Secret of the Gargoyles (Gargoyle Guardian Chronicles Book 3) (3 page)

I finally realized what she was asking of me. “You don’t need me to heal Rourke. You need me to fix the baetyl.”

“It is my last hope.”

Relief washed the strength from my limbs and I sat. I had an answer to the dormancy sickness.
I had a cure.
I even understood why Celeste had taken so long to come forward. In telling me about the existence of baetyls, she’d endangered the lives of all gargoyles. Even Oliver had never mentioned a baetyl to me, and he trusted me with his life. For all Celeste knew, I could publish the information, and then there’d be a mob of unscrupulous scavengers hunting for baetyls and the helpless gargoyles inside. She’d had to extend her trust even further in asking me to fix Rourke’s baetyl: To fix it, I’d have to be told its exact location.

I have a cure.
I repeated the words again in my head to savor them. This morning I’d despaired of finding a remedy in time, and now . . .
I have a cure.
The words reknit my confidence. My inability to cure the comatose gargoyles hadn’t been my fault. I’d been attacking the symptom, and the problem wasn’t even a part of the gargoyles. It existed elsewhere, outside their bodies.

The ramifications of that thought dampened my satisfaction. The problem existed
outside
the gargoyles.

“When Rourke said his baetyl was injured, did he mean the baetyl itself or the baetyl’s magic?” I asked.

“They’re the same thing. A baetyl’s magic is the baetyl,” Celeste said, confused by my distinction.

“Is a baetyl’s magic like a gargoyle’s?” I was a quartz savant, but my skills with normal five-element magic weren’t half as impressive. It meant I could perform amazing feats with quartz-tuned earth, which was how I became a healer of gargoyles and their living-quartz bodies, but the rest of my abilities were midlevel at best.

“A baetyl’s magic is . . .” Celeste hunted for the right word.

“Everything,” Oliver said.

Celeste nodded, as if he’d made sense.

I tamped down my frustration, knowing they weren’t being purposely obtuse. We were close to saving the dormant gargoyles. All I had to do was figure out how to fix a baetyl, which as far as I could tell was either a cave with magic or a form of magic contained in a cave.

A magic that could heal comatose gargoyles. A magic that was
everything
.

Fixing a cave I could probably do, especially with the help of gargoyles to boost my magic. Fixing a form of magic itself sounded beyond my capabilities.

“How big is a baetyl?” I asked.

“I’ve never been inside Rourke’s, but probably no larger than this park,” Celeste said.

I struggled to keep my expression blank. Focal Park covered over a square mile. I was hopelessly out of my depth.

“Are you asking me only because you don’t think you can trust anyone else? I can find you others—”
Stronger elementals.

“No. No one else has a chance of helping,” Celeste said. “You’re the closest thing to a gargoyle who can work magic. If any human can integrate with the baetyl’s magic, it is you, Guardian.”

Oliver nodded in agreement.

I stared at them both in astonishment. They saw me as a pseudo-gargoyle? It was flattering and perplexing all at once.

“You’re sure this is the only answer? Maybe I could replicate a baetyl’s magic here,” I suggested.

“You couldn’t even come close. This is the only way.”

Of course it was. “Once I fix the baetyl, Rourke and the others will recover?”

“After they’ve spent long enough inside it, yes.”

I took a deep breath and modified my previous plan to include finding the secret location of Rourke’s baetyl, carting over three thousand pounds of frozen gargoyles inside, and
then
repairing a form of magic I knew nothing about in a cave larger than several city blocks. Because I was a guardian or because I was the equivalent of a human gargoyle, Celeste believed me capable of all three impossible tasks.

I’d have to be, too, since seven lives depended on it.

“You don’t happen to know where his baetyl is, do you?” I asked.

“Of course.”

My spirits lifted. “Really? Where?”

“Waupecony Ridge.”

Her words punched my gut and I deflated. “You mean Reaper’s Ridge?”

3

The Native Americans hadn’t been poetic when they named the white quartz–laden peak Waupecony Ridge, or White Bone Ridge. They understood the perils of the mountain, but early settlers wouldn’t listen to their warnings, especially not once they saw the veins of gold lacing the snowy quartz. From the beginning, there were reports of Waupecony Ridge miners who lost their memory and even more who wandered from the mining camps only to be found days or weeks later, starved, dead, and often the snack of local predators.

Then the Hidden Cache Mining Company had purchased rights to the entire ridge and begun large-scale mining. They pulled a fortune from the mountain for several years—right up until forty-three of their miners were torn asunder in a freak explosion of wild fire and earth magic. It was the first in a battery of elemental storms, and when they couldn’t be contained, the federal government had decreed the area too dangerous for continued operation. That hadn’t prevented the elemental storms raging across the hillsides from claiming a life or two a year, killing hikers and fortune hunters too foolish to heed the restrictions, earning the area the nickname Reaper’s Ridge.

Occasionally, a Federal Pentagon Defense squad would be dispatched to Reaper’s Ridge to subdue wayward storms, and even the elite FPD warriors couldn’t do much more than enforce a wide perimeter around the ridge.

Why did the baetyl have to be there?

“I can’t do this on my own. I’m going to need help,” I said.

“I’ll help,” Celeste said, and Oliver seconded her.

I nodded, not really listening. I would have preferred going to Kylie for assistance. She was my best friend and had helped me in the past, but she was out of town, covering the blooming of the Asking Tree for the
Terra Haven Chronicle
. Even if she had been available, she was a journalist at heart. Dangling exclusive information about gargoyle birthing grounds in her face, then telling her she had to keep it a secret, would be pure torture. More practically, she didn’t have the physical strength, magical know-how, or warrior training I’d need to survive Reaper’s Ridge. I needed the help of seasoned full-spectrum elementals. I needed Captain Grant Monaghan and his squad.

When I said as much to Celeste, she leapt to her feet and loomed over me. “You can’t tell anyone, especially not
five
more people.”

Despite her menacing stance, she didn’t scare me this time. I knew her posturing was born of fear, not a desire to hurt me. Nevertheless, I stood up, walking to Rourke’s side to put some space between myself and the incensed gryphon.

“You said you don’t know how much more time Rourke has. We need to work quickly, and I trust Captain Monaghan and his squad with my life. He was the one who led the efforts to save Rourke and the park.” He’d done more than that: It’d been Grant and his team of FPD warriors who had saved the city, and they’d trusted me to work alongside them to help injured gargoyles. If anyone could get us through the storms on Reaper’s Ridge, it was Grant’s team.

Grant also happened to be the only leader of an FPD squad that I was on a first-name basis with and the only one who would believe me if I said my perilous mission was necessary. More important, he and his squad were the only people I would trust with this secretive mission.

“They are not guardians. They cannot help,” Celeste insisted.

“I wouldn’t suggest we go to Grant’s squad unless I thought they were necessary
and
trustworthy,” I said. “Think about it. How would I get Rourke to the baetyl by myself? I can’t carry him, and even if I could, what about the others? How would I protect them from the wild storms? As much as I’d love to do this on my own, I need help. This isn’t a one-woman mission.”

Lacking the muscles to carry a gargoyle didn’t bother me, but admitting to being too weak as an elemental to protect them rankled. The gargoyles of Terra Haven depended on me. If I couldn’t be everything the gargoyles needed, then it was up to me to make sure I found others who could shore up my shortcomings.

It took an hour of circular arguments before I convinced Celeste, and when she finally agreed, she insisted we leave immediately. I concurred; we didn’t have any time to waste.

We exited the park together, with Oliver and I staying well clear of Celeste’s snapping tail. In the early days after the destruction of Focal Park, Oliver and I had drawn a lot of attention. Few gargoyles left their rooftop perches and fewer still walked the streets with a human companion. With Kylie’s front-page “Gargoyle Healer Saves Terra Haven” article fresh in everyone’s mind, complete with a picture of Oliver and me, we couldn’t have been more recognizable if we’d carried signs. But after a few weeks, the small crowds we’d drawn in our wake had faded. We’d become neighborhood fixtures and recipients of friendly waves and greetings, which I much preferred.

With Celeste stalking at my side, we were back to spectacle status. I ignored the stares and pointing fingers and concentrated on what I’d say to convince Captain Monaghan to help us.

Every few blocks, a fresh wellspring of gargoyle-enhanced magic burst open inside me. The unexpected gush of available magic repeatedly caught me off guard, tripping me mentally and physically even though I should have been used to it by now. Ever since the incident in Focal Park, gargoyles had started providing magic boosts for me whenever I was in range, whether or not I was using the elements at the time. Since gargoyles were particular about who they enhanced and typically didn’t attempt to boost an elemental who wasn’t actively using magic, it was flattering. Oliver claimed it was a sign of respect for a guardian, but up until today, I’d dismissed his explanation as a by-product of his hero worship. I couldn’t help but notice that with Celeste accompanying us, the frequency of the boosts had increased threefold, as if her presence added weight to my reputation.

I acknowledged the offerings with waves and nods to the serious gargoyles who watched us pass from their high perches, for the first time in a long time feeling worthy of their favor. I had a real plan to help the comatose gargoyles, not just desperate hopes and ineffective remedies. Thinking about Reaper’s Ridge, I amended the thought: I had a plan
and
desperate hopes.

Oliver was the only one of us who’d ever been to the squad’s home base, so he led the way. None of us spoke as we left behind the bustle of downtown and climbed the gentle hills on the east side of Terra Haven. Enormous mansions jutted along the tops of the rolling crests, but we turned onto a flagstone pathway halfway up a slope and stopped in front of a bright yellow two-story stucco house with a nine-foot-tall wooden door. Celeste flew up to the roof, landing soundlessly on the terra-cotta tiles and disappearing. I steeled myself and knocked.

No one answered. I waited a minute, counting the seconds as they passed, then tried again, pounding the iron knocker against the wood with all my strength. Eleven seconds later, the door burst open and Marcus Velasquez loomed over me. I fell back a step, then caught myself. Cold blue eyes burned into me, and a muscle bunched in his anvil of a jaw. Recognition dawned a second later, and the rugged fire elemental’s intimidating pose relaxed fractionally, but his forbidding expression didn’t alter. Without saying anything, he crossed his tan arms over his chest—a move that emphasized his thick biceps and wide shoulders—and leaned against one side of the door frame, obviously waiting for me to speak.

A flurry of bubbles rioted in my stomach.

“I . . . Is Grant here?” I squeaked.

Sometime during the catastrophe at Focal Park, I’d developed a crush on Marcus. The last time I’d seen him, I’d even convinced myself that he was interested in me, too. But I’d been too busy hunting for a cure for the dormant gargoyles to devise a casual way to bump into him and reassess my feelings for him under more normal circumstances—like when he wasn’t saving my life—and he’d never sought me out. After a few months, I decided I’d made everything up, my crush included.

Up until five seconds ago, I’d believed myself, too.

“Hi to you, too, Mika Stillwater.” His deep voice rolled through me.

“Hi, uh, Marcus.” I flushed.
Get over yourself
.
You’re not here to ask him out. You’re here to help Rourke and the other gargoyles.

“Hi, Marcus,” Oliver said.

“Hey, Oliver.” The gargoyle got a small smile.

“Is Grant here?” I managed to get the words out without sounding strangled this time. Bully for me.

Those cool blue eyes fastened on me again, and I wondered what had ever made me think he might have been interested in me. It’d clearly all been a euphoric side effect of my near-death experiences. Marcus was an accomplished fire elemental in an FPD squad. He was so far out of my league he may as well have been on another continent.

“He’s out.”

“Seradon?” I asked. The squad’s earth elemental had liked me. She’d help.