Midnight

The Gypsy woman walked purposefully behind the counter and took a long, skeleton-looking key from a peg on the wall. Without saying a word or even giving my heavily cloaked self a second glance, she pushed past the group to a door marked PRIVATE in the back of the room. She unlocked it, and Quentin pushed the door open, which was thicker and heavier that it appeared.

Beyond was a decent-sized storage room with more shelves. A man sat at a circular table, playing a game of Solitaire with a grungy set of cards. He nodded at the woman. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. I heard the lock click into place.

The man shoved back his chair and stood. ‘We’ve been expecting you,’ he said. He was tall, with a large nose and a buzz cut. He was dressed like a Marksman. ‘It’s good to see you, Quentin.’

‘And you, Donani.’

My brows lifted in surprise, until I remembered that all Marksmen were from the same clan. It made sense they would know each other – something Quentin seemed pleased with as well.

The Marksman named Donani turned his attention on me. ‘So this is the gargoyle.’ He gripped my hood and yanked it back. My shoulders flexed, but I kept my eyes on him and breathed in slowly. Controlled. He smelled like charred wood. ‘Interesting,’ he said, regarding me with a calloused expression. He returned to the table and retrieved a belt full of weapons from the chair. He strapped it on and drew out a particularly nasty-looking blade – sharp, diamond encrusted, and probably capable of slicing me up like a block of cheese. ‘We’ll take the creature from here,’ he continued. ‘You and your Marksmen are welcome to join us, of course.’ Donani kept his eyes on Quentin. ‘Oh, and tell your marimé companion that we will return for him tomorrow.’

‘But,’ started Augustine, visibly ruffled, his gaze settling on the blade. He hesitated, then clamped his mouth shut and straightened, arranging a smile that mirrored Quentin’s.

It seemed this turn of events wasn’t exactly what he had planned.

Donani clapped his hands once. Two Marksmen appeared from behind a single shelf, where they’d been stationed, I supposed, all along. They took hold of the shelf and rolled it out of the way. Behind it was a paneled door made of ancient-looking planks held together with rusty metal braces.

A weird, uncomfortable sensation took up residence inside me as they unlatched the door. Just beyond, I saw stone stairs, leading downward in a spiral, concealed by a brick wall.

Augustine gripped Quentin by the shoulder and pulled him aside. My gargoyle hearing picked up their conversation.

‘Do not forget all we’ve spoken about, Marks.’

Quentin shrugged him off. ‘I won’t.’

Donani made his way down the stairs. Quentin, Thomas, and Ian went after. I followed, after being kindly persuaded by a spear in my back from one of Donani’s men.

The staircase wound in a circular pattern, weaving down farther than I would’ve thought possible. It smelled damp and pleasantly earthy. I shifted my body sideways as my bound wings scraped against the narrow walls. After descending in silence for a full minute, we reached the bottom. It opened into a circular tunnel, several feet taller than my head and lined with packed dirt and cobblestone. A heavy gate of the same shape barred the entrance.

‘It is with God I have arrived,’ said Donani.

A bearded man peered through the gate. ‘It is with God you are received.’

The gate opened, and we made our way along the tunnel for several yards before it suddenly veered left and opened into a gigantic room. The chamber could have easily held several hundred people. The jagged stone ceiling loomed twenty feet above us, and a railed balcony ran the length of a second level.

This had to be the Court of Shadows.

The Marksmen pushed me hastily through the room and another, shorter tunnel. On the other side was a smaller room, filled with long tables and benches. Soft light filtered through the space, provided by a mixture of electric and gas lanterns.

At least a dozen Gypsies chatted noisily around me, drinks in hand. Food and spiced smells perfumed the air. Donani increased his pace, and we swiftly passed through another room. I felt the stares of the inhabitants, and I was glad for the cloak and hood the Marksmen had provided as my disguise. From the next room, corridors broke off in many directions. The entire underground area must’ve taken up three blocks of the city above.

But the tour wasn’t over yet. Donani led us down eight stone steps and an extremely narrow passage. My nose wrinkled. It reeked of mold, dirt, and stale air. Even before we entered, I knew I wasn’t going to be a fan of the next room. Barred walls lined each side of the corridor, separated into individual cells, like an old, underground prison.

The Marksmen prodded me into the nearest one. The dirt walls absorbed the clanking of the metal as the iron-gate door slammed shut after me.

‘Could I request a different room?’ I asked. ‘I’m not really feeling this one.’

‘Ah, it speaks,’ said Donani.

‘Unfortunately,’ Quentin replied.

Donani leaned on his spear. ‘Well, listen up, gargoyle—’

‘The name’s Sebastian.’

‘—I suggest you behave like a good little beastie and shut your mouth.’

It seemed Marksmen were pretty much the same, no matter where.

‘Or what,’ I shot back. ‘Let me guess, you’re going to beat me up and throw me in a cage. Oh, wait.’

He rammed his blade through the bars, just missing the side of my face. ‘Trust me,’ he replied. ‘I could make it worse.’

The laughter of the Marksmen echoed down the passage.

‘So what now,’ asked Quentin.

‘Now, we get some breakfast,’ Donani replied. ‘This gargoyle’s not going anywhere for a while.’

Quentin smiled at me. ‘Enjoy your stay.’

I’d lost track of the amount of times the two of us had stared each other down between a set of metal bars, but it had gotten old a long time ago. I’d been ignoring my hunger and pulsing adrenaline. Now my nerves and my will were both on the verge of snapping, but I wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

‘Enjoy yours,’ I said, forcing every word. ‘While you can.’

6. Sebastian

I really missed lying on my back.

If I was honest, I missed a lot of things from my old life, but I refused to dwell on any of them at length. Instead, I put my energy into finding a comfortable spot along the wall to prop myself against. My jeans and shirt were filthy. I smelled of blood, dirt, and sweat. My eyes burned hot when I closed them, and my stomach felt deeply hollow in a way I hadn’t experienced before.

What would happen when it was time for me to stand before the High Council? Would they let me speak, or would they kill me on the spot? I didn’t know the rules and laws for the Outcasts, much less the shadow world.

There was no possible way this was going to go well.

Something wet fell against my cheek and I reached up to brush it away. Tears. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. Now, I was conscious of them rolling down my face, one after the other.

I thought of the stares I’d gotten the day I arrived at the Circe. The way people avoided me when I approached. The way I’d just been hustled through the Court of Shadows like I had the plague.

I scared people. I scared myself. Maybe I really was the demonic abomination so many Gypsies feared. But as I sat on the dirt floor, shackled and trapped, I just felt like a helpless little kid; frightened, alone, and …

Hungry.

Visions of meat scrolled behind my eyelids. I struggled to concentrate on something else. On anything else. But I was too tired, and nothing worked. My teeth throbbed beneath my gums. I groaned inwardly and let the feelings cloud my head, turning my thoughts to unintelligent jumbles, diminishing my sense of time.

*

Ice solidified in my stomach, jerking me from the incoherent haze. I sniffed the air and sighed. They were back. Donani and Quentin were alone this time. I noted the Romany’s head Marksman had resumed his full arsenal of weaponry, complete with a full quiver of arrows strapped to his back.

I also caught the smell of meat. My stomach lurched greedily. I licked my dry lips, pricking my tongue on my jagged teeth and tasting blood. As the Marksmen neared my cell, I shuffled to my feet.

‘Listen guys,’ I said, stretching as much as I could. ‘I really need a bathroom. Seriously, this hotel sucks.’

‘Still running your mouth,’ said Donani. He pointed to the rudimentary latrine in the corner. ‘Your accommodations are better than you deserve, demon.’

Quentin produced a brown paper bag. I tried not to sniff, but I couldn’t help it. Instantly, my brain registered hamburgers. I swallowed several times as my mouth began to water uncontrollably. The Marksman thrust the bag through the bars.

‘I brought you dinner.’

I moved aside, putting as much distance as I could between us. ‘You know, I was really craving some pancakes, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass. Thanks for going to all this trouble, though.’

Quentin’s usually composed expression suddenly cracked. He threw the bag into my cell. ‘You idiot,’ he said, spittle flying from his mouth. ‘Do you think starving yourself will do you any good? Why won’t you eat?’

I gave him a steady look. ‘Because you want me to.’

‘I’m trying to keep you functioning. Do you wish to stand trial as nothing more than a slobbering beast, or do you want the capacity to defend yourself to the Council?’

‘What difference does it make to you?’

‘I want the Council to hear from Sebastian Grey, the proclaimed guardian of the Romany clan. And then I want them to see that you’re no different than the rest of your brethren, despite all your protests: a gargoyle who would and did kill someone of Roma blood.’

‘And me scarfing down a couple of burgers is going to prove your point?’

‘There isn’t an Outcast Gypsy in our kumpania who hasn’t witnessed the destructive nature of the shadow creatures. Grotesques and chimeras are an evil curse, a scourge to our existence. But gargoyles.’ He stepped closer, his voice lowering as he continued. ‘Your reputation as guardians has kept you safe over the decades. But the loyalty the Old Clans held for gargoyles is long dead. And soon, the same thing will happen among the Outcasts. You’re not guardians. You’re a threat. But when you’re convicted of murder, I promise you, it will be open season on all of your kind.’

‘That’s why you’re working with Augustine.’

‘We have an arrangement.’

I tried to smile, to keep the conversation going so that I could think clearly. ‘Well, since I’m doomed anyway, could I at least brush my teeth and take a shower? I want to look my best before my trial.’

Quentin’s black eyes narrowed. ‘Sorry, but that’s not on the agenda.’

Suddenly, the smell of exotic flowers wafted through the passage. For the briefest instant, I thought it was Josephine. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, it was immediately negated. The scent was similar, but definitely not her. I moved to the front of the cell for a better look.

A tall woman stood at the passageway entrance, with Augustine at her side. I knew at once it was Josephine’s aunt – which meant I was staring into the face of the Queen of the Outcast Gypsies. She wore a multicolored dress and an elaborate head wrap that concealed her hair. Heavy makeup outlined her eyes, and gold jewelry sparkled at her neck. Just behind her, four men, armed with diamond-coated spears, lined the inside of the corridor.

The woman scrutinized me with eyes like cold emeralds.

‘This is the gargoyle.’

‘Yes, Rani,’ said Augustine. ‘Just as I—’

‘Silence,’ said the Queen. ‘You are not to speak directly to me. Marimé is marimé, no matter the bargain that was struck with the Council. If you wish to address me, you will speak through the Marksman.’

Their eyes met for a single, tension-saturated moment. I glanced between the two. If Augustine hadn’t told me his family connection to the Romanys, I never would’ve guessed he and the Queen were siblings. She reminded me of Nicolas. But Augustine shared nothing with them, apart from his tall, lean frame.

The Queen turned her attention back to me. Something within me felt her Roma authority in a way that hummed through my guardian blood. Before I even realized it, I had bowed my head respectfully.

‘Very well,’ said Augustine, his tone curt. ‘Quentin, if you would tell the Queen that I have brought this gargoyle to be placed on trial for the death of Karl Corsi, of the Romany clan, as requested by Nicolas Romany.’

She continued to look at me – not with fear, disgust, or pity as I was accustomed to, but with something that bothered me a lot more. Something emotionless.

‘The gesture seems honorable,’ she said. ‘But the man once known as Adolár Romany has no honor in him and does nothing without seeking his own gain. So why is he really here?’

Augustine rolled his shoulders back in a slow, fluid motion. Only the hardened edges around his eyes betrayed his irritation. ‘Quentin, if you would please relay to the Queen my request for a private audience with her.’

The strange emphasis he put on the woman’s title sparked my curiosity. It was heavy with a meaning I didn’t understand, but one that seemed to heighten the tense air between them.

‘I have already given the marimé access to the Court of Shadows, which is against our highest law. And yet, he still has the audacity to ask for more.’

‘The Queen will benefit greatly from this meeting,’ said Augustine.

Quentin repeated his sentence. The Marksman’s expression hovered somewhere between smug and annoyed, however he kept his eyes lowered respectfully. The Queen hesitated, turning her gaze from me to the ceiling.

‘Because I am in an amiable mood,’ she said finally, ‘I shall grant the marimé a thirty-minute audience with me, but he must be accompanied by my Marksmen and an appointed liaison to speak through.’

‘Surely I could have an audience with you alone, for only—’

‘If he speaks to me again,’ said the Queen, ‘he shall have nothing.’

Augustine dipped his head. ‘Quentin, if you would offer the Queen my sincere apologies. Her offer is gracious, and I will accept it.’

The Queen moved down the corridor, glancing sideways at me. She carried herself much the same way as Josephine’s father did, all authority and confidence. Whatever she thought of me, I couldn’t tell, but she’d scored major points in my estimation for the way she’d treated Augustine.

She snapped her fingers. ‘Release the gargoyle.’

Donani dipped his head. ‘But Kralitsa …’

‘Now.’

The Marksman removed the padlock and slid open the heavy door. I watched him warily. His weapons remained sheathed, but I had no doubt he’d be fast to draw them. My wings felt like stone slabs attached to my back, and my head was so heavy I could hardly lift it. I willed my feet to move and stepped out of the cell. The Queen assessed me steadily.

‘He looks half-dead,’ she said to the Marksman at her right.

‘Only because he is being stubborn,’ said Augustine, his gaze moving past me to the untouched bag of hamburgers on the cell floor and then meeting my eyes once more. ‘It is, unfortunately, his loss. Now, Quentin, if you would kindly repeat all this to the Queen.’

‘The marimé traitor tests my good will,’ said the Queen.

The pompous expression I was used to seeing on Augustine’s face returned with a vengeance. His smile stretched the white scar at his cheek into a thin line. ‘Allow us to demonstrate what this creature is capable of.’

Warning vibes tingled down my spine.

‘Please, Your Majesty,’ I said softly. The phrase sounded weird, but I didn’t know how else to address her. The Queen’s forehead wrinkled in surprise, and I hurried to speak before she could respond. ‘I don’t understand what’s happening. Nicolas sent me here because the kris was deadlocked. I didn’t kill anyone. I only want the opportunity to defend myself and show you the truth.’

‘The truth is precisely what I desire,’ she replied. She stepped back. ‘Take the gargoyle to the Stone Chamber.’

Quentin and Donani took up positions on either side of me as I was escorted down the hall and out of the dungeon area. We moved through an intersection of corridors and descended several more steps before reaching another room. The cavernous space looked two stories high and void of anything – save an enormous cage.

It was octagonal in shape and made of chain-link fencing on all sides and along the top. The floor was spread with a thick mat. It looked like something out of a professional cage-fighting match.

‘You can’t be serious,’ I said.

Quentin undid the latch. ‘Get in.’

Donani stripped off my cloak. The straps around my wings were cut, and the chains linking my manacles together were removed. The Marksmen’s spears made sure I complied with Quentin’s order. Once I was inside, the door of the cage was shut and bolted. Adrenaline seeped into my blood, turning my breaths shallow. I grabbed hold of the chain-link wall, my eyes searching for the Queen.

‘What about the trial?’ The pleading in my voice mingled with a growl.

‘You shall have your trial,’ she said. ‘After I know what manner of creature I’m dealing with.’

A hissing sound reached my ears. I lifted my head and sniffed the air. Instantly, I wanted to gag. Grotesques. I recognized the smell, thanks to the one that had infiltrated the Romany camp the evening I’d arrived. My heart beat faster, pushing the adrenaline through my veins.

Screeching metal reverberated off the walls. Another door on the opposite side of the cage opened. I recoiled as several Marksmen rolled two large containers inside. The lids lifted and two shadowen leapt into the cage. One was a feral cat, large and mutated, with razor-sharp claws. The other was almost twice my size, a terrifying mixture of reptile and bird.

A snarl quivered against my lips. I backed away, unfurling my wings and taking to the air. The muscles along my shoulder blades and wing joints ached from being pinned so long. I hovered, using most of my energy to keep my wings pumping.

The reptile bird spread its gray-feathered wings and launched itself at me. I rolled in the air. The grotesque streaked by me and circled around the cage. I countered, keeping plenty of distance between us. My blood felt hot in my veins, burning me from the inside out. I clenched my fists.

Below me, the cat creature paced, its solid silver eyes narrowed into slits and black ooze dripping from its fangs. The bird beast screeched, readying itself for another charge. There was no way I could escape them, in the air or on the ground. The edges of my vision blurred crimson.

‘I’m not going to fight for your sport,’ I called down.

‘It’s not sport,’ said Augustine. ‘It’s evidence.’

I was a guardian. I was supposed to defend Gypsies from the nasty creatures circling the cage below me, but I had a feeling that wasn’t the kind of evidence Augustine was looking for.

I dropped to the mat, crouched low, wings expanded to their full length. The cat dove at me, teeth catching my shoulder. They pierced my skin like knives, and I cried out. I clamped onto its body with my claws and stripped it off me, flinging it against the chain-link wall.

I retreated quickly, retracting my wings.

Stop.

The word came unbidden into my mind, and I wasn’t even aware that I’d spoken telepathically at first. But the cat creature hesitated, the gleam in its silver glare fading. The bird-snake landed opposite me, tilting its head. Its beak opened and closed. A fragment of hope kindled inside me.

Groties were dumb beasts, according to Karl. They relied purely on instinct, driven by their need to kill. Only chimeras and gargoyles could communicate. But maybe these creatures could understand basic commands. I closed my eyes and fired off another telepathic order.

Get back.

For a fleeting second, I thought the creatures might actually obey as they regarded me with unblinking, silver-orbed eyes. The enormous cat suddenly shook itself off, hissed, and dropped into an attack crouch. The bird-snake snapped its gray feathers. Both came at me, full speed.

I took flight. The winged shadowen pursued. I saw the Gypsies out of the corner of my eye, watching intently. Anger clawed its way up my spine. I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted to go home; to see Josephine again and go back to the way things were at the Circe.

But the thing inside me: the guardian or monster or whatever it was, wouldn’t let up. It welcomed the threat and longed for action. It pressed on the back of my skull. Controlling. Demanding. Unrelenting.

‘Please, let me out,’ I yelled.

My voice had turned to gravel and growls.

Donani flashed a wicked grin. ‘There’s only one way out, gargoyle.’

I changed direction and streaked downward, knocking the feline shadowen off its feet. It hissed as I came back around. Then, I was knocked off course. I slammed into the chain-link wall, the bird-snake creature on my back. Talons ripped my flesh.

Instinct and rage forged into one.

Everything went red.

*

When I came back to myself, I was lying on my side in the middle of the cage. My wings were splayed wide. Black blood spattered the floor. My shirt was gone, the remnants shredded into pieces a few feet away from me. My own purple-black blood dripped from claw wounds on my shoulders.

Both shadowen lay on the ground on the opposite end of the space. The bird-snake’s wings were bent underneath its body. The cat was huddled in a crumpled mass. I gasped in horror and struggled to sit up. Disgust and loathing churned in my stomach.

‘Oh no …’

Then, I realized, neither creature had turned to stone. Relief surged through me. If they weren’t stone, it meant the shadowen were still alive! I collapsed, breathing a thankful prayer. I didn’t want to kill them, no matter how much my instincts told me to.

A sudden wave of ferocious hunger lit into me. I gasped again and pushed myself into a crouch. My arms shook. I peered through the cage to find the Gypsies staring at me. Augustine’s black eyes met mine, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

‘I have seen enough,’ said the Queen.

Quentin didn’t miss a beat. He notched his bow, aimed at the shadow creatures, and let one arrow fly, then another. Each passed effortlessly through the narrow chinks in the fence. The diamond tips struck home. The grotesques howled in hatred and fury. A second later, their bodies shimmered dully and turned to granite in front of me.

One moment, they’d been alive.

The next, nothing more than hideous statues.

I felt hollow.

Marksmen entered the cage, spears at the ready as they approached me. But I stood quietly, folded my wings against my back, and held out my hands for the manacles. I was too hungry to think, too exhausted to care anymore.

‘Well,’ said Augustine to Quentin. ‘Would you be so kind as to inquire about my audience with the Queen once more?’

‘Tomorrow,’ she said, her expression smoother than stone. ‘I will send word concerning the time and place, when I am ready.’ The Queen brushed widely past him, holding her skirt to the side as though he was contagious. ‘Donani, escort this man out of the Court of Shadows immediately. He knows how foolish it would be to try and enter here again.’

Donani and another Marksman flanked Augustine. I watched through the bars as he dipped his head in respect, but his face went so taut that the scar along his cheek turned pink. He disappeared out the chamber without another word.

*

‘Why is Augustine so desperate so talk to the Queen?’