Acropolis (10 page)

There is no warmth when our lips meet. My
eyes are closed again. He exhales. I am not sure a person can
breathe for another, but my lungs are fooled. Briefly fooled.

I am struggling again. Why doesn't he just
let me go? We break the surface again. There is air. I gasp.

"We are almost there, Em. Hold on. One more
time. Breathe one more time."

I inhale. Water again. I will forever hate
water now. I am too tired now to struggle. My eyes stay closed. I
feel myself drifting. The cold, the lack of air . . . it is finally
killing me. I welcome the darkness. There is no pain there.

Chapter 13

Conor

In France, the sun is up. It is 6 a.m. and
cold.

"Is she alive?" Will asks as we drag
ourselves onto the shore.

Emma hangs like a rag doll from my arms. She
has passed out during the last leg of our journey through the Gulf
and through the Atlantic. We have entered France through the Bay of
Biscay.

"She's alive," I answer.

I can feel her heart beating against my
chest. Her skin is warm even after being submerged in the cold
winter waters. Rachel is searching the sky.

"You won't find any," I say. "They lost our
trail when she passed out."

Rachel turns to look at me. Her pajamas are
soaked, water dripping everywhere on the shore. Her blonde hair
hangs limply down her back.

"How do you know?" she asks.

Roach slithers next to Rachel.

"Because the idiot swam the last couple of
miles above water."

I feel the anger rise, but I ignore it. I
will not be goaded. Not now.

"We need to go before we do have something to
worry about."

No one argues. In one combined movement, we
use powers as ancient as our ancestors to propel the water from our
bodies before launching into the sky. Emma is dry now in my arms.
Her cheeks are flushed, feverish. Her powers are growing. She is
like no mark I have ever protected, whether Demon or human.

"She's not going to fit in there," Will says
suddenly from my left. I don't look at him.

"They will eat her alive," Rachel adds. She
is flying on my right. Roach is ignoring us, his serpentine body
leading the way.

"I don't know. Something tells me she's going
to surprise us all," I say, my eyes still focused on the sky
ahead.

The landscape is changing. We have left the
coast behind. There is a blur of green rolling hills below. There
are mountains in the distance, and there are homes nestled among
thick tree-lined hills. But we are focused on only one place, and I
am relieved when I see the turret of the Acropolis. It is well
hidden in the countryside.

Registered as a residence for the Moreau
family, The Acropolis is a renovated medieval chateau of grey-white
stone with a mostly straight facade broken up by arrow slit windows
and a solitary tower and turret. Cypresses surround the property,
mostly obscuring it from view. There is a forest to the back of the
chateau. To the side is a small lake, and the main building is
hemmed in by landscaped gardens surrounded by low stone fences.
There are two outbuildings and a stable that have been renovated to
form residence halls.

I gesture at one of the outbuildings, an old
guardian's cottage, and we all land carefully on the roof. Each
building, even the main, is rigged for quick entries from above. I
crouch as Roach, Rachel, and Will enter ahead of me through a small
terrace not originally part of the building. I hear greetings from
inside, and I know our arrival is expected. My mother would have
contacted the appropriate people.

"Do you need help, Conor?" a young female
voice asks, and I look up to find Marion Durand leaning out of the
terrace's entrance. She is a pretty girl, eighteen, with rosy
cheeks, brown hair, and a round figure. Her father is the school's
headmaster.

I smile at her because I know her offer is
genuine. There isn't a mean bone in Marion's body.

"She's going to be very afraid when she wakes
up," I say quietly as I lean into the entrance.

The room is a small one, a study used only by
administrators, and it is made even smaller by our presence. Marion
nods as she motions to her left. An African-American girl scrambles
forward and together she and Marion take Emma from me. The
dark-skinned girl is Deidra Alexander. She smiles as she passes.
Emma is in good hands.

Marion hands Roach a pair of cotton
drawstring pants as they approach the door. He has reverted to his
human form and is completely naked but neither girl flinches.
Modesty is not a part of gargoyle life especially among the shifter
set.

Will is leaning wearily against the cottage's
stone wall, and Rachel is standing next to a man of average build
with brown hair in a casual tweed suit jacket over a white shirt
and dark blue jeans.

"Mr. Durand," I say, extending my hand. I can
hear the weariness in my own voice.

"Mr. Reinhardt," Gary Durand replies, his
hand clasping mine tightly. My handshake is weak. My trip from
France and back again, the battle with Demons, and the ocean
journey has drained me.

"I am impressed," Durand says. His eyes move
over us slowly. "Rachel, here, tells me you have traveled primarily
through water to get here?"

I nod. Gary shakes his head, his face a mask
of disbelief. Gargoyles have always had an affinity with water, but
no one has ever used it as an escape route. We are not immune to
the sea's dangers. No matter how fast we can travel, luck played a
large part in our success. There had been no choice. Most Demons
will avoid water, and we would not have won a battle by air.

"It was a smart move, Reinhardt, considering.
There are empty rooms on the next floor. Go. All of you. Rest."

No one argues.

"And Conor?" Durand says just as I'm about to
duck out of the room. I turn to look at him. "Gibson will hear of
this. You did well. Your job is finished."

The mark is alive, she has been delivered to
the Acropolis, Rachel is uninjured, and I am a Guardian again.
Gibson will be happy. I am too tired to care.

"I'm not finished," I say suddenly. Durand,
who has started to turn away, looks at me in surprise. I have
surprised myself.

"Not finished?" Durand asks. I nod, my jaw
tight.

"I'd like to petition to become Emma's
Guardian."

With that, I duck out of the room and walk
away.

Chapter 14

Emma

"Hold on."

In my head, I hear Conor's voice. It's
supposed to get me through, supposed to help me survive this wild
trip through the sea. I am dreaming. I am awake. I am lost.

"Emma?" a voice asks.

It isn't Conor. It is female. I recoil. I am
in pain.

"Emma, it's okay. My name is Marion Durand.
You are safe."

She has a sweet voice, this Marion, and I
realize I am no longer cold. I am lying on something soft, and I am
warm. A hand works its way into mine, and I cry out. It is
immediately withdrawn.

"You are safe," Marion's voice repeats. "You
are at the Acropolis. No one here will harm you."

The Acropolis. I know this name. I am at the
school for hybrid Demons, but I don't know how I got here, and I am
scared. My memory is fuzzy. There is a moonlit kitchen, a grotesque
face. I am angry. I want to fight. I want to leave. I want to fly.
Instead, I am drowning. I am underwater.

And then there is a god, a sea god. Conor. He
is surrounded by water and beautiful. I wonder briefly if he is
really as beautiful as my mind makes him. I whimper.

"Emma . . . Emma?" Marion calls. She attempts
touching me again, and I manage not to fight her. "Open your eyes,
Emma. You are safe."

She keeps repeating the word "safe". It has
no affect on me, but I open my eyes anyway because I am too afraid
to keep them closed. There is a girl standing over me.

I scream and pull away, my back going into a
wrought iron headboard. There is pain, but it is welcome. It is
real. There are blankets wrapped around me, and I am still in
Conor's pajamas.

"Emma," the girl says again.

Her voice sounds strained but soothing.
I think she is afraid of me. Her voice is familiar. Marion. She has
a round face, rosy, with wavy brown hair that looks like it can't
decide whether it wants to be curly or straight. She has pale skin,
and her heightened flush confirms my suspicion. She
is
afraid of me, but she hides it
well. It is her fear that helps calm me. We are afraid of each
other.

"Where am I?" I whisper.

My voice is hoarse. My throat hurts. Marion
smiles, her eyes still uncertain and reaches for a mug sitting on a
small table next to the bed.

"The Acropolis," she repeats.

She has said this before, but this time I
hear her. The room is real. It is small, warm. The walls are stone.
There are two chairs opposite my low, iron bed. They are brown
leather and sit in front of a massive stone fireplace. There is a
fire crackling in the hearth.

Another girl sits before the flames. She is
curled up in the chair. She has dark skin and even darker eyes. She
is skinny, her face oval. I can't see her clothes because she is
mostly hidden. Only her face peers out at me. Her expression is the
only thing keeping me from being afraid. It is a mix of curiosity
and amusement. Marion follows my gaze.

"This is Deidra," Marion says carefully.

I am immediately taken by the girl. She
smiles, her teeth white and straight next to her skin. Her
amusement makes me less afraid, distracts me because I wonder how
anyone can find the current situation funny.

"You aren't what I expected," Deidra says,
her small voice full of laughter.

"Deidra!" Marion exclaims, but I find myself
smiling despite myself as the girl stands up slowly and moves
toward the bed. She is small, maybe four foot ten inches at the
most, and she is wearing the ugliest combination of clothes I have
ever seen, brown leather pants with a fitted long sleeve red shirt
mostly hidden by a pocketed brown leather vest. She has on dark
brown combat boots with a gold chain around her neck accented by a
faux ruby. She is watching me curiously, a strange glint in her
eyes.

I am still curled up against the headboard.
I'm not sure if it's because I'm afraid or because I am so
confused. I feel like I am missing chunks of time. Deidra leans
over the bed and studies me. She's maybe fourteen-years-old at the
most and a cute little thing. She pauses abruptly and opens her
eyes wide.

"BOO!"

It's so unexpected I jump. Deidra chuckles
and places a hand over her stomach.

"Deidra Alexander!" Marion admonishes, but
Deidra doesn't look the least bit guilty.

"They said she was afraid of everything. I
was just testing her out."

I laugh only because being afraid of Deidra
seems ridiculous as I push away from the headboard, tugging the
tangled sheets down as Marion shakes her head and hands me a warm,
black mug.

"It's tea with honey. You took in a lot of
salt water. This will help your throat."

I nod gratefully while studying Deidra.
Something about her fascinates me.

"What are you?" I ask her suddenly. I
know without a doubt she isn't one of them. How I know this is
beyond me, but she
feels
different.

Marion clears her throat in what sounds
suspiciously like disapproval, but Deidra ignores her and hops onto
the bed, jumping once before landing on her bottom in a
cross-legged position. She grins.

"I'm like you," she says, leaning over
to sniff my tea before scrunching her nose in disgust. "You know,
a
Demon
," she adds with a
shrug.

I stare at her, my eyes wide.

"A hybrid?" I ask.

Deidra nods and pulls a peppermint candy out
of her vest pocket. She unwraps it and plunks it into my mug.

"That will taste so much better now," she
says.

I don't even spare it a glance.

"Deidra, maybe we should give Emma some
time," Marion begins, but I cut her off.

"You are weak."

I don't mean to say it, and I immediately
regret the words when I see Deidra's face. It is crestfallen but
full of acceptance. I am not myself. I am feeling and saying things
I know I shouldn't, but I can't control it. Deidra looks up at me,
the twinkle in her eyes diminished.

"I'm an imp. We aren't strong Demons. We're
mostly known for being mischievous." She laughs bitterly. "I'm not
good at making friends. I play too many pranks. Even when I try not
to, I still find myself doing things I shouldn't."

Deidra looks so young just then. She's no
more than a child really, and yet I understand her more than I do
the gargoyles that have helped get me here. I don't know what an
imp is, but I know what doing things I don't want to do feels
like.

"You're still learning," Marion tells Deidra
gently.

Deidra and I share a look. Sometimes it isn't
about understanding; it's about being allowed to feel sorry for
oneself, even if it's just for a moment. I feel compelled to touch
the girl, and I place a hand over hers on the tangled sheets. Her
eyes go wide, and she pulls away.

"Wow!" she says. Her eyes are suddenly full
of excitement.

"Deidra . . ." Marion warns. Deidra isn't
listening. She claps her hands.

"
This
is the reason I begged to be allowed to help Marion. Well, no
one else actually volunteered, but I jumped for it!" Deidra says. I
am confused.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Deidra giggles.

"I'm a lesser Demon. Around here that pretty
much guarantees you get your butt whooped often."