Acropolis (3 page)

"Sweet Jesus!"

I drop the call and take flight, bat-like
wings unfurling from my back through a navy t-shirt rigged for
impromptu flight. I don't care if Gibson curses me a thousand times
over for hanging up on him. This Extraction is destined to go awry.
If the wrong forces know where the girl is, Will is headed for
trouble.

Chapter 4

Emma

They wanted to sedate me. When my mother
refused, they suggested a straight jacket. I had, after all,
attacked one of their doctors. Not intentionally. Never
intentionally, but I had almost choked her to death.

Dr. Helen Reed is insensible now, yelling
something about "her impossible strength." Apparently, I had also
cracked one of her ribs.

"Adrenaline can heighten abilities," a male
voice says from behind the curtain where I am now being held.

I'm not in the cushy Psychology wing anymore.
I'm not really sure where I am. I am strapped down to a stretcher,
my mother and several medical personnel arguing outside the
sectioned off cubicle they had transported me to. There is no fight
left in me. My face is stiff, and I know my cheeks are streaked
with blood. This scares me. Is this finally it for me?

"Adrenaline, my ass, Franklin!" Dr. Reed
practically shouts. I had really scared her. I had scared
myself.

"She isn't dangerous," my mother says, her
voice small. I can see her now with her tall, skeletal frame, her
hands rubbing arms that never seem warm anymore.

"I beg to differ," Reed argues.

I am really beginning to dislike the woman.
Maybe her job has jaded her. She obviously has no compassion.

I want to move my arms. They are getting that
pins and needles feel from being motionless too long. I hadn't
meant to hurt anyone. I had been terrified. Nothing more.

"If you could just tell me what I need to do
to get her released . . ." my mother begins.

Dr. Reed cackles wildly, her words so fast
and furious, my spinning head can't keep up. The male voice rises
again, and I hear him summon more individuals, invisible people,
who draw Helen Reed away. Shadowy figures move chaotically beyond
my fabric wall for what seems like hours before a hand suddenly
grips the curtain and shoves it aside. My heart rate increases.

"Ms. Chase?" a familiar male voice says.

From where I lay, the man looks tall,
his lanky body swathed in grayish-blue scrubs. He is a young doctor
with reddish-brown hair and an angular face. If they were casting a
movie for the modern-day
Wizard of
Oz
, he'd make the perfect scarecrow.

"How are we doing?" he asks as he approaches
me. His eyes are small, sharp. They make me nervous.

"Where's my mother?"

He glances over his shoulder at the hall.

"She will be here in a moment," he says
cautiously. "Emma . . . can I call you that?"

I nod.

"We need to admit you, run some tests, find
out what may be happening to you."

I look down at the restraints on my arm.

"Can you take these off, p-please?"

My voice is small. Anxiety consumes me. I am
light-headed and nauseous. Being restrained only makes me panic
more.

"They're for your own safety, Ms. Chase. I
can sit you up if you like."

I want to sob, but I nod instead. He moves to
my side, using a lever to lift the head of the bed. From an
inclined angle, he doesn't look as tall as he had before. Lanky
definitely, medium height, sharp features . . . .

"I'm Roosevelt Franklin. I work for the
hospital."

"R-r-roosevelt F-franklin . . .?"

My teeth are chattering, and I bite down on
the inside of my cheek to keep myself from being incoherent.
Roosevelt smiles wryly, his dark eyes gleaming in the bright
fluorescent room.

"My parents had a thing for great American
heroes. Most people just call me Roach."

Roaches are disgusting, sneaky insects whose
name makes my skin crawl. My anxiety kicks up a notch.

"Y-you're not a doctor?"

He laughs.

"Hell, no."

Being strapped down doesn't seem like such a
bad idea anymore. His crass answer fuels my fear, makes me want to
lash out. Fight and flight.

"Where's my mother?" I ask again, slightly
panicked.

Roosevelt begins to look annoyed. It isn't a
good look for him. His eyes are beady, his face tight.

"Look , Emma . . ."

"You were never good at subtlety, Roach," a
male voice interrupts. It has a distinctive Southern drawl I find
immediately comforting. A genuine doctor this time?

"And you were never good at following
orders," Roach hisses. "
I
work
on the inside."

"Rules were made to be broken," the voice
answers. There is an accompanying male snicker. A third man?

"He's incorrigible. Even his own mother
refuses to work with him," the third voice says. It is definitely
male and as Southern as the voice before it.

I am frozen with fear. There are footsteps on
the linoleum floor behind me, and I flinch as a hand settles gently
against my forehead. The hand is large and cool.

"Hello, Emma. I'm Conor Reinhardt, and I'm
here to help you. Promise you won't run, and I'll take off your
restraints."

His voice is low, hypnotic.

"P-please . . ."

"Promise me, Emma," Conor says patiently.

I nod against his hand. The light pressure on
my head vanishes as he moves to my side.

"You dimwit! You can't just release her until
we're sure she's not a risk!" Roach argues as I get my first look
at Conor Reinhardt.

There are no adjectives strong enough to
describe the blue jean, navy tee-clad young man I see now before
me. He is tall, maybe six foot with dark blond hair and startling
blue eyes. His hair is carelessly long, falling onto his forehead
as he leans over me, pulling first one strap free and then another.
I don't move.

"She's not a flight risk," Conor says calmly
as his eyes meet mine. There is an indefinable gleam in his sky
blue gaze. Sympathy maybe?

"Where's my mother?" I whisper.

He grins crookedly, his face full of an
assurance I don't feel.

"She's safe, sweetheart. But you're not.
That's why I'm here."

"
We're
here," a sullen voice interjects. Conor looks over my head
and grins.

"Cousins. Now
they
are incorrigible." He motions idly. "That
scruffy imbecile behind you is Will Reinhardt, bane of any woman's
existence."

Roosevelt Franklin flaps his hands
angrily.

"Can the introductions, Reinhardt! You sorry,
low-life, inbred . . ."

I stiffen.

"And that charming jackass," Conor says as he
waves his hand at the fluttering man beside him. "Isn't worth your
time."

Conor moves to my feet, removing each
restraint as gently as he can.

"You have the gall to call me a mule! You
wretched, moronic . . ."

"Write it in your journal and call it a
dictionary, Roach. We don't have time," Conor says.

I sit up slowly, pain flaring in my
extremities as blood rushes back down into my hands and feet. I
feel my face heat, fear making electric tingles shoot down my
spine. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, preparing to do
something other than listen to the men insult each other.

"You promised, darlin'. No running," Conor
chides as a slightly shorter, but no less impressive version of him
moves toward me. Will Reinhardt?

I scoot away and the boy freezes, throwing
his hands up in a gesture of peace. It is a no-win situation. Every
time I edge away from any of them, I move closer to another. I am
feeling closed in. A scream works its way into my throat, and a
hand suddenly clamps over my mouth.

"No yelling. I wasn't lying when I said you
were in danger."

Conor's breath wafts against my ear, and I
squeal, my eyes wide. I try shaking him off, my teeth bared against
his palm.

"She suffers from pantophobia, you idiot! She
fears everything," Roach snarls.

I am shaking uncontrollably now, my body a
mass of nerves. Nausea rips through my stomach, and I gag against
Conor's hand. I am having trouble breathing. Distantly, I hear Will
swear as Conor freezes behind me.

"And that's what they meant by shy. Gotta
love getting the run around," Conor whispers against my ear.

My pulse is beating too rapidly now, my heart
a war drum in my chest. My skin is heating. I whimper without
meaning too, my mind and body refusing to surrender. I thrash
violently, my teeth bearing down.

"Don't!" Conor warns, and I watch in horror
as his hand transforms, turning to stone against my lips.

"You'll only shatter your teeth if you do
that."

I scream against his granite-like palm, my
hands coming up to grip his arm. It isn't hard like his hand, and I
dig my nails in ruthlessly. He doesn't even flinch. He chuckles
instead, the sound causing me to tense as he pulls me off the bed
and against his chest.

"It's nice to see the fear doesn't immobilize
you."

Roach growls. "And you wanted to take off her
restraints! Do you really believe she would have been tied to her
own bed if she wasn't a risk? Her fears make her insensible. They
make her dangerous!"

"They make her fight," Conor says quietly.
"And she's going to need a lot of fight where she's going."

I am crying now, blood-tinged tears
spilling over Conor's stone hand. He has turned to
stone
!
Stone
! I am losing my mind. I am hallucinating! I
am finally dying and these are my last moments, a hospital room
full of crazy men with outrageous abilities. Is it possible to be
aware of your own craziness?

"We need to go," Will says shortly. Conor
doesn't argue.

"We had to battle . . ." Conor pauses as if
he is afraid what he's about to say will render me even more
senseless. I hate to tell him, but I am already well beyond
insanity. Even though I know it is pointless, I keep thrashing. I
will fight until there isn't any fight left in me.

"We had a little skirmish outside. They know
she's here. Unless you want real trouble on your hands, we need to
go," Conor says to Roach. Roach still looks angry, his face almost
purple with rage, but he doesn't argue anymore.

He goes into action instead, moving equipment
around angrily before transforming in front of my eyes. One moment
he is a beady-eyed man, the next a serpentine figure, a mix of
snake and dragon. I scream and scream, thrashing and fighting until
I feel myself beginning to tire. I sag a little against Conor's
chest, still fighting.

"Shhhhhhh . . ."

He is crooning softly in my ear as if I am a
child needing soothed. He frightens me. They all do.

"I need you to try and calm down, Em. We're
not here to hurt you. I know things are scary. But what is after
you is a helluva lot scarier than we could ever be. We're
gargoyles, a race of people created to guard against evil. That's
the short version. We don't have time for the long. Roach, there,
is a specific type of gargoyle. Some of us are unique, have certain
powers. Roach's line has the power of invisibility. He's going to
get us out of here."

His words are meant to be comforting, an
explanation maybe, and still I fight. He moves as he speaks, his
words breathless as he works to keep up with Roach and Will while
trying to manage me. We aren't in the cubicle anymore, but where we
are is beyond me. We are speeding through the hospital so swiftly,
the walls and floors blur into one. Occasionally we slow, and I
catch a glimpse of the serpentine Roach curling around corners. I
am still screaming against Conor's stone hand.

"Hang on, sweetheart," Conor breathes as he
pushes through an opening. Wind pummels my hair.

I take in the scene absentmindedly, concrete
below my feet, a blue open sky above. It is noon, that time of day
when the sun is brutal no matter how cold it is outside. There is
no doubt we are on the roof. I thrash harder.

"Damned if you aren't a resilient little
thing," Conor grounds out as he tightens his grip before bracing
his feet against the roof. There is a loud "whoosh," and we are
suddenly airborne. Oh my God! I kick furiously.

"Now is really not the time to keep thrashing
like that," Conor points out.

His arms loosen somewhat, giving me enough
maneuverability to glance in a direction other than forward. I make
the mistake of looking down. My fingers dig into Conor's arms.

"OMMMMMMGGGGGGOOOOO," I scream against his
now human-like palm.

I look up frantically only to find myself
staring at huge bat-like wings. It is obvious they belong to the
man holding me hostage. I scream again before thrashing against his
hold. Better to die now. I am definitely hallucinating. Conor's
arms tighten again, strong enough to squeeze the breath out of my
lungs.

"Sweetheart, at this rate, we are both going
to be sore as hell tomorrow."

I think, if I hadn't been pretty sure I was
having coma-induced night terrors, I would have been amused by
Conor. He is quite the figment of my imagination.

I see the serpentine Roach from the corner of
my eye, floating on air currents nearby while more "whooshing"
behind marks the vigilant presence of Will Reinhardt.

Roach growls, his reptilian voice hoarse and
rumbling.

"Just so you know, that was a very messy
Extraction."

Chapter 5

Conor

The girl is a mess. She has calmed down some,
the fight draining out of her. Her hair is long and dark, hanging
down her back in tangles. There is dried blood everywhere. Her
face, if clean, would have been smooth. Her skin seems flawless.
But it is her eyes that first catch my attention. They are amber.
They are terrified. They are tinged red.