Sorceress Awakening (5 page)

Freshly showered and now dressed in a clean
T-shirt and jeans, Lillian stood over the pile of her discarded clothes and
frowned at the evidence that proved she hadn’t imagined the last few hours. She
poked the bloodied and shredded clothes with a bare toe.
No hope of ever
getting them clean enough to warrant mending.
The mess of ruined fabric
landed in the garbage with a wet sound. She washed her hands again.

Hopefully, she smelled better to a
gargoyle’s delicate nose.

During her bath, she’d washed away the
remainder of her fear. How could she fear anyone who looked as ridiculous as he
had, jammed into the shower with wings and tail jutting out, horns scraping the
ceiling? Besides, she was still alive. If he’d wanted her dead, he’d had plenty
of opportunity. Instead he’d told her she reeked and fled the room as fast as
he could.

“Well, fine,” she mumbled to herself. “No
more procrastinating.”

As she exited the bathroom, the sword
caught her eye. It sat propped where she’d left it next to the door. Since she
wasn’t going to kill him with it, the sword was pointless. Besides, the mere
thought of doing him harm sickened her. She needed answers. Something to
explain away the strange link of kinship she felt with the gargoyle—if that was
really what he was.

The bedroom door creaked loudly enough to
shatter glass. She winced at the noise, but continued her march down the length
of the hall and back to the stairs, which she stomped down with a heavy tread.
She couldn’t say how she knew where he was, but like a bird aligning its
migration flight to the Earth’s magnetic field, she set her mind seeking his,
and followed where that tug led.

She found him in the kitchen. He paced
around the island table, his bath towels slapping at his thighs as he walked.
Seeing her, he stopped. Once again she was reminded of stone, he held himself
so still. The spell broke a minute later as his jackal-like ears swiveled
toward her. When she stayed rooted to the ground, he took measured steps in her
direction. Slow and cautious, like he would woo a bird or get closer to a
skittish horse, he reached out a clawed hand. She didn’t spook that easily, and
held her ground.

He approached with a gentle caution, but
all his muscles were tensed, like he was ready for a fight. Her throat
tightened and her heart felt like a weight in her chest. With his hand
outstretched before him, he inched nearer until only a few feet separated them.
She took a half step toward him, and another.

He leapt forward, tackling her. His wings
enveloped her a moment before his strong arms crushed her to his chest. She
squeezed her eyes shut, and she couldn’t even scream since fear and surprise
held her jaws locked. Her heart pulsed strangely, fluttering like it didn’t
know how to beat. Then it remembered and took off with a vengeance.

Slowly, the dark world behind her closed eyes
expanded. The mellow fragrance of soap registered on her senses. The feel of
warm skin over hard muscle. The echo of his heart. The pulse of his blood.
Forest scent and male.

Her gargoyle was real.

Without reason or logic, joy engulfed her
soul and the remnants of panic melted away. She locked her arms around as much
of his waist as she could reach.

He nuzzled her hair, blowing into it with
great puffs of breath. His muzzle dipped lower, his tongue laving at her face
in wide damp sweeps. Stilling, he inhaled deeply before resting his muzzle on
top of her head, just holding her to him as if he feared she would vanish.

Obviously, he considered her natural smell
to be an improvement over dried blood and gore.

“You’re certainly friendly,” she mumbled
into his chest. Mumbling was all she was able to do with his arms locked around
her; his chest may as well have been made of stone. She should have been
screaming and fighting, driven by panic. But she wasn’t. She trusted him
without question.

He shifted her in his arms as he folded his
wings against his back. Then he unbalanced her more, reaching for something on
the table behind her.

“You could let me go. I can stand on my
own. I won’t even run away. Promise.” Her words went unanswered.

A loaf of bread appeared an inch in front
of her face.

“Okay. A little room, please.” She shoved
at his chest. After the third time, he seemed to get the point and allowed her
to put a little space between them. She was still locked in the circle of his
arms, but at least now she could take a deep breath without cracking a rib. He
gestured with the bread again.

“Persistent fella, aren’t you.” She could
stand there all night with a loaf of bread bombarding her face, or she could
take the food.

With a sigh, she accepted the loaf and tore
a chunk off, cave-woman style.

When she dutifully started to chew, he
gestured for her to eat more. She swallowed and took another bite. He nodded
his head and released her. Somehow it didn’t surprise her he’d be pleased by
her compliance.

When she finished her chunk, he tried to
get her to eat more. “Sorry, no.” She shook her head and hoped he would
understand.

He gestured again.

“Not unless you plan to force feed me.” She
crossed her arms and glared at him. “I have questions. To start, what’s your name?”
She pointed to him and he grasped her hand. His head tilted to one side and his
ears flicked forward and then back.

Lillian sighed.
This is going to be a
long day.

She tugged on her hand until he released
her. While pretending to brush at crumbs, she stepped out of his personal
space. He didn’t follow her, so she walked over to the sink and filled the tea
kettle with water—all the while fighting the urge to turn around. After she
placed the kettle on the stove, she glanced out the window. Her breath caught.
Bodies slumped near the maze. How had she forgotten about them?

Seeing them again, the horror rushed back.
But unlike the first time, her mind was sharper, and now a greater concern
wormed its way into her consciousness. Her family would be home soon, and there
could be more of those monsters outside somewhere. A spike of dread lanced her
insides.

Her back muscles clenched into knots,
winding tighter by the minute, and her jaw ached with the need to do something.
If she called her family and told them to stay away, they would only rush home
faster.

“Lillian.”

That voice again, lulling as the night
breeze. His arms enclosed her from behind and her moment of panic dissipated.
Of course he had killed all the monsters. Her gargoyle would never let them hurt
her family.

Interesting. If she was in physical contact
with him, calmness engulfed her, but when he was away, something rose within
her . . . fear or panic, she wasn’t sure which, but either reaction was
concerning.

Was he controlling her thoughts, her
emotions?
Doubts grew and she again stepped away
from him to think. He let her go.

The kettle’s sudden, shrill whistle spurred
the gargoyle into action. He swept her up into his arms and spun in a circle,
seeking the source of the noise, his talons poised to rend his enemies.

“Easy,” she soothed. “Whoa. It’s okay.” She
placed her hands flat against his muzzle, and eased them up to his temple.

The room swam, blurring with motion. When
her vision cleared, the ground was a greater distance away, the room smaller,
claustrophobic.

Impossible as it was, she was somehow
seeing and feeling the world around them from his point of view—and, yes, she
was presently feeling her horns rasp against the ceiling unpleasantly.

Her tail lashing in agitation at the shrill
sound hurting her ears, she looked to the small object causing the noise and
backhanded it. It sailed across the room and landed with a clatter, but at
least the horrid noise bouncing around the room died off.

“What on earth!” Lillian jerked her hand
away from where it rested against his temple and the vision and stream of
sensations coming from the gargoyle stopped. “What the hell was that?”

She twisted in his arms and pushed at his
chest in an attempt to slip free. When that failed, she slumped against him. He
still didn’t release her, but at least the strange parade of foreign sensations
stopped.

“Okay,” she said, more to calm herself than
him. “We need ground rules. No more of the mind-merging crap. I don’t want to
ever know what it feels like for my horns to scrape the ceiling ever again, nor
do I want to discover anything else deeply personal about you either by
accident or intention on your part. Hands off until you can keep that under
wraps.”

A soft whine issued from his throat as he
bumped his muzzle under her hand a second time. Warmth and contentment, like a
deep radiating sense of peace she’d never known before, surrounded her. Then it
was shattered. Accompanying the new sensation was the image of the whistling
teakettle. Foolishness. Embarrassment. Regret.

After a moment, she understood he was using
touch to communicate, trying to apologize for his rash behavior. He’d been
caught off guard by the shrill teakettle. He’d thought it was an attack. She
might have found it funny if it hadn’t unfolded in her kitchen.

By way of apology, the gargoyle retrieved
the teakettle and refilled it with water and placed it back over the element.
Then he returned to her side and watched in his silent way.

His ears flicked forward, and back—like a
horse listening for reassurance in his rider’s voice.
A gargoyle with
insecurity issues?

“I’m sorry,” she said in a calmer voice. “I
get pissy when I’m scared. And I’ve been more scared today than any time in my
life.” She took one of his larger hands into both of hers, hoping he could pick
up on her emotions like she had his, and concentrated on projecting her
feelings of gratitude and the lessening of her fear. “You saved my life, healed
me. I can’t even begin to figure out how or why, but I’m alive and you seem
genuinely interested in keeping me that way. The least I can do is hear you
out.”

Now, her day would improve if she could
find a way to communicate in complex sentences. His touchy-feely voodoo gave
her an idea and she intertwined her fingers with his. She felt like a child. His
one hand could engulf both of hers without difficulty and his claws . . . the
term ‘huge’ didn’t do them justice. But for all his massive strength and
formidable weaponry, he hadn’t harmed her. She patted his hand, and then tugged
him in the direction of the cupboard over the kitchen sink. Pulling out a
package of English Breakfast tea, she held it out to him. He blinked at her,
but dutifully sniffed at the packaging. “Tea,” she said, giving it a little
shake.

She took a teabag and dropped it in the
teapot, then poured the boiling water in after. Next, she showed him how the
stove worked.

He absorbed knowledge with an unreasonable
quickness, and she wondered if his magic was aiding him in some way, or if he
was able to pick the meaning of her words from her mind directly. Whatever the
case, in less than a half hour he was pointing at random objects in the kitchen
and saying the words and demonstrating how they worked. From the kitchen, they
moved to the living room and then to the other parts of the house. The TV and
stereo he didn’t understand, but at least he didn’t try to ‘kill’ the
television like he had the teakettle.

* * *

After an hour, the gargoyle could recite a
couple hundred words. She was mildly envious of his ability to learn so
quickly. Sentences were still beyond him, but that was probably her lack of
skill as a teacher. She didn’t know how to teach him something she couldn’t
show or demonstrate.

Since she had grown tired of simply thinking
of him as ‘the gargoyle,’ earlier she had tried to persuade him into revealing
his name, without any luck. Frustrated, she tried again, slapping her hand
against her chest. “Lillian.” Then she pointed at him.

He blinked at her, and nodded, giving her a
flash of teeth.
He found it funny. He was laughing at her. Great.

The tip of his tail flicked like a cat’s,
and he leaned down and licked her across the cheek. She sputtered and swore.
His grin stretched further, showing white, curving teeth. His tongue darted out
again, catching her across the ear. “Lillian,” he rumbled.

“I know my name, Sherlock.” She pointed at
him again. “Do you have one?”

“Yours,” he said, his expression turning
serious. He bowed until his horns touched the ground and his wings pooled
around him like a silk cloak. “I am yours.”

A deep laugh rumbled in his chest at his
lady’s expression. When he laid a finger under her chin and closed her mouth,
her teeth came together with a soft click. The sound must have galvanized her,
for she snapped out of her stupor.

“Yours? As in mine—like you belong to me? I
. . . I don’t . . . Wait one minute. You can speak perfect English.” She folded
her arms under her breasts and stood there, attempting to stare him down.
“You’ve been holding out on me. After that info bomb, you can’t stand there all
silent and stoic.”

He’d come to understand she’d wanted to
know his name a while ago, and after the second time she’d touched her mind to
his, he’d been able to read her thoughts. Her memories were his now. He
understood her language as well as she did. The word games weren’t necessary,
but they gave him a chance to study her, and since she thought she needed to
touch him so he could pick up her thoughts, she’d held his hand for the
majority of the time. He found he craved contact after years locked in stone.

“I am your protector. It’s your right to
give me my name. What would you have of me, my Mistress?” he asked.

“Mistress?” She sucked in a breath, held it
a moment, and then expelled it through her teeth, her expression thoughtful.
“Okay, you’re really going to have to explain the mistress thing to me, and
answer some questions.”

Remaining silent, he tried and failed to
come up with words to erase his drastic tactical error. He should have known
she’d have questions; ones to which she wasn’t ready to hear the answers.
Lillian as the Mother’s Sorceress was an avatar to the Goddess—an avatar
without knowledge of her past or what she was capable of made for a very
dangerous situation.

She cleared her throat. “First question—you
saved me. Why? Who am I, and what am I to you? Those creatures, why did they
attack me? What do you . . . ?” She let the sentence die as her eyes widened.
“You know something about my childhood. Please, if you have knowledge . . . I
need to know. It’s all a blank void to me. Please.” Her voice softened on the
last ‘please.’

Blinded by his joy at saving her, he hadn’t
fully thought out the dangers. While he no longer detected the scent of
corruption on her, he couldn’t forget where he’d found her. Eight years she’d
been raised by the Lady of Battles. There was no telling the long-term damage
the Battle Goddess had inflicted upon her. Stripping Lillian’s memories had not
undone the dark goddess’s work. At best, it had bought him a little time, long
enough for Lillian to mature.

Lillian’s expression of desperate yearning
changed to a frown when she realized he wasn’t going to say anything more. “Oh,
don’t think you can play ‘mute beast’ now. I heard full sentences come out of that
muzzle of yours.”

He recalled she’d said she got ‘pissy’ when
she was scared or things didn’t go her way. He was unfamiliar with the term,
but it was a good word for the way she stood with her hands fisted at her sides
and her narrowed eyes tracking him like an enraged bear’s.

Now was not a good time to explain. She was
already under enough stress.

“Talk.” She hissed something else under her
breath which sounded like
no more handholding
and paced away from him.

She was adapting too quickly, her agile
mind thinking up too many questions. It would make hiding the truth harder, and
he didn’t actually want there to be falsehoods between them, but he needed more
time to understand what had been done to her as a child. There were too many
unknowns. And for every uncertainty, new dangers could arise.

She exhaled a deep sigh. “Okay. Trust goes
two ways, and I gather you’re not comfortable talking about everything yet.” He
heard her heart rate slow as she calmed. “Fine, we’ll take it slow. No
pressure. What would you like to talk about?”

“My name,” he replied.

“Wasn’t that what I was doing before
you
blurted the ‘mistress’ thing?” She sighed out another long, frustrated sound.

He couldn’t prevent the corners of his lips
from curling away from his teeth so he dipped his head down in a bow, hiding
his expression.

“The Sorceress has always named her
Gargoyle Protector.” He figured it was safe to tell her that much about their
relationship.

“Right, so what? She was negligent?”

He tilted his head to the side, puzzling
over her words. Once he gathered the meaning from her thoughts, he grinned and
tapped her gently on one shoulder. “Yes, my lady is very forgetful in this
lifetime.”

Again her expression reflected an
unpleasant surprise but she recovered faster this time and snapped her teeth
together a moment later. “Well, you must have been smoking that same stuff as
the other guy blathering about my magic. I’m neither a sorceress, nor your
mistress.”

Her words were spoken in a strong tone, but
there was an underlying doubt coloring them as well.

“I’m very certain. You are my Sorceress and
I am your gargoyle, your protector. It’s your right to name me.” He’d
intentionally not referred to them by their full titles for fear those names
might nudge her memory.

“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” she
hissed more to herself than him. But she merely sighed and closed her eyes. After
a moment the wrinkles on her forehead smoothing out and her expression turned
deceptively peaceful. “Fine. You win.”

“You will name me?”

“Yep.” She flashed him a mischievous grin.

He waited with ears poised forward, tail
flicking gently.

“Gregory.”

“Gregory?” he said, trying the foreign name
on his tongue. It was short, like the name Lillian, and he wondered if all the
names of this world were as lacking in sounds. He didn’t completely dislike it.
She’d gifted him with this name, after all.

“Gregory Livingstone.” She started to laugh.

He supposed it could have been worse and he
did see the humor in being named living stone.

A distant rumble caught his attention. He
spun away from Lillian and loped to the back door. There were many strange
sounds in this realm, and he didn’t know what this was, but it sounded large
and dangerous. Whatever it was came closer, roaring up the stone-covered lane.
An open window allowed the breeze access, and upon the wind he detected an oily
odor and the tang of fumes like which the deep vents in the earth gave forth. A
moment later, one of the metal-and-glass-enclosed carriages that the people of
this world used for travel sped up to the stone cottage. He’d learned of these
things from Lillian’s thoughts, but the noise and smell were much muted in her
memories. Or she was simply nose-dead.

Now that the vehicle rolled to a halt, the
noise was less, but a quiet hum still set Gregory’s teeth on edge. He eased
into a crouch and flexed his talons on the tiles as he limbered up stiff muscles.
From Lillian’s memories, he knew these ones were her family.

However, there was no guarantee that they
had not been infected by the Riven. If they intended Lillian harm, he would
send them on their way to the Spirit Realm, regardless. The tip of his tail
twitched as he waited for the ones within the carriage to show themselves.
After a moment the vehicle rumbled to silence. His ears swiveled forward as he
advanced another step.

From behind, Lillian wrapped her hands
around his arm. Her fingers bit in, nails scratching at his bicep while she
tried to tug him away from the door. He didn’t know what she thought she’d
accomplish. He weighed three times as much as her. She jerked on his arm with
greater panic. Her nails bit into his arm hard enough to break the skin.
Surprised, he glanced down at the few scarlet drops beading up along the length
of the scratches. Strange. Dryads didn’t have claws. Before he could study her
nails, she dropped her hands to her sides.

Her nostrils flared and she locked eyes on
his small wound. An unfathomable expression crossed her face. After a moment,
she shook her head and mumbled an apology. She continued in a clearer voice.
“Don’t hurt them. Get away from the door.” She renewed her tugging on his arm.
“Please.”

He swung back to face the invaders.

“Wait, you said I am your mistress—I order
you to stay here. I need to go talk to them first. It’s bad enough the gardens
look like a war zone. They certainly won’t be expecting an eight-foot-tall
gargoyle in the kitchen! Let. Me. Talk. To. Them.”

In all other situations, he would respect
her wishes, but not when her safety was at risk. While she might know and trust
these people, he didn’t.

A series of soft creaks and metal groans
came from the direction of the vehicle. He spun back to the humans. The doors
on either side of the carriage stood open, and with a slow caution, the
occupants eased out. Two males emerged first. The older man had a crossbow
gripped in one hand. He took the lead, while a younger brown-haired man followed
close on his heels. The younger man reached into the metal carriage and
withdrew a quarterstaff from between the seats. Behind the first two men,
another male emerged, his white hair a startling contrast with his youthful
features. He was empty-handed as far as Gregory could tell. Last, an old mother
with many years of wisdom upon her exited the vehicle.

The old woman also carried a quarterstaff.
Each staff was carved and painted with runes that glowed to Gregory’s
magic-enhanced sight. He eyed her quarterstaff more intently. Perhaps it was
more than a weapon.

The breeze carried their scents to him. And
while there was no stink of evil, he wasn’t done studying these ones yet. They
had power, and all power could be dangerous. He called the shadows for concealment.

After he faded out of sight, he paced
forward until he stood in the threshold of the cottage. Lillian crowded him
from behind, trying to squeeze past him to rush out the door. Winding his tail
around her waist, he held her secure against his side for a moment, just
enjoying having her close. When he looked down at her, she had her eyes closed
and an intense look of concentration spread across her face. A moment more and
her thoughts flooded his mind. Like a waking dream, images formed before his eyes.
The first showed him releasing her so she could go join her family and explain.
A second image formed—in this one he was waiting patiently for her to finish.

He called his own magic to dispel her
visions, then lowered his muzzle and swiped his tongue across her face from
chin to hairline. Her eyes popped open and she flailed her arms, hollering and
trying to push his muzzle away. Punishment complete, he shoved her behind him
and stalked forward. Lillian grabbed at his tail, her fingers locking around it
in a pinching grip. With a powerful flick, he slipped free of her grasp and
darted through the ward blocking the door. She, however, smacked into the solid
blue shielding magic.

An irate sound, part huff, part growl
escaped her. “No. Dammit” she shouted. “Stop, you great brute.”

Her actions caught the attention of those
waiting below. Four sets of eyes gazed up with looks of suspicion and worry.
Unable to see him, they stared through him to where Lillian stood. By their
baffled expressions, they wondered why Lillian was pounding her fists against
empty air.

He added a layer of sound-deadening magic
to his ward, then inhaled another deep breath and began sorting the different
scents. Ah, yes. One was familiar: a vague memory, the old woman from the night
he’d first come to this realm. In the chaos, he’d not had time to learn the
grandmother’s name, but this was her—a few years older certainly, but still the
same woman who’d stood before him without fear, the one he’d trusted enough to
raise the Sorceress while he slept and healed.

He couldn’t have asked for a better outcome
under the circumstance. It was all rather too convenient. And once again, that
worrisome thought crossed his mind. Could the Lady of Battles influence events
even in this realm? Unlikely, but not impossible.

“Sis, are you okay?” The younger man with
brown hair advanced one slow step at a time.

“Jason, stay back,” Lillian yelled from
inside the house, proving just how fast she could annihilate a sound-deadening
spell guided by only her instincts.

Gregory grunted in annoyance, but didn’t
bother setting a new ward.

“It’s okay, Lil. Tell us what happened,”
the one named Jason said as he continued forward. Gregory moved to intercept.

“No! Leave him alone. Don’t hurt him.”
Lillian’s voice mirrored the panic he felt growing in her mind. She’d seen too
much today, and now he was forced to threaten her family.

“Jason, do as your sister says.”

Gregory swung his muzzle in the direction
of the new speaker: the middle-aged human who moved silent as a predator. This
one posed more danger than the younger, untrained one.

Growling low in his throat, Gregory warned
off both humans. The older male and the grandmother tensed at the sound, alert
and ready for battle. Their bravery earned them a mote of respect.

Still, they were too close to his
Sorceress. He rumbled a second time, and the one called Jason tightened his
grip on his weapon until his knuckles stood out white against the dark wood of
the staff.