Locked in Stone Page 3

  Lucas set his arms akimbo and glared. “You broke into my community, madam. You say some woman named Gwen sent you to us. And you claim that you’re a child Cal protected many years ago. Why do you think I would believe you? You might be able to fool Cal over there. He’s really not so bright.”

  Hey! Cal considered throwing his Corona at Lucas, but decided against it. He’d just have to clean it up later.

  “A pretty face turns his head.”

  Considering the way Lucas flirted his way around women, calling Cal an easy mark was a load of horseshit.

  Rose’s lips tightened. She slammed her chopstick down on the bar top before snatching an envelope from her purse. She slapped it against Lucas’s chest and snapped, “I have a letter for you, Mr. Rollins. I am exactly who I say I am. I’m here because I’m a gargoyle and you two are Sentinels. Your kind are bound to protect mine. Or did you forget that while off playing stupid games?”

  Full points for bravery. Lucas wouldn’t hurt her, any more than Cal would, but Rose couldn’t know that, especially given what she clearly believed.

  Lucas took her barrage without the scowl fading or increasing. “Protecting your kind is our sacred honor.”

  Rose lifted her chin and continued staring the big man down. “Then, as the last gargoyle, and your only hope in hell of stopping the Rift when it opens sometime this year, I expect you to do your duty. If, that is, you remember how. Unfortunately, I need your help.”

  From his position, Cal didn’t miss Lucas’s slack-jawed stunned expression and knew his own mirrored it.

  Uhh, since when is she the last gargoyle?

  …

  Her heart pounded, but no Sentinel, behemoth or not, would intimidate her. Her stomach roiled at making the demand to the Jolly Black Giant, but she was out of options. These people were her best chance of not only surviving to close the Rift whenever it opened—that was a Sacred Mother’s most important duty—but they had access to information that she didn’t. They might be able to find out whether or not the Twisted Ones took Gwen’s soul-stone. If the demon-kin had that, they’d learn Rose survived the massacre. She couldn’t let that happen without using all available resources to stop it, even ones she didn’t want to use.

  Then, too, she wasn’t about to back down in front of Robin/Cal. He’d see she’d turned out just fine, despite his abandonment.

  Lucas finally broke the silence. “If you’re a Sacred Mother, you have every right to be protected.”

  His deep voice grated along her nerves when she noted the suspicion in his coal-black eyes. What an idiot. And what was this “if”?

  “Why didn’t you come to us before? You apparently knew where to find us.”

  She licked her lips, indulging in the nervous habit that meant she never bothered with lipstick, and again shoved the envelope at him. “Gwen wasn’t about to risk me by coming to you any sooner. But she’s gone now, and I have nowhere and no one else to turn to.”

  Lucas finally took the envelope. It was sealed via magic as it had been the day Gwen gave it to her. Rose would have opened it before now if she could have, just to know what there could possibly be to say to the Sentinels. She breathed a silent sigh of relief as he turned from her to rip it open.

  Crouching, keeping both men in her peripheral vision, she picked up her purse to confirm her locket and the pendant were still there. While he scanned the pages, she returned to her seat at the bar.

  Unable to bear the silence for more than a couple minutes, and to reinforce how much they owed her, she started talking again. “Gwen walked away from her entire life twenty-four years ago, to protect me long enough that I could grow up.”

  Settling back in the chair, she folded her hands and focused on them.

  God, why can’t there be music or something? Her fingers twitched impatiently. She never sat still for long, much less in a room without noise of some sort, even if just a fan.

  When Lucas refolded the letter without saying anything, her heart sank. He didn’t believe her.

  Had Gwen blabbed something about Rose’s chosen profession in her letter? Assuming the Sentinels were still the good guys, they likely wouldn’t approve of her smuggling goods across borders and sort of skimming the law when it got in her way. Bypassing the Customs desk at airports was one of the lesser laws she broke for her job. The grave-robbing aspects of it probably wouldn’t garner many points either.

  Yeah, she’d skirted a lot of gray areas trying to survive and thrive in the aftermath of losing her entire family.

  “What can you tell us about how this Gwen Johnson person died? What is it you think we can do that you can’t do on your own? You’ve survived, nicely it seems, this long.”

  That was a pretty easy question to answer. She promptly pulled out Gwen’s pendant, a cushion-cut opal with emerald accents set against white gold, holding it out to him. She didn’t particularly like the piece, but she knew it contained her best hope of getting a lead on the demons responsible for Gwen’s death. She’d grabbed it from the floor and fled less than five seconds before the house exploded.

  “You’ve the gift of psychometry, Mr. Rollins. You can read items and tell what happened to the person wearing them. She was wearing that when she died and I’m hoping you’ll see what happened to her just before she died, see who killed her. It’s pretty much the only thing left of Gwen’s, after her house exploded in a death spell.”

  Rose had known for years that the Twisted Ones might eventually catch up to one or both of them. The spell to destroy Gwen’s home would only go off after Rose had come—if Rose had been there at the time of Gwen’s death and died as well, the spell would have triggered instantly.

  Cal sucked in a startled breath at mention of a death spell. Sure, that was a little unorthodox. Most witches couldn’t wield that sort of magic without being mixed up with the wrong sorts. But Gwen was special. And she’d had a little help from Rose’s blood. Setting up the death spell some six years ago had been what finally prompted Gwen to explain why she’d occasionally asked Rose for blood over the years.

  Lucas remained her focus. He was obviously the one to convince, so she continued to address him, though she cast Cal occasional glances to try to get some new insight into the man who’d once snuck her extra desserts. “There was something missing when I found her body. If her killers knew about it, they would have taken it, and I need to get it back.”

  She didn’t know how they’d react to learning Gwen had created a soul-stone. It meant necromancy, and most decent people avoided the blackest of magic.

  Lucas said nothing nor did he take the pendant. She huffed to convey her annoyance at his pig-headedness and stuck the pendant back in her purse. Stupid man. Listen to me.

  “If you’re Brier Rose, and I’m skeptical, where are Serenity and Aurora? Did they survive with you?”`

  She didn’t want to put the answer to that in words. Her throat closed over and she squeezed her eyes shut against the wave of pain at hearing her sisters’ names spoken aloud. But if it convinced them to help her… Maybe if she offered what she knew about that day, they’d be more inclined to work with her. The whole flies/honey/vinegar thing.

  Hesitantly, she said, “I was with Reny when…when the assault happened. I…It’s fuzzy, that day. I remember Gwen showing up just as this awful woman was climbing up a tree to get to us.”

  Warmth tingled through her entire body when Cal’s hand comfortingly rested against her upper arm.

  For a split second she wanted to lean into his heat and strong, silent comfort. No one had ever tried to comfort Rose before, not even Gwen, when she teared up over the loss of her sisters. It felt strange but good.

  Thankfully, sense quickly reasserted itself, and she jerked her arm away with a hiss. “You. Where were you when they all died?”

  He murmured, “I wish I had been there. You have no idea, Rose.”

  Some faint chord in his soft statement touched her. She dared a quick peek. Bleak self-loathing co
vered his face, his whole body cloaked in a moment of shame.

  Her arm still tingled where he’d touched her and for a brief moment, she felt something more than hatred toward this man who’d failed Anyuka: camaraderie. More than anything she wanted to reach out and offer him the same comfort he’d offered her only a short time ago.

  Only for a moment.

  Never forgive. Never forget. Gwen’s words came through loud and clear.

  Rose thrust the longing away and turned back to Lucas and his visible skepticism. “You don’t trust who I am, and I am beginning to doubt whether I should have come.”

  Lucas frowned, though it wasn’t a ferocious expression, to her surprise. Just contemplative. Then he stripped off his right glove and held out his hand. “Do you know what this means?”

  She forced her mind back to the first four years of life. “I’ve seen it before.” Only Sentinels had the all-seeing eye. “It has something to do with gargoyles.”

  “Exactly.” He offered a brief, cool smile. “A gargoyle trusts me enough to bond his life with mine.”

  She blinked after a heartbeat. He’d used present tense. Not had. Could he possibly be implying…

  “I want to trust you, Ms. Johnson. I really do, if you’re who you say you are. If you are, you’re the first ray of hope for North America since Hungary. But, excuse me for being a bit wary. In my business I have to be. If you prove yourself to me, I’ll give you all the reasons you need to trust us.”

  Cal didn’t meet her gaze when she looked at him.

  Without any clue from Cal on what to do, she leaned back on the stool and swung one leg loose, considering. She could prove what she was since she could shift between human and gargoyle forms and only Sacred Mothers could do that. But that left her wide open to attack, if only for a couple of seconds. The change wasn’t instantaneous. “I’m not changing in front of you.”

  “If you’re Brier Rose, you will have symbols on your back. The symbols that represent your angelic ancestors, to be precise.”

  No one but Gwen had ever seen those markings since the massacre. Rose had gotten out of gym specifically to avoid changing in front of anyone, so no one would see them. She thought the marks were beautiful, but others might not.

  Her shoulders hunched as she shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t seriously expect me to strip in front of you, do you?”

  “Your shirt’s loose. I can just pull it up far enough to see, if you’ll allow me to.”

  Though it was Lucas who spoke, she looked at Cal. He had seen them when she was a child. And he knew who she was. He wasn’t demanding proof. Every time their gazes met, guilt reflected in the depths of his beautiful hazel eyes, telling her louder than any words that he believed her.

  Hazel. Not handsome. And don’t you forget that. He’s worthless. She needed to remember she wasn’t here for her hormones. She was here to get help and possibly save her skin from the demons. But if he weren’t who he was, well, maybe she could have considered flirting with him.

  Rolling her shoulders, she considered Lucas’s offer. She needed something to believe in, some reason to trust them beyond her admittedly vague memories of the Sentinels.

  Lucas’s use of the word “trusts” rather than “trusted” taunted her, teased her with the possibility of others of her kind. She could and would do anything if it meant she wasn’t alone anymore.

  The symbol of Horus called to her as Lucas pulled his glove on again. It wasn’t a fake; she knew that without doubt. A human-created tattoo would remain a single color, whatever ink the artist used. His all-seeing eye, however, changed colors, a swirling mélange of gray and black.

  Taking a deep breath, she decided to chance it. She didn’t have much left to lose. She’d keep her weapon close to hand and maybe could fight them off if they tried anything funny. But she needed to keep the giant in front of her. While she didn’t think much of his protective skills, at least she’d known Cal for more than like three minutes. “Cal looks. No offense, Mr. Rollins, but I want you where I can see you.”

  Cal stiffened. What, was she repulsive to him or something? Not that she wanted him to think she was pretty, but c’mon. Her back was nice, not that of a monster. Not even any wings or tail right now. She shouldn’t be distasteful to look at.

  She glared at him. “Fair warning. I have a knife and other weapons. Don’t get friendly, Cal.”

  That broke the look of shocked horror from his face. He seemed embarrassed, shuffling his feet a bit, but then his eyes glinted with a hint of humor. She flashed on a memory of him sneaking her a bowl of ice cream with sprinkles on it when Anyuka was out hunting with the other adults.

  “I’ll be good. Promise.”

  Her lips tightened, but she slid off her chair with chopstick in hand. Lucas moved so she could keep him in sight as she presented Cal with her back.

  Cal tugged her shirt carefully up on her back, pulling the cream-colored cashmere from the snug black belt lashed around her waist. Warm, gentle fingers ran along the lines at the small of her back. The hard knot of downright terror that had been there since discovering Gwen’s body melted at the soft caress.

  She struggled to accept the fact that Robin, her mother’s long-ago protector, was the one soothing her, making her feel truly safe for the first time in what felt like forever.

  Her heart sped up as his touch tracked along the design at the bottom of her spine. It had to be fear, right? She couldn’t feel any attraction for him, couldn’t enjoy any Sentinel’s touch, right?

  She gnawed on her lower lip, her slightly-longer-than-human-length canines sharp enough to slice through flesh if she didn’t pay attention. She knew she was a gargoyle, and Cal knew. There was no way to escape the monthly proof when nature urged her into her gargoyle shape.

  Some women got cramps each month; she got a tail. Not really a fair trade, but wings let her soar and she loved that.

  As Cal’s touch withdrew, a new chill stole through her body and she shivered. Weird, that she felt better with him touching her. Insanely she wanted more from him than just a touch, such a brief caress.

  In the following silence, he whispered with something akin to awe, “You’re really real.”

  That put an end to the moment of intimacy as resentment surged through her. She reached back and yanked her shirt into place.

  As she spun on him, she caught Cal’s gaze raking upward. Some tiny female part of her, which she steadfastly decided must be insane, gave a girly squeal that a man had absolutely just checked out her butt.

  Stupid hormones.

  Shoving said girly squealing down deep into her psyche, Rose looked at Lucas again, chin jutting forward in slight challenge. “All right, I proved it. Now it’s your turn. Why should I trust you?”

  The little part of her that still harbored a dim hope of not being alone roared into a bonfire of anticipation as she voiced the question. So many others remained behind her teeth. Does he know how to find survivors? Are there survivors? Does he maybe have a gargoyle of his own?

  Since the tattoo was swirling, that meant the gargoyle he was bonded to was alive. Didn’t it? Maybe she remembered wrong.

  The man looked thunderstruck, but then he recovered. He cleared his throat and gestured toward the door leading out of the kitchen. “Come along and let’s step outside, shall we?”

  He held his hand out and she glanced back uncertainly at Cal. At least she knew him. Well, sort of. Lucas was a total stranger. Cal nodded encouragingly to her, so she slowly placed her fingers in the Jolly Black Giant’s, and let him lead her down the hall toward a set of shaded French doors.

  Lucas let go of her and tapped the latch. He grinned, the mischievous expression so out of character from the man she’d met that her own smile answered back.

  He said, “Take a look outside and tell me what you see.”

  With that pronouncement, he threw open the back door. Sunlight exploded through the panels. When her eyes adjusted, her mouth fell open for the second t
ime in under an hour, and this time it wasn’t in horror.

  Sixteen stone gargoyles ringed the center of the spacious back yard.

  Chapter Three

  Sentinel Truth #2: We protect the Sacred Mothers at all costs. If they die, the world as we know it dies.

  “Ms. Johnson, I present you a handful of the Atlanta gargoyles,” Lucas announced in a voice worthy of a carnival ringmaster.

  Rose’s knees wobbled and she braced against the doorframe for support as she gawked at the spectacle. No two statues were identical, posed in a variety of ways and in a rainbow-array of colors. A few stood proud and fierce, others rested in a more thoughtful manner.

  One drew her attention immediately. He was positioned off from the others, a faraway expression on his face, a deep sense of unrelenting grief etched grooves in his forehead, grief that she immediately identified with. Something that aching profile drew her closer. Her awareness of the two Sentinels dissipated with each step she took toward the gargoyle.

  She didn’t stop her approach until she rested directly before the great creature. He was taller than Lucas, probably topping seven feet. Even at her tallest in gargoyle form, she barely hit six and a half. Rose tipped her head back to take in the entire face. Whispers she kept locked away struggled to break through her mental wall.

  “Up, up! Fwy!”

  A young male gargoyle tossed her in the air as she squealed with laughter.

  Reny, blonde and petite, circled a tree, pouting as Rose taunted her for not climbing well. The same gargoyle stood nearby, silent and ever-vigilant, with carrot-haired Rory, so serious and all-too-aware of the call of her destiny to close the Rift, peeking at them from around his massive thighs.

  The gargoyle before her now bore a striking resemblance to the one in her memories. Older, definitely, but so was she. Could it really be him? One of her Hungarian relatives still alive?

  “Va, uh…” She fumbled to focus the memory so long shoved out of sight. So many names and faces she’d locked away. “Vasili? Vaslu?”