wings sounded more like a blacksmith’s bellows than a bird’s flutter. Whatever it was, it was big. She edged closer to Daltry, one hand on her sword.

The sound of heavy thrashing circled above them once more and then landed with an explosion of mulch and debris in front of them.

Standing before them stood a creature made of solid stone—a gargoyle come to life.

Luísa gripped her sword, but for what reason she didn’t know. There was no steel that could cut through solid rock. “
Madre de Dios
,” she said under her breath. “What is that?”

Daltry stood straight, puffing his chest out while his hands clenched into fists. “This is Shadrach, Luísa. A minion of your grandmother.”

The gargoyle bowed, its massive stone wings tucked behind it, a rough scraping sound as they folded. Half its face was misshapen, and he limped when he stepped forward.

Daltry pushed her behind him.

“Speak your business, Shadrach, or bugger off.”

The gargoyle tried to peer behind him. “Is that her? Is that Izabel’s scion?”

Such a rich and sultry voice. One she had heard before.

Luísa slipped out of Daltry’s grasp and studied the stone demon, unwilling to believe it could be real. Its skin was gray and mottled, and the nicks of a chisel scored down its left arm. Its chest, broad and well-hewn, heaved in and out as if it breathed air like any man. But it was the eyes that captured her interest. Unlike the rest of its body, they seemed flesh and blood. The creature blinked, soft brown eyes glistening with moisture. Was it truly a gargoyle or was it a man bewitched into stone?

Shadrach bowed again, his arm swishing to his midsection in a grand flourish. “Milady. At any other time, I would welcome thee, but the blood moon is nearly upon us. I fear it is not safe for you here.”

The voice warbled smooth and warm. Another
Inglés
by the sound of it. It was hard to imagine such a dulcet voice coming from that hard chiseled mouth.

She stumbled for words, but all she could do was ask the obvious. “Are you real?”

He muffled a laugh. “As real as this wolf, mistress.”

“Your business,” Daltry said curtly. “What do you want?”

“The same as you, lycan. Perhaps we can help each other.”

Daltry grabbed Luísa by the arm and prodded her back on the trail. “Save your breath, guardian. I’ll not deal with the Sorceress’s chattel.”

They had taken several steps down the trail when Shadrach called to him again.

“And what of your sister?”

Daltry turned on the stone-man in an instant, the wolf side of him showing plainly. “My sister went to speak with Jovis, for all the good it did her.”

“Aye, so I thought too. But I’ve been to the wolf village and Cwen told me Sibyl decided to see the Oracle instead.”

“The Oracle? Whatever for?”

“I don’t know, but I fear for her safety.”

Daltry walked up to the gargoyle, inches from his face. “I’ve never appreciated your interest in my sister, Shadrach. I’ve warned you once before to stay away from her.”

Shadrach lifted a rigid brow at him. “You chose to spend your time at sea, wolf. Perhaps your sister found me a better confidante.”

Daltry growled at him, the nails on his fingers lengthening into claws. Fur burgeoned along his jaw line. “Sibyl has a soft heart for the lame and infirm. Don’t mistake her interest in you as anything more than pity. You’re nothing but a broken pile of stone mended with magic and malice.”

The gargoyle folded its arms, its massive stone wings heaving with every breath it took. “You’re not only blind but stupid, Daltry. Sometimes I wonder which one of us is truly made of stone.” He poked Daltry at his chest, pushing him back two steps. “Trust me or don’t, lycan, but I fear for your sister. If you love her, you’ll help me look for her. The Oracle is not a magic to be toyed with.”

Luísa approached the gargoyle. “Where is this Oracle?”

“On the other side of the island, near where your ship is harbored.”

“Then we have the same journey. We’re headed for the beach now.”

“Aye, mistress. But your way takes too long. It will take you all day to traverse this jungle.”

“Then the sooner you get out of our way, the sooner we’ll reach our destination. You’re wasting our time.”

Shadrach opened his wings, blocking out the trees behind him. “Then I will save you some time, lycan.”

The stone giant didn’t give Daltry a chance to protest, nor Luísa a chance to scream when he leaped up and snatched both of them by the waist in his wide arms.

Luísa squirmed as he drew them high above the jungle canopy, but soon settled down when she realized she was safe. Shadrach was no block of stone, but a man encased in stone flesh that radiated warmth and pulsed with life. Veins protruded from the exertion it took to carry two people at once, but if the gargoyle felt any discomfort, he didn’t show it.

Daltry seethed. He looked insulted, having been plucked like a rabbit from the forest floor.

They arrived on the other side of the island within minutes. Shadrach circled twice, his granite face tightening into a proper gargoyle grimace. He nodded his head. “Look, Daltry. Smoke.”

“Get us down, Shadrach. Hurry!”

Shadrach lit down to the surface, but it was a hard landing, and Luísa and Daltry landed face first onto the beach. They rolled to their sides, spitting out mouthfuls of sand.

Daltry wiped his mouth. “Damn block of stone.” He checked on Luísa before turning his attention to the billowing smoke and a pile of rock and debris strewn everywhere.

“Bugger me. Not even Job had this much misfortune!”

Both Daltry and Shadrach ran up to a huge monolith at the division between jungle and beach. Plumes of smoke seeped out of crevices and the carved lintel lay in ruins on the sand.

Daltry scanned the perimeter, stepping carefully over chunks of stone. He stopped, frozen in his tracks, his eyes locked on something in the sand.

“What is it, Xander?” Luísa asked as she neared him.

He bent down and picked up a long rope with three knots on it. “It’s Sibyl’s,” he whispered.

Shadrach took the rope from him and examined it. “’Tis not possible. Nothing can harm a ghost.”

Daltry’s face darkened. “She’d never have taken this off willingly.”

The gargoyle shook his head. “It must have slipped off her somehow. We have to keep searching. We have to find out who did this.”

“Who did this?” The bitterness in Daltry’s voice grew menacing. “Don’t play me for a fool, Shadrach. Only another creature of stone can destroy stone.”

“You accuse me?” Shadrach said in a combative tone.

“It’s no secret that you’ve condemned the Oracle countless times.”

“But I wouldn’t have destroyed it, lycan.” Shadrach seemed to diminish, his head hunched down within the cowl of his wings. “I would never—could never bring harm. I am a Watcher. It’s my only purpose.”

Luísa drifted from their argument and scanned the debris field, picking up pieces of rubble, and examining them before tossing them away. One small piece caught her eye, and she picked it up with care. She rubbed the pad of her thumb across a thick layer of black powder that covered its surface.

Her companions continued to argue, their voices getting louder and their taunts more menacing.

“Be quiet, the both of you!” She tossed the piece of rubble to Daltry who caught it in mid air. “Unless our stone friend here keeps a stash of salt peter and black powder, I can assure you he didn’t blow up the Oracle.” She wandered behind the remains of the monolith and kicked at a metal rib that once lined a cask. “Someone ignited a keg of gunpowder.”

Daltry and Shadrach looked up at each other and answered in chorus. “Saint-Sauveur.”

Luísa’s moonstone grew warm to the touch. She lifted it off her skin and stepped back into a swoon. She would have collapsed had it not been for Daltry holding her up.

She held her head, massaging the ache between her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Daltry’s face looked drawn.

“Aye. I think so.”

Shadrach studied her carefully. “The stone. It speaks to you, doesn’t it?”

Luísa shrugged. “If it does, it speaks no language I know.”

The gargoyle looked at the sky, his thick pointed ears shifting subtly. “We should leave. My brothers will come soon. They’ll have to report this to the Sorceress.”

Luísa glared at the stone beast. “What about Sibyl?”

“We’ll get no answers here, mistress,” Shadrach said solemnly.

Daltry sniffed the air and his mouth tensed, the way it did just before his change.

“What is it?” Shadrach demanded.

“We have to go. I smell ghouls.”

“Davy’s bones! Even I smell them.” Luísa fought for balance as the ground quivered beneath her feet.

The sand stirred, each pebble wriggling to life. It bubbled up like a spring, churning and building upon itself until two bony arms shot up, scrambling for purchase in the soft sparkling sand. Elsewhere cropped another set of limbs, and then another. Farther down the beach, half a man was already pulling himself from his grave.

Shadrach didn’t wait for any more to arise. He scooped Daltry and Luísa into his arms and threw himself into the air. As they flew away, the island came alive with the dead. The ghouls had awakened once more.

Sanctuary looked like a mirage in a wafting mist. Shadrach deposited them inside the protected circle.

How was that possible? Sibyl said she didn’t allow any creature to penetrate the fog barrier without her sanction.

Shadrach put them down, anxious not to linger. Instead, he launched himself back into the air and disappeared within the fog.

Luísa and Daltry were safe—at least for the moment.

Chapter Twenty

Sibyl couldn’t move, though by what magic she didn’t know. It appeared as if her essence was caught between flesh and spirit, that limbo of in between.

She couldn’t be sure, but it felt as if she existed in a manifested state, even though she exerted no energy to do so. And was her mind playing tricks on her? She could swear a dribble of sweat just trickled down her throat.

Ghosts don’t sweat.

Her heart raced and her breathing became ragged. Breathing?
Impossible!
Except for the fleeting form she conjured when it suited her needs, she had no physical body. Yet as best as she could tell, she was now whole and solid.

Her body felt alive again and corporeal, but it remained trapped in its own space.

She strained, trying to free herself from a cage not of her own making. It was no use. For every effort, her body grew heavier, denser.