Acropolis (13 page)

"Conor Reinhardt is your Guardian," Deidra
says, her voice full of awe.

I am confused.

"Wasn't he before?"

Deidra shakes her head.

"Are you okay?" Conor asks as he reaches
us.

He crouches and takes me by the elbow. I
stand up slowly, my head spinning. Lyre's emotions are suddenly
gone replaced by something different, something odd.

"We are like pack animals," I say
suddenly.

Conor's eyes find mine.

"What?"

My eyes are on the hall now. There are
hybrids moving silently through the chateau. Some are talking,
laughing even, and they are being shadowed by gargoyles. Guardians.
I am not sure where they are headed. Training? To some unknown
lesson I'm still unaware of?

"We are pack animals who were not born to be
a part of a pack."

My eyes never move from the thinning crowd. I
am speaking for a group. Some of the words feel like my own, but
others feel channeled. Conor looks at Deidra.

"Go to class, Alexander. Emma needs some
time."

Deidra gulps, but I feel her leave me,
slinking into the darkness. I don't see her Guardian, but I know he
or she must be near. I hope they are near.

"What are you trying to say, Emma?" Conor
asks.

I turn to look at him, my mind a jumble of
mixed emotions. I am afraid, but I'm not sure anymore if the fear
is all mine.

"Demons are solitary beings that fight
constantly for dominance. Putting them . . .
us
here in one place is asking for trouble. We
are being forced together, and we are struggling to destroy each
other. Why do you do it?"

His eyes move over my face, and his brows
furrow.

"There is good here. You haven't met them
all, Emma. Some people believe the hybrids are worth saving."

I watch the play of emotions on his face, and
I know the truth before I even ask the question.

"Do you?"

Conor looks me in the eye.

"No."

Sadly, I agree with him.

Chapter 19

Conor

I lead Emma from the chateau and into the
gardens. She is too astute. Her powers, though untrained, are
growing. She is picking up on the emotions around her, and I am
afraid. I'm not afraid of Emma. I'm afraid of the emotions she may
feel coming from me.

"The beating you just got in the main hall .
. . that's just the beginning," I say as I approach one of the
stone walls surrounding the gardens.

I lift her up before she has a chance to
argue, placing her on the wall as I pull the hem of my shirt out of
my jeans. I lift it over my head and place it against Emma's scalp.
At this rate, and if the last two days prove statistically correct,
Emma is going to be seeing me shirtless more than any other
female.

"I can do it," Emma says, taking my shirt
from me as she shifts uncomfortably, her cheeks flushing. I am a
few inches away from her, my face three inches below hers where she
sits on the low wall, and I am amused by her reaction.

"You really haven't had much interaction with
the opposite sex, have you?" I ask.

It's a personal question, and it's against
the rules. The flush on Emma's cheeks darkens. I can't help but
smile.

"Are you making fun of me?" she asks. I see
the hurt in her eyes, and I pat her leg gently.

"Never, Em. I like joking around, and I tend
to make dark situations lighter than I should, but I don't make fun
of anything someone else has no control of, and I hate
innuendos."

Her eyes find the Acropolis, her gaze roaming
the stone building with unease.

"I'm afraid of you," she says suddenly.

This startles me, and I stare up at her. Her
eyes meet mine, and I see the candid honesty in her gaze.

"I'm scared of what you represent," she
continues. "I'm scared because I know what I am, and I know you are
guarding something you hate.

I'm at a loss for words, and I struggle to
find something to say that won't ruin the tenuous bond a Guardian
is supposed to have with his mark. She isn't entirely human. This
makes the bond even harder to create.

"I don't hate you," I say carefully.

She smiles sadly.

"You hate what I am. It's the same
thing."

"I don't . . ." I begin, but she is watching
me closely now, and she leans forward unexpectedly.

"What did they take from you?" she asks.

She doesn't have to elaborate on who "they"
are. It's why I fear her. I don't like sharing how I feel about
anything. I hide behind charm and wit. I hide behind lighthearted
small talk. I start to lie, but then I realize she'll know I'm not
being truthful.

"Demons killed my father."

It is all I say, but it's enough. I see the
compassion in her gaze, and I hate her for it. She feels the hate,
and her brows furrow. I see her lips part, and I stop her.

"Don't, Em."

She looks away again.

"What are the training sessions," she asks
instead, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"You'll meet with hybrid Demons, others of
your kind who have been trained to teach you how to manage and use
your powers. Sometimes, you'll be pitted against another student to
test your violent tendencies. Violent cases are sent away."

Emma nods, her eyes still on the school.

"The violent are killed," she says
matter-of-factly. I don't disagree.

"Most of the time, yes."

She shudders, her hand lowering, my
blood-splattered white shirt sitting in her palm.

"Who is Pleiades?" she asks.

It's a wise question. Emma is as logical as
she is perceptive.

"Pleiades is a Demon made up of seven women
bound together. Each bound woman represents a human weakness:
jealousy, deception, strife, power, battle , error . . . she's an
awful Demon. Very multifaceted."

"And Lyre?" Emma asks. I know what she's
asking, and I sigh.

"Lyre has shown an aptitude for battle and
deception. Today, she proved she has also inherited her mother's
tendency toward jealousy and power."

"And my mother?" Emma insists. Her voice
shakes, and I know she fears my answer.

"Enepsigos is considered friendly, but she is
powerful. Your mother is incredibly old. If she has had children
before, we haven't discovered them. You are beginning to present
with powers similar to hers. You already know she has visions of
the future. She can also read emotion, feed from it. We won't know
what else you've inherited until you learn to tap into your
powers.

Emma is quiet then. I'm not sure she really
knows how to have a conversation that isn't based solely on what
she needs to know. Being around her is like being slapped with
reality. In retrospect, I think it's why I chose to be her
Guardian. I refuse to believe it's for any other reason. She looks
defeated.

"You don't need to fear being exterminated,"
I say.

Emma looks at me then, her expression
even.

"I don't fear death," she says. Her voice is
calm, and her admission surprises me.

"Everyone is afraid of death."

Emma laughs. It's the first time I've heard
her amused, and it sends tingles down my spine. The smile, the
flash of teeth, the humor in her eyes transforms her. Again, I
admire a beauty that isn't always noticeable. Her beauty is
subtle.

"I really don't fear death. It's one
fear I've never had. I have been dying for six years. I've had a
long time to make peace with death. And now . . . I'm living. And I
think, if I'm being completely honest, I'm afraid of
not
dying."

I watch her face so close to mine, and I feel
my heart rate pick up slightly.

"You're afraid of living?" I ask. I'm having
a hard time understanding why getting a second chance at life
scares her. Emma shakes her head.

"I'm not afraid of living. I'm afraid of what
I might become given enough time."

I tell myself the catch in my throat isn't me
beginning to like her. I don't need the complication.

"I'm afraid of letting down the woman who
raised me," Emma adds.

I can tell she wants to cry, but she swallows
hard, and I watch as she forces the tears away. No crying for Emma.
Her bloody tears will mark her as weak. It's the quickest way to
die in the Acropolis.

"You'll need to learn to hide your fears, to
use them rather than let them rule you," I say. I ignore her moment
of weakness, and she looks at me with gratitude.

"I'll learn," she promises.

And I know she will. I know she will
because she has to. And Emma is pragmatic. She does what she has
to. It's the sign of a good leader, a protector. Being practical is
what makes our best gargoyles great.
This
is why I chose Emma. Because beneath the
fear, beneath the uncertainty, beneath her Demonic behavior is the
heart of a hero. And because of who her mother is, she has a hell
of a lot more to prove. To herself and to the Acropolis. She is
what the Acropolis was built for. If we fail her, then the school
is a failure.

Emma jumps down suddenly, using her hand to
shove my shirt into my palm. Her amber eyes are bright.

"You think you know me," she says.

She is reading the emotions rolling off of
me. There is respect there, but there is also doubt. I don't doubt
her. I doubt her lineage. I doubt the ability of a Demon to be more
than evil. But what she doesn't know, what I have successfully
hidden from her is that I want her to prove me wrong.

"You don't know me," she insists. And she's
right. I don't. We've had this conversation before. Maybe it's
because saying something over and over makes one believe it. Maybe
it's because neither one of us wants to admit we know the other
more than we want to. Because in the end, Demon or no, we are a lot
alike. Because in the end, both of us need to prove something to
ourselves. Because in the end, failure isn't an option. I nod at
the school.

"Training begins now."

She nods. The fear is in her eyes, but she
follows me toward the building while counting under her breath.
Bravery is being afraid of something and facing it anyway. Emma is
brave.

Chapter 20

Emma

The training room is an empty bedroom on the
second floor of the chateau. It has stone floors and stone walls
that are marred with scorch marks. We enter it slowly, and I try my
best not to hide behind Conor. I know from the mind-blowing
experience from the first floor that Demons feed off weakness. I
had touched too many minds today.

"Oh hell," Conor murmurs as a tall,
black-haired man with green eyes and sharp cheek bones approaches
us from across the room. He is in a solid black tee and jeans, his
eyes full of laughter as he nears the door.

"Lose a shirt?" he asks with a grin. He
flicks a wrist and a black t-shirt materializes in the air. Conor
grabs it and pulls it over his head. If he is shocked by the magic
that produces it, it isn't obvious.

"Luther," Conor says quietly.

The room is quiet, all eyes on the door.
Luther cocks a brow.

"Reinhardt. I see you left Italy."

Conor stands, his arms folded across his
chest. He is shorter than Luther but not by much.

"For now," Conor says, his eyes cold. "And
you? What brings you to the Acropolis?"

Luther's eyes move then, his gaze landing on
me. It travels from the bottom of my borrowed boy's jeans to the
cropped black tee. I fight the flush I feel developing.

"Curiosity," Luther says, his eyes narrowing
as they meet my gaze.

I am suddenly weak, my body heavy as I feel
the crush of his gaze. I see things in those eyes I never want to
see again. Death. Blood. A lot of blood. He is feeding off a human.
He isn't a gargoyle. He's a Demon, but a strange Demon that thirsts
for blood. I gasp before I realize the sound has slipped out.

"Emma," Luther says, his eyes full of
something dark. It frightens me. Conor steps between us.

"Haven't you heard? Curiosity kills," Conor
breathes. His back is rigid. Luther laughs.

"Calm down, gargoyle. I'm not here to harm
anyone. I'm here to train your little half-mortal projects."

I hear the hiss Conor's breath makes when he
exhales.

"You?"

"The one and only," Luther says lightly. He
lowers his voice. "I was informed there would be a student who
could use my expertise."

Luther backs away, his hand gesturing to the
line of students and Guardians against the wall.

"Please, join us. Better late than
never."

Conor is wary now. He hides it well, but I
feel it. It makes me cautious as Conor joins the Guardians and nods
at an opposite wall. The hybrids. Deidra is among them, her small
body lost in the mass of larger, more powerful Demons. She grins at
me, and I move toward her. She is trying to hide her fear, but I
feel it on her. I know her weakness is obvious to the others. She
is a target.

"You okay?" she asks me as I lean against the
wall next to her.

Lyre is sneering a few feet away so I nod.
Deidra gestures at Conor who is watching Luther as if he is
prey.

"There's history there," Deidra says.

"I noticed," I answer.

"Rumor says Mr. Craig is the brother of the
Demon who stole away Conor's last mark."

I assume Mr. Craig is Luther, and I watch him
closely. He keeps throwing glances in Conor's direction, and I know
it's only a matter of time before they come to a head. Something
passes between them and Conor nods. From the emotions I feel coming
from Conor, I know they are going to meet. I am curious about
Conor's secrets. More curious than I should be, and I look away
because I know I shouldn't care.