Acropolis (15 page)

Luther snorts.

"I could take her with me. Return her to her
mother."

I turn and pin him with a gaze full of
murder.

"You won't take her anywhere."

Luther raises his brow.

"Possessive, are we? No worries. She isn't my
type."

I walk out the door. My meeting with Luther
is finished.

"What? You're not interested in my type,
Reinhardt?"

I keep walking.

"Just so you know, I've developed a taste for
witches."

My steps never falter.

Chapter 22

Emma

I feel like a horrible person. No
matter how many times I try to tell myself I hadn't enjoyed the
idea of killing Lyre, the simple truth is, I
had
enjoyed it.

"I wouldn't beat yourself up," a steady male
voice says, and I look over at Will Reinhardt sullenly.

It has been hours since the training session,
the evening meal has come and gone, and I am sitting in a sectioned
off space in an old stable. Beyond an open door is a large room
full of bunk beds. Top bunks are for Guardians, the bottoms are for
the hybrids they are assigned to protect. I have been placed alone
in a room that contains only one bunk bed, a small table with a
single drawer, and a straight back wooden chair. There is a thick
wooden door separating me from the rest of the hybrids. For now, it
stands open, and I feel the wariness emanating from the room
beyond. I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I think my actions in
training have delegated me to some sort of weird solitary
confinement.

"I'm trying not to care," I say honestly.

I'm sitting down on the wooden chair, and I'm
facing the outer room. Curious gazes glance in occasionally, but
the other hybrids mostly avoid me with the exception of Deidra who
is even now sitting cross legged on the top bunk. She's eating a
bag of salt and vinegar potato chips.

"They are
so
not worth it," Deidra says hotly, her small
hands gesturing derisively at the door.

Will is leaning against the wall near the
room's exit, and he shoves away from it, his face sympathetic as he
moves to my side. He crouches next to me. This close, the
resemblance between him and Conor is kind of scary. Will shares the
same dark blond hair as his cousin, the same startling blue eyes,
and the same boyish charm. But there's something younger about
Will, and it's not just his age. At seventeen, only a year
separates the two boys, but Conor seems more . . . used. It's such
an awful word. Maybe jaded is better.

"Being a Demon doesn't mean you're evil,"
Will says softly.

Deidra snorts.

"You're too tolerant, Will Reinhardt."

Will looks up at the imp, his eyes hard.

"And you're too pessimistic for your
age."

Deidra shrugs. She crinkles the empty bag of
chips and throws it easily into a metal wastebasket across the room
before grabbing the low railing on the side of the bed, using it to
flip onto the floor below. In normal society, she would have made
an amazing gymnast.

"You hang around here long enough, you get
that way," she says as she peers out the door."But you, Emma Chase,
were magnificent today!"

Deidra is beaming when I look up into her
face. She's too young to crave revenge but that's the emotion I
feel coming from her, and I don't want to encourage it.

"How is it that everyone I meet here already
knows my name?" I ask, changing the subject. It's a reasonable
question, and the first thing that comes to mind. Will grins.

"Hon, that's just the way things work here.
It's uncanny isn't it? When I was inducted into the Inner Circle,
there wasn't a single dead-blasted person who didn't already know
who I was."

Deidre rolls her eyes.

"You're a Reinhardt."

I ignore her. Will's answer has made me
curious.

"The Inner Circle?"

Will looks at the door, his face hesitant.
For a moment, I don't think he'll answer, and then he nods.

"The Inner Circle is a group of gargoyles who
have come into their powers and are trained enough to enter
service. Most begin as escorts. This is a transport job. Rarely
does one enter as a Guardian."

Deidra has moved away from the door.

"Finally! Interesting convo! Tell us about
Conor."

Will's eyes narrow. "What?"

I can feel Deidra's excitement, and it makes
my heart beat faster.

"She's got a crush," I say with a grin.

Deidra scrunches her face, crossing her arms
defensively.

"And what if I do?"

The corner of Will's mouth lifts, the humor
in his eyes obvious.

"You wouldn't be the first, Imp, but I'm not
talking about Conor. I don't gossip about family."

An image flashes through my mind, and I find
myself staring at Will's fist.

"What did he do to your hand?" I ask.

Will's confusion is obvious until he follows
my gaze. He flexes his fingers, his eyes finding mine.

"You can see that?"

I nod. He flexes his hand again, and I know
he is torn between the need to defend his cousin and to keep his
mouth shut.

"Conor came into his powers earlier than
usual. He was sixteen when he presented with signs of the change.
His affinity with water especially, and his ability to climb
anything. And then . . ." Will lifts his hand. "And then, when he
turned seventeen, the two of us got into a pretty nasty fight. It
was stupid really. I don't even remember what it was about. A girl,
maybe? I don't know, but I-I went to punch him."

Deidra is practically hanging from Will's
shoulder now. Her eyes are bright.

"And then what?" she asks.

"And then I turned to stone, and the bones in
his hand shattered," a voice says, and we all look up quickly, our
faces red.

Conor Reinhardt leans casually against the
open door frame, an eyebrow raised. My chest feels funny, but I
ignore it. I keep seeing Will's fist in my hand, the bones like
powder. It is healed. In my head, I see this, but there is metal in
Will's hand now too.

"It didn't mend properly," I say.

Conor's gaze moves to my face.

"No," he says, "Will didn't have enough
healing ability in his body yet."

Will looks at me.

"How did you know that?"

I shrug. I don't know how I know anything
anymore.

"Deidra," Conor says softly, his eyes still
on me. "Marion will be looking for you. Lights out in twenty
minutes."

Deidra nods, her gaze moving between us.

"Okay . . . see you tomorrow, Emma?"

I look up at her and grin. She sounds so
hopeful, I can't help but feel warm. She's young, she's a little
annoying, but she was an instant friend when I needed one. I wink
and nod. She smiles, her teeth flashing before skipping out of the
room. Conor nods his head at Will.

"Go with her. Make sure no one hurts her,"
Conor orders.

Will stands, pats my leg once, and is gone.
Silence hangs between us. I'm not sure how long we stand there
before I notice the room beyond getting quiet, people climbing into
their bunks. With no windows, I'm not sure how late it is, but I'm
assuming it's time for bed.

"Did you get a chance to shower?" Conor
asks.

I nod once. Will had taken me to a bathroom
in one of the cottages after dinner, standing outside while I
showered and changed. I'm wearing Conor's pajamas again, now
freshly laundered. There's a clean red t-shirt and a new pair of
jeans folded on a small table against the wall.

Conor points at the bed, and I move to the
lower bunk. It has only one pillow and a simple threadbare, grey
comforter. I hate grey.

"You'll be kept here until they can trust
your powers," Conor says as he steps further into the room,
reaching behind me to pull the door closed.

I am suddenly in an alternate universe where
they let eighteen-year-old boys sleep unchaperoned in the same room
with seventeen-year-old girls. One look at Conor and most girls
would be thrilled by this sudden turn of events. I am just plain
terrified.

"Shouldn't we keep the door open?" I ask.

Somehow, I manage to keep my voice from
shaking, and I consider this a triumph.

Conor looks down at me.

"Are you afraid of being alone with me,
Emma?"

I shake my head, probably more vigorously
than the moment warrants.

"N-no, but . . ."

"We don't run the same way a normal society
runs, Em. You've proven dangerous. I'm your Guardian, and I am
sworn into a very specific code of conduct that says it is illegal
for me to touch you," Conor says before climbing onto the top bunk.
I notice he keeps his shirt on.

"Oh," I mumble before sliding down under the
covers.

I stare up at the bunk above my head. A few
minutes later, the lights go out. I assume they run on a universal
switch. The room is pitch black. I feel my heart rate pick up. I'm
afraid of the dark. Or I thought I was.

The energy running through me feels different
now. I wonder suddenly if all the fears I'd once felt had been
fears I'd picked up from others. The feeling I feel now is
contentment, safety. The dark seems to be calling to me. I sit
up.

"Em?" Conor says. I hear him shift in the bed
above.

"I wonder if they know the door doesn't
help," I ask, my eyes staring into the blackness surrounding me.
I'm feeling calm, disturbed, uneasy. It's too many emotions at
once.

"What do you mean?" Conor asks.

I sigh.

"I can still feel their emotions."

The scene in the hallway with Lyre earlier
has done something to me. It's as if a dam has burst open, and
there is no bridge between my emotions and others. They all
collide.

"You've always felt them," Conor says
gently.

I shake my head even though I know he can't
see me. "No."

Conor climbs off the bed. How he sees is
beyond me.

"Yes, you have. The world is full of fears.
You have always been surrounded by them. Think about it, Em. You
were dying. You were in hospitals. People in hospitals are afraid.
You picked up on that. And now that you're not around that, you're
becoming more aware of what emotions are yours and what aren't.
Most Demons fear nothing."

I am angry, and I wonder if it's my own
emotion.

"This is ridiculous," I say.

I hear a catch in my voice, and I hate it.
The bed dips, and I feel Conor climb in next to me. I'm cross
legged now, my back against the wall, and I feel his arm touch
mine.

"All of this has happened too fast to
process, and you haven't asked any questions."

"I have them now."

Conor inhales deeply.

"Then ask them."

I turn my face toward the sound of his
voice.

"Why does everyone know my name?"

Conor barely pauses to exhale.

"Gargoyles work as a group. Every family is
plugged into a network depending on status. As soon as you were
selected for Extraction, your name went through the ranks. Your
medical and personal records were given to those who would have the
most contact with you."

"And how did they get those?"

Conor is silent a moment.

"You've been in the system for a long time,
Em. Most hybrids aren't discovered until they are older. We've
known you were a Demon since you were born. A gargoyle by the name
of Delilah Simpson found you. Your mother was with a human man in
the Northwestern United States. I don't know his name. Delilah
probably does. There was a Demon attack in the town your father
lived in. More than likely, Satan became aware that Enepsigos had a
child."

"And why does Satan care?" I ask.

This conversation is surreal, but I go with
the flow. I'm getting answers. That has to be enough.

"That's a hard one. You are the daughter of
Enepsigos. He may have been after you for power, or he may just
want you dead. Hybrids are becoming a problem in Hell. In Heaven,
Angels are forbidden to lay with mortal women. If they break this
rule, they become fallen or exiled. The same rules don't apply in
Hell. And the hybrids are beginning to outnumber the full blooded
Demons."

I don't say anything for a while. I just
stare. It's funny how if there is no light, the eyes begin to
adjust to the darkness. I can make out vague shapes now. Each time
I blink, my eyes have to readjust.

"Is Satan worried about an uprising?" I
finally ask.

Conor moves closer, his arm fully against
mine. I'm not sure he's aware of the movement, but I find myself
hoping he doesn't move away.

"Possibly. It would help our cause if there
were an uprising. But, for now, we are more worried about a war
between Heaven and Hell on Earth. It would put humans in the
crossfire. Gargoyles are here to protect mankind. If there is a way
to minimize the chance of war, we'll take it. If that means
training hybrid Demons to fight against their own kind, we are not
above it."

His voice is low. He rocks his leg, and I
feel it bumping into my knee. I don't think he's nervous, I think
he's restless.

"It might help if you try liking us," I say
suddenly. Conor pauses.

"Liking who?"

"Hybrids," I answer. "I wonder if the
animosity at this school is as much the Demons' fault as it is the
gargoyles. You already have us judged. Am I the only hybrid who can
feed off emotion? Do you ever wonder if the anger is
channeled?"

Conor doesn't answer right away. When he
does, he is facing me. I can feel his breath on my face.

"I honestly don't know."

He sounds tired. I like the charming Conor
better. The one who seems to have it all figured out. I'm too close
to him, but the dark makes me brave, and I don't move away.