The Girl and the Gargoyle: Book Two of The Girl and the Raven Series (16 page)

Selima holds up her hands in surrender. “I’m not judging. Please don’t send me away. I’m here because I want to meet—and get to know—my brother. There’s no alternative agenda.”

Marcus raises his eyebrows. “You swear?”

“I swear.”

The moment feels heavy with intention. It reminds of all those times Momma and I made pinky promises. Momma rarely kept hers.

Marcus relaxes and turns to me. “She’s good. Protectors can’t lie.”

A vision of Garret about to sink his dagger-sharp teeth into Marcus’s neck has me leery about the virtues of protectors. “Why are you here?” I blurt out.

The corners of Selima’s mouth curve up. “To meet my brother, like I said. I was hoping to meet you, too.”

“Who sent you?”

“Just my conscious.”

Marcus tugs on my hand. “I think we’re good, Agent Walker. No further interrogation is needed.”

I return his smile. I want more than anything for Selima to be good. For Marcus’s sake. Especially now that I’ve proven I’m not.

Selima sits in one fluid movement. Her stretchy black skirt accommodates her movements, and her top hugs her torso. She moves like a dancer, but I have a feeling her training is along the lines of something far more dangerous. Maybe her intentions are good, but what kind of girl has a crushing handshake?

According to Camille, Garret didn’t want children. Was that because he already had Selima? What’s so special about her that he couldn’t love another child?

“You called me your younger brother.” Marcus sits down opposite Selima. The moment I sit next to him, he gently clasps my bruised hand in his. If he knew about yesterday, I doubt he would be so tender. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen. You’re seventeen, right?”

Marcus nods. “So…Garret dated Camille after he and your mom split?”

“Sort of.” Selima raises her shoulder, then drops it. “While Garret technically left my mother and me, he still took care of us. My mom supports Garret as clan leader.”

“Do you support him?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. I turn to Marcus. “Sorry.”

He strokes my hand with his thumb. “It’s okay. You have a stake in this, too.”

“Depends on the agenda.” Selima squirms. “Listen, I love Garret. He’s my father. But we have our issues. He tries—unsuccessfully—to order me around.”

“You don’t strike me as someone easily ordered around,” Marcus says.

“I work and go to college in northern Wisconsin. In exchange for my services, my employer covers my tuition, room and board. Garret doesn’t like who I work for and is constantly on my case to quit and go to school some place else with other protectors.”

She’s working and going to college? What’s Garret’s problem? “Who is your employer?”

Selima meets my gaze, raising one eyebrow, and I suck in my breath. How many times have I seen that same gesture on Marcus’s face? I shake it off and force myself to pay attention.

“I work for a group of demons.”

I lurch forward at the same time Marcus throws his head back and laughs.

“How is that possible?” I ask. “You…you’re a protector.”

“Scandalous, isn’t it?” Selima grins slyly. She leans forward conspiratorially. “They’re different. They aren’t, for example, like your father.”

I gape at her in surprise.

“Oh, yes, I know all about Jude Morgan. He’s Enemy Number One in Garret’s eyes.” She rolls her eyes. “Garret’s very dramatic, in case you didn’t know.”

Marcus’s grin falls away. “Dramatic? Vicious is more like it. Are you aware that Garret’s here to kill Jude and by extension Lucy?”

Selima nods solemnly. “Do you believe Jude is guilty of the crimes he’s accused of?”

“Killing protectors?” Marcus inhales then exhales slowly. “Jude’s evil. I know that for a fact. He’s got it out for me, but that’s because I’m a protector who’s dating his daughter. Otherwise, I don’t think he’d pay a second of attention to me.”

Selima eyes him suspiciously. “Even though you’re the enemy?”

“According to Aiden—”

“The demon you live with?” Selima asks.

“Yes. Aiden told me about the treaty Jude and Grayson signed all those years ago.”

“I’ve heard about the treaty,” Selima says. “But no one has ever been able to find a copy of it. Who knows if it’s real?”

“Or maybe it goes against the current agenda,” Marcus says. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to pick on your father, but according to Henry and Persephone—”

Selima’s eyebrow shoots up.

“They’re witches,” I clarify.

She nods, unfazed.

“Jude hasn’t slaughtered any protectors under their watch.”

“How long have they been watching him?”

“Since the day I was born,” I tell her.

Selima nods thoughtfully.

“And you trust these witches?” she asks Marcus.

“With my life.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Selima says.

“What do you mean?” Marcus and I ask in unison.

Selima’s face breaks into a smile. “I’m going to help keep Lucy alive.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Persephone yanks open the door after my first knock. She’s been waiting for me.

“So, I heard you met the sister?” she says as she leads me to the kitchen. “What do you think of her?”

“Marcus trusts her. With his extrasensory powers and the whole protectors can’t lie thing, I guess I trust her, too. At least for now.”

Persephone chuckles. “Trust doesn’t come easy for you. Not such a bad thing.”

Do I tell her about what happened with Dylan three nights ago? I’ve done a good job at pretending it never happened. I avoid Dylan at school and ignore his text messages. Any mention of him at the lunch table and I tune out.

Is it really considered cheating if I kissed another guy? I remember how it felt with Dylan, the fire between us. That kind of intensity didn’t seem possible. It was dangerous. Besides, the whole pretend game isn’t helping. I toss and turn at night, the guilt eating at me and robbing me of much needed sleep.

With considerable effort, I force myself to focus on the task at hand. Persephone and I need to figure out a way to save Jude. It’ll be hard for me to beg Marcus for forgiveness if I’m dead.

“Do I need one?” I nod at the bottle of water in her hand.

“This is plenty. Did you bring the business card?” Persephone asks as we stand beside the kitchen table.

I pull Jude’s business card from my pocket, the one he slipped into my book at the airport when I arrived in Chicago last year. I set it on the table next to the bottle of water.

Persephone holds up two hunks of black, shiny stone, roughly the size of golf balls. “Whoa, Nellie!” she twitches and giggles as if tickled.

“What’re those?”

“Black tourmaline. They give off quite a zing—their energy. Your gram never sensed energies from precious gems. You may not, either. Want to give it a try?”

“Sure.” I take the two stones from her, holding one in each hand. They’re heavier than I expected. I wait a moment, then shrug. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Give it some time.” Persephone catches me eying two dark brown slim branches sitting on the table. “They’re from a birch tree. I prefer ash, but with the damage done by those nasty beetles throughout the city, they’re scarce.”

I frown at the branches…more like large twigs. “They don’t look like much.”

“They’ll do the trick,” Persephone says over her shoulder as she crosses the room and climbs onto a stool to investigate a top shelf of her cupboard. Glass bottles clank against each other as she searches for something.

“Here we go,” she mutters as she retrieves two small bottles. She closes the cabinet and climbs off the stool gingerly. “Why don’t you grab the black tourmaline and the branches? Let’s get to work.”

After I stuff Jude’s business card in my pocket, I tuck the sticks in the crook of my elbow, while clutching the stones. I still don’t sense anything.

Persephone leads the way down the hall, around the corner and up the stairs. Her steps are slow and heavy as we make our way to the attic, and for the first time, it occurs to me she’s old. A quiver of fear works its way from my belly to my throat. What would I do if I lost Persephone? She’s the only mother figure I have left. Without her around to train me to be a witch, would my demonic powers take over?

I suck in a sharp breath, and Persephone pauses mid-step. “You okay?”

I cough into my hand. “A-okay.”

She nods and continues on. Once at the top, she lifts a thick chain from around her neck. There’s a key dangling from the end of it. She holds the key in mid-air. I peer around her and see her eyes are closed. A rush of whispered words flow from her lips.

She opens her eyes, inserts the key into the lock, and the door opens with a slow, eerie creak.

“Very few people have ever been in here, mostly just your gram, Henry, and me,” Persephone says as she closes the door behind us. She taps the doorknob with her index finger twice, and the lock clanks in the tumbler, no key necessary.

I want to learn how to do that.

“Lights,” Persephone calls out. Light floods the attic.

Whoa!

“Aiden used to come here, too.” Persephone titters at my shocked expression. “Vera was fond of Aiden. She believed in his good side, wanted to train him in our ways.”

How did Aiden fool Gram?

“But then he started dating Daphne and she talked him into bringing her here. She tricked Aiden into practicing dark magic. Can you imagine? Dark magic within these sacred walls? The two of them damn near blew up the house.” Persephone purses her lips at the memory. “Aiden’s memory of this space was erased. He hasn’t been up here since.”

She crosses to the center of the room, walking around the circle drawn on the floor, so she enters it from the east. I mimic her actions exactly. After what I read in Gram’s books, I’m afraid one little misstep might cause a catastrophe.

Persephone sits down on a moss-green cushion and gestures for me to sit on the cushion next to her. It’s yellow, Gram’s favorite color.

“Was this Gram’s?”

Persephone’s face softens. “It was. Now it’s yours.”

I smile and fold my legs Indian-style. Something flutters inside of me. It feels strangely familiar…like the energy I felt that night at Jude’s when Lola transferred Gram’s powers to me. I cock my head as I wonder if…no, it’s not possible. A cushion doesn’t hold any power. Besides, I couldn’t sense energies in the black tourmaline.

Suddenly, I remember the warmth of Gram’s hugs, the smell of her floral perfume, and the tug against my scalp as she finger-combed tangles from my hair. I brush my fingers against the edges of the cushion beneath me. Would this be something different? Is it possible to connect with a magical object if it belonged to Gram? Or is my mind playing tricks on me?

“This is my altar.” Persephone interrupts my euphoria. She nods at the wooden table in front of us, which sits several inches off the floor on thick legs. She pulls matches from the single, slim drawer and lights a dark purple candle, which sits at the center of the altar. “The candle will enhance magical powers, which in turn will help us with our spellcasting.”

She touches the match to the incense stick set off to the right.

“What are those?” I point to the carved wooden figures that stand on each side of the candle.

“This is the Goddess Demeter.” Persephone points to the figure on the left. “And this is the Goddess Gaia. The choice of the Goddesses you will pray to is a very personal decision.” In front of each figure sits a small bowl. From reading Gram’s books, I already know what’s in the first bowl. Salt. In the other bowl, Persephone pours an inch of water from her bottle.

“You are about to witness your first ritual. Pay close attention,” Persephone says calmly. Her face is absent of the usual deep lines. Her posture is relaxed. Her voice doesn’t carry its normal stern tone. I think I’ll like spending time with Persephone here.

Before starting the ritual, Persephone opens her drawer once more. She retrieves a knife and sets it before her on the altar. It looks really old. The ornate, golden handle is decorated with the image of a winding oriental dragon. I wonder if it’s real gold.

“It’s an athame, one of our four elemental tools. It represents fire. Beautiful, isn’t it?” Persephone fingers the carved metal, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “It’s one of my most treasured…” She trails off, and I hold my breath, waiting for her to continue. “I purchased this on a trip with your Gram, years ago…after Zack’s death.”

I grind my teeth. Heat flushes through my body. There were so many things Persephone got to do with Gram, so much I was excluded from, while I was stuck back home taking care of Momma. My shoulders droop at the familiar stab of guilt.

I focus on Persephone’s knife—
athame
—and grudgingly wonder if I’ll ever have something that fancy for my altar.

Persephone slides a sideways glance at me and frowns. Has she picked up on my anger? My guilt? This is a sacred room of magic. Maybe there are no secrets here. I swallow and flex my fingers until they relax.