Secret of the Gargoyles (Gargoyle Guardian Chronicles Book 3) (25 page)

“Are you sure this is it?” I asked.

As if in response to my question, a chorus of howls emanated from behind the cottage, the harmony of three throats unmistakably a cerberus’s. More howls joined the first only to be cut off abruptly at a sharp whistle.

“This is the place,” Marcus said. He jumped down, and the tightening of his jaw was the only indication he gave that the movement hurt his back.

I wasn’t half as graceful or prideful. My body had stiffened at every joint, and I groaned my way to the ground, clutching the side of the sled as I worked blood back into my feet and convinced my thighs they needed to support me. Beneath my shirt, dried greenthread and lamb’s ear leaves crunched, and brown and green dust sifted from my cuffs and untucked hem. I ran a hand through my hair, futilely attempting to comb out the snarls, and settled for tucking dirt-coated strawberry-blond chunks behind my ears. I started to pat the dust off my pants but froze when I heard Gus’s voice.

“Damn idiot woman had that FPD fella twisted around her pinkie finger. Not that I blame him; she was a looker, but no piece of tail is worth risking your hide on Reaper’s Ridge.” His voice floated around the side of the house, and I straightened, expecting to see him saunter into sight. His next words were inaudible, but his cackle set my teeth on edge. When a few other men joined him, I realized Gus must be entertaining out back.

“I disagree,” Marcus whispered. “You’re exactly the kind of piece of tail that’s worth risking Reaper’s Ridge for.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes.

Oliver hopped from the seat, using his wings to glide to a silent landing. Even full grown, he wouldn’t reach half Celeste’s height, but his short stature didn’t preclude him from looking fierce when he bristled his orange ruff and stiffened every spike along his spine. Gus’s house should have gone up in flames from the heat of his glare alone.

Celeste’s indignation had nothing to do with Gus’s insulting conversation and everything to do with having been witnessed in her debasing role as a pack animal by half the town. The moment we stopped, she yanked free of the rope and stalked away from the sled, tail lashing. I followed her on hobbling steps.

“Thank you, Celeste. It would have taken us days to reach here without your help,” I said.

She trained her hard amethyst eyes on me, nodding fractionally. Twelve hours of almost nonstop running against the loose rope had chafed a raw line into the onyx and amethyst feathers across her chest, and I healed the wounds with her consent. Despite her stiff posture, exhaustion weighted her body. After I assured her we would be fine without her assistance, she flapped heavily toward the FPD base, her black and purple body disappearing against the darkening sky.

We left the sled and circled the house, guided by the ambient light of the rising moon and the flicker of flames around the corner. Oliver loped at my side, wings tight to his body but his expression baleful enough to remind me of the apparitional gargoyles inside the baetyl.

“So here’s this city twit with a fool notion of taming the ridge with a bunch of dud gargoyles,” Gus continued, oblivious to our approach. “All of them were frozen stiff, and you couldn’t lift a pitcher of water with the boost they gave off, but that wasn’t going to stop her.”

“No one ever accused anyone out of Terra Haven of having two thoughts to rub together to keep warm,” a different male voice chimed in.

“They ain’t got any money sense, either, praise the gods,” Gus said with a chuckle. “Between delivering them to the ridge and what I’ll earn when I pick up their corpses, I’ll be building a new kennel before winter. Bless those poor, dead idiots.”

The rumble of masculine laughter swelled. I almost felt like joining in when we rounded the corner and Gus caught sight of us. He choked on an inhalation and clutched his chest through a wracking coughing fit, never taking his round eyes off us. Or rather, never taking his eyes off
me
.

Oliver glowed in the firelight like liquid flame reshaped into an enraged dragon, and he hissed at Gus with undisguised animosity. On my other side, Marcus loomed, looking every inch the FPD warrior and equally as irate as Oliver. Without taking another step, he filled the empty space of the tiny patio and seemed to crowd the three men sitting around a small terra-cotta fire pit. Next to him, I should have been invisible, but Gus stared at me with the fixated disbelief of a man seeing a ghost.

The two other men jerked straight in their chairs. Both rivaled Gus in age, though the years had been kinder to them. Unlike Gus, they sized up my companions first, and the larger fellow’s hand fell away from the heavy dagger at his waist when he met Marcus’s hard eyes.

“Friends of yours, Gus?” the skinnier man asked. He clamped a cigar between his teeth and leaned back in contrived nonchalance, his eyes flicking back and forth between Oliver and Marcus.

“We’re just three corpses come back to collect our due,” Marcus said. He spoke softly, which only tightened the tension in the other men.

Gus finally looked at Marcus, and his breathing calmed to a wheeze. Shaking his head, he grabbed a glass bottle near his foot and took a swig of its amber contents. “You’ve got nothing to collect here.”

“We had a deal.”

Gus’s companions flinched at the ice in Marcus’s tone, but Gus waved his words aside. “You said you’d return the sled
after
you went up Reaper’s Ridge. Yet here you are—”

“Yes, here we are,” I said, stepping forward to draw Gus’s attention back to me. My movement played the firelight across the shimmery amethyst scars on the backs of my hands, and the skinny man’s mouth dropped open, freeing his cigar to roll down his chest to his lap. He stared, unaware, for several seconds before leaping to his feet with a curse and patting down the smoldering front of his pants.

Gus’s face had lost some color, but he continued gamely. “So you have some sense after all, girl. How far up Reaper’s did you get before you turned tail?”

“To the top. I really don’t know what all the fuss was about. After we dispersed the storms, it was a pleasant hike and a great view.”

“Dispersed the storms,” he scoffed, but his gaze shifted to look over my shoulder toward Reaper’s Ridge.

Up until yesterday, even from this distance, the wild flares of firestorms and sporadic lightning would have been visible on a clear night like this. Tonight, only the faint outlines of the dark hills against the starry sky defined the mountains, Reaper’s Ridge just one among many shadowy peaks.

“Well, I’ll be . . .” said the heavyset man, standing and squinting in disbelief.

“That’s impossible,” Gus said.

“Maybe for people around here, but not for a girl from Terra Haven.” I couldn’t resist the taunt. “Now, I believe you owe us some money.”

Gus glowered at me, and I could practically see the gears turning behind his cagey eyes. He stood, spat to the side, and clapped his stained brown cowboy hat to his head. “I’ll need to inspect that sled. If it’s damaged . . .”

Marcus arched a brow and escorted Gus to the sled. I remained near the fire, enjoying the warmth almost as much as the discomfort of the two men who couldn’t decide if they should stare at my face or my scars.

“How?” the skinny one worked himself up to ask.

“Gargoyles. Never underestimate them.”

They both turned disbelieving eyes on Oliver. He yawned, displaying sharp incisors, and flared his wings so the light danced across them. If the men weren’t impressed, they were fools.

“Fine,” Gus said as he returned with Marcus. “I’ll give you your money back.”

“You’ll pay us the full amount you promised,” Marcus said.

“Do I look like I have that kind of money lying around?” Gus gestured to his threadbare clothing.

“You’ll find it. Otherwise, I’ll have a word with the captain of the base, and you can kiss any future contracts with the FPD good-bye.”

Gus sucked on his teeth and glared at Marcus. “Fine. Wait here.” He spun and headed away from the house up a shallow rise toward a long, low barn.

“You have a tendency of running away,” I said. “Why don’t I keep you company so you don’t lose your way?”

Gus shot me a nasty glance over his shoulder, but his eyes were a little too wide and ruined his glare. When Marcus gestured for Oliver to accompany me, the young gargoyle leapt to the edge of the fire pit and launched over the heads of the two men in a spectacular display of agility and intimidation. The men cursed and ducked, and the skinny one fell out of his chair. Smothering my laughter, I strode after Gus, stretching my legs to catch up without running. For whatever reason, I made Gus nervous now, and I didn’t want to ruin it by giggling.

The riot of barks set off by Oliver’s landing confirmed the barn was actually a large-scale kennel, the kind where the individual cages were as large as horse stalls to fit the pony-size cerberi. The concussive
woof
s and higher-pitched baying rattled my brain in my skull once we were inside the enclosed confines of the barn, and I hunched against the deafening assault. Gus marched up the central aisle, mouthing inaudible curses but doing nothing to quiet the racket. Seeing my discomfort, Oliver loosed a sharp whistle and every cerberus in the building quieted between one breath and the next.

Gus spun and stared at me. I pretended not to notice.

“Thank you, Oliver.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, oblivious to Gus’s reaction as he loped along the cage fronts, touching noses with the cerberi as he passed.

Gus clicked his mouth shut and stuffed his hat tighter to his head. Heavy breathing sounds replaced the silence as dozens of panting muzzles pressed to the slatted fronts of the cages, all sniffing and straining to get closer to us. Fumes of dog breath did nothing for the already musty air, and I took shallow breaths, hoping Gus would be quick.

The wiry man stomped to the largest cage at the end of the barn, waiting until I was almost at his side before throwing open the door. Three enormous heads burst out of the enclosure, growling in unison, teeth chattering a soft warning. With a height that dwarfed the other cerberi, this one wouldn’t have to stretch to crush my throat in any one of its immense jaws.

Gus checked my reaction, clearly expecting me to cower in fear. I crossed my arms and affected a bored expression, though if Oliver hadn’t been beside me, his magical enhancement at the ready, I would have been shaking in my boots. Pretending I wasn’t mentally preparing a dense quartz shield to protect Oliver and myself if the cerberus attacked, I raised an eyebrow at Gus in a fair imitation of exasperation.

“Your oversized dog isn’t going to scare me, Gus. I survived Reaper’s Ridge.”

“So you say,” he muttered. He barked a one-word command, and the enormous cerberus sat. Two heads continued to glower at me, but the third turned to lick a slimy trail from Gus’s collarbone to his hat. Gus shoved past the head with a grunt, crossing the kennel to unearth a small box from a niche in the floor. The cerberus tracked him with one head, the other two locked on me.

“You don’t believe me?” I asked, studying the back of my hands. In the soft overhead lights, the amethyst scars appeared to shift of their own accord. I flexed my fingers, remembering how right it had felt to use the baetyl’s power to grow crystal from my thin bones. I hadn’t admitted it to Marcus, or even to myself until that moment, but I found the scars beautiful.

The cerberus leaned a head close to sniff me, and I extended my hand, forgetting to be afraid. Moist nostrils pressed to the scars, and a soft
woof
escaped a different throat. When I met the cerberus’s gaze, he whined and lay down, resting all three heads on the floor in front of him. Eyes unfocused, I stared at the cerberus and stretched my shoulders, missing my wings . . .

Gus turned around with a glare, but his steps faltered at whatever he saw in my expression. I blinked, coming fully back to the moment. The memory of the baetyl faded, and I stifled a yawn. This time my lack of trepidation was unfeigned when I reached over the subdued cerberus for the wad of cash Gus held. Gus hesitated, then smacked the bundle into my palm. He started toward the door of the kennel, but I didn’t move out of his way as I counted the bills.

“This is only as much as Marcus paid you. The deal was half again as much for returning the sled.”

“It was in full working order when I gave it to you—”

“Which is exactly how we’re returning it, but you’re right; I didn’t factor in how much Marcus should charge you for repairing it. He’s an FPD fire elemental, and everyone knows they get a good salary, so if we estimate his hourly rate . . .”

“Now hang on, there, girl. That’s not what I meant.”

“But you have a point. So why don’t you hand over the
full
sum you said you’d pay to get the sled back, plus half of the fee you charged me to take us to Reaper’s Ridge—seeing as how you got us only halfway there—and we’ll call it even.”

Gus’s jaw muscle worked as his gaze flicked between my bland expression and the scars on my hands; then he spun on a heel to dig through his stash of money again. Oliver undulated up to the cerberus and scratched him behind one of his ears. I stepped back when the three-headed dog tried to get his back foot up to help Oliver out.

When Gus caught sight of his formerly intimidating cerberus practically rolling belly up for my gargoyle, his mouth pinched so tight I thought he’d crack a tooth. He slapped another stack of bills into my hand, and I took my time counting them, watching Oliver out of the corner of my eye and trying not to smile.