FREED (Angels and Gargoyles Book 2) (7 page)

She finally found the switch and aimed the six shooter again. She fired, and this time the weapon discharged. The gargoyle paused for a second, touching a place just under its shoulder. He turned and grabbed the weapon from Dylan’s hands.

“That hurts,” it grumbled.

“Let me go!” she cried, kicking the leg the gargoyle was holding. He nearly lost control of it, but managed to keep her from getting loose.

Its axe appeared in its hand. “Stop or I will cut it off,” it said.

It didn’t wait for an answer. It began moving again. That was when Dylan realized it and its companion, the one that had grabbed Wyatt, were not alone. There were half a dozen other gargoyles in a far corner of the room waiting for them.

That’s when she knew it was over.

Along with the gargoyles were all of Dylan’s traveling companions. Sam and Ellie were huddled in the corner, their arms around each other in an almost intimate embrace. Bobby was standing against the wall as though he didn’t care that he had just been taken captive by a group of hideous, misshapen creatures. Carver was lying on the ground, unconscious, blood pouring from a wound on his head.

A diversion, Dylan realized. The fight in the street had been nothing more than a diversion.

“Where’s Wyatt?” she demanded.

“Coming,” one of the gargoyles said.

The gargoyle that had been holding Dylan’s ankle let go. She immediately crawled to Carver, touching his wound with two of her fingers as she imagined him the way he had been earlier in the day, so animated as he shared all the useless information he knew about the world before the war. Almost immediately the wound knitted itself and Carver opened his eyes.

“Dylan?” he asked, confusion in his dark eyes.

“You don’t even hide it,” one of the gargoyles said.

Dylan looked over at it, the one that had spoken. It was taller than the others, its face less distorted than the others’. In fact, it was almost handsome in the way its features were carved. If it weren’t for the horn sticking out of its forehead, that was.

“Should I?” she asked.

It moved closer to her, the others falling back as they watched it. “You once did.”

“How would you know?” Dylan asked, not really interested in the answer. Her eyes were on Wyatt. He had just appeared at the foot of the stairs, walking under his own power, but his arms were twisted behind his back as a gargoyle led him to the others.

“I was there,” a familiar voice said.

Demetria.

The handsome gargoyle had become Demetria.

Dylan’s ears began to ring, her hands to shake. She pushed back until she was sitting hard against the wall.

“What are you doing here?”

Demetria smiled softly, her familiar dark features so odd in this place. Dylan had always been so afraid of Demetria, afraid of breaking the rules of the dorm and being sent to the Administration building as Donna had been. Demetria was the one who had taken Davida from her, the one who had made overtures of replacing Donna and Dylan’s beloved guardian but failed miserably.

Demetria. The head guardian of D dorm.

“I’ve come for you, Dylan,” she said in that familiar soft voice.

“Why?”

Demetria came toward her, that smile never faltering. “You are very important, Dylan. Surely your friends have told you that by now.”

“The gargoyles are supposed to protect the humans.”

“Yes.”

“Then why haven’t you killed me?”

Demetria came to stand in front of Dylan, her toes pressing against Dylan’s. She dropped into a crouch and leaned forward, supporting herself with her hands on either side of Dylan’s head. “I need you alive,” she said simply.

“Get away from her,” Wyatt growled from where he was still a few yards across the room.

Demetria just continued to smile. “I see you have made good friends, dear Dylan.”

Dylan dropped her mind wall and tried to listen to Demetria’s thoughts. But nothing happened. She could hear Ellie’s very loud, very frightened thoughts, could hear Sam’s concern, Carver’s confusion. But nothing from Demetria or the other gargoyles.

“You can’t probe our minds,” Demetria said. “Our minds work differently from yours.”

“But I could…”

Dylan had once heard Demetria’s thoughts. At least, she thought she had. The day Donna was taken away, she had heard Demetria coming for her, and she had heard Demetria’s conviction that Donna would be dead by the end of the day. Or had it simply been a trick?

“You knew about Donna before Denise told you, didn’t you?”

Demetria tilted her head slightly. “I suspected. Thought I knew about you, too, but you hid it so well. Didn’t even know about your healing abilities until you were out in the desert. Alone.”

“You were watching me?”

“I was always watching you.” Demetria smoothed a piece of hair out of Dylan’s face with the palm of her hand. “When you came to the infant nursery with this hair and those unnaturally pale eyes, I knew there was a good chance you were special. But you failed to trigger any of their alarms. And I couldn’t get through to you.”

Dylan rubbed her own face, wiping away the heat of Demetria’s touch. Wyatt moved past them, the gargoyle releasing him only when he was standing beside Bobby against the far wall. Dylan looked over at him, tried to reassure him with a look, but could see she had failed badly. He refused to sit down with the others, but he also did not lean against the wall in the same falsely casual stance Bobby held.

“What do you mean, alarms?” Dylan asked as she focused on Demetria again.

“I mean they are constantly testing you girls. Why do you think that girl from A dorm suddenly sprouted wings? She always had the ability. They simply did something that forced them to manifest when she was unprepared. They were always doing things like that.”

Dylan shook her head. “I don’t remember—”

“The computer,” Demetria said, as though leading a slow child through a lesson that should have been simple but was not. “Did you really think all those lessons about soil consistency and fictional characters were really all that important?”

“They were preparing us for—”

“For what? For wandering and dying in the desert? Are you really so naïve, Dylan?”

“I don’t believe you.” Dylan ducked under Demetria’s arm and stood, her back screaming with pain as all those splinters from the floor began to tug and pull as her muscles flexed. “They didn’t just raise us so that they could kill us.”

“They did. Ask your boyfriend.”

Dylan looked at Wyatt, not because of what Demetria had said, but for a little reassurance. A familiar face. But the expression in his eyes as he met her gaze full on told a story Dylan was not ready to read. Even if she had suspected the truth for longer than she cared to admit.

“You were sent outside of Genero because of the test. It showed that you had no gifts, that you were not of value to them or their leaders.”

“But it was wrong,” Dylan said.

“Davida taught you well,” another familiar voice said. “Better than me.”

Donna crossed the room slowly. She looked so different without her green coveralls. Her hair was pulled back away from her face in a simple ponytail, a look that was completely different from the long, flowing tresses that normally framed her round face. The look was flattering. It left Donna with a new appearance of maturity.

Dylan moved around Demetria and went to her friend, her sister. There was no hesitation in their quick, tight hug.

“I missed you,” Donna whispered in Dylan’s ear.

“I thought you were dead.” Dylan stepped back and stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

Donna gestured toward Demetria. “They didn’t take me to the Administration building. There is a small entrance in the garden, a stone walkway that leads around to the back of the building, where a woman was waiting for me. She took me to a ruin where Demetria came and explained everything to me.”

“Everything?”

“How the angels are using us to cure their illness. And how the angels started this war in the first place.”

Dylan shook her head even as Wyatt said, “You Genero girls have been lied to for so long that you wouldn’t know the truth if it looked you in the eye.”

“And what do you know about it, Viti?”

Donna stepped forward, her head held high. It was a new girl Dylan was seeing. No longer was she the timid child Dylan had grown up with. The girl who broke the rules only because she could not stand to see another creature suffer. This girl was different, stronger, filled with more confidence than the old Donna had ever been.

Wyatt stepped around his gargoyle guards, guards that did nothing to stop him after Demetria gave them a subtle nod. He stood before Donna, looking down on her in that way he often had with people he felt were below him in some way.

“Do you really think the gargoyles are trying to help you?” he asked her.

“I know they are.”

“Then maybe you should ask them who was with the angels when they invaded the human world.”

Donna crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course they were with the angels. They thought the angels were going to help the humans.”

“And when they turned on the humans? Where were the gargoyles then?”

Donna turned slightly, her eyes moving to Demetria. “We don’t have time for this debate,” Demetria said, coming to stand in front of Dylan. “We need to move.”

“We’re not going anywhere with you,” Wyatt said.

Demetria didn’t even acknowledge Wyatt. Her gaze stayed steady on Dylan. “We need you,” she said simply. “Luc and Lily are very powerful. But Lily is getting weaker, and that is causing them to lose control over their people. Very soon they will be weak enough for us to attack.”

Dylan’s gaze shot to Wyatt. “What do you mean attack?” she asked, even as she saw the question forming on his tongue.

“I don’t know how much you know,” Demetria said. “But Luc and Lily are the leaders of the legion that turned on the humans. If we can destroy them, we might be able to save the surviving humans and protect them long enough for them to replenish their species.”

“But they have too many Redcoats on their side,” Wyatt said.

“Yes,” Demetria agreed. She continued to study Dylan. “And if they were to get you, Lily would become strong again, and we would never have another chance to attack. The humans would be annihilated.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Dylan asked.

Silence fell. No one seemed to want to be the one to speak next. Even the gargoyles had turned and were studying everything but Dylan’s little group. The only sound in the cavernous room was Ellie’s quiet sobbing. Sam looked over at Dylan, his gaze making her blush for reasons she wasn’t even ready to consider. There was curiosity in his eyes that made it clear he had been closely following the discussion despite his attempts to calm Ellie. Bobby seemed more interested in something stuck under his fingernails. It was Carver who finally stepped forward, marching past the gargoyles and walking up to Wyatt’s side.

“Isn’t one of you going to tell her?” he asked.

There was no emotion in the question. Not even curiosity. Just a sense of exhaustion.

When no one spoke, Carver moved closer to Dylan. She looked at him, then at Wyatt. Wyatt wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“They need your help,” Carver said, taking Dylan’s hands. It was the first time he had ever touched her in any way. It was odd, the cool wetness of his palms. After coming from a place where touching was uncommon, Dylan found herself a little overwhelmed by his touch. Or maybe it was just because of the touch she had so recently shared with Wyatt.

“Why?” she asked.

Carver shook his head. “I’m not sure about the specifics,” he said. “But you are special. You are a hybrid of an angel and a human. That is what they were making at Genero. The angels were infected by a disease that no longer affects humans. To cure it, they had to create a hybrid, a child that was a mix of both races. That way the child would have the same genetic code as an angel, but the elements of the human that would eradicate the disease.”

Dylan shook her head. All of this was a little above her level of education.

“You are the perfect hybrid,” Donna said. “Most of us did not reach the perfect combination of genetics. Some had too much human in them and did not manifest gifts. Others manifested too many gifts, or were corrupted in some way with too much angel genetic material.”

“Which are you?” Dylan asked.

Donna smiled that sweet smile Dylan remembered from their shared childhood. “I am mostly human with just enough angel to make me a really good friend when you get injured.” She touched Dylan’s arm lightly. “But you…you are—”

“Perfect,” Demetria said.

“They need to use your gifts,” Carver said.

Demetria studied Dylan’s face, that familiar sense of dominance suddenly weighing heavy on Dylan’s shoulders. She stepped back, moved away from Carver’s touch, from Donna’s expectant gaze, from Wyatt’s guarded indifference.