Gargoyle Knight: A Dark Urban Fantasy (14 page)

He surged toward Cian but was stopped dead in his tracks as two of the winged beasts landed right in front of him. The earth trembled and spat out plumes of soil and dust as the monsters’ weight made contact with the ground. Artan’s surroundings became a ferocious blur of claws and fangs. He whipped out his sword, but he never had time to wield it against the gargoyles.
 

Before Artan could launch a counter-attack, he was flung through the air. He landed seven feet away in a cloud of blood and dust. He tried to move but his body was numb from the impact, unable to obey his will. Through a haze of blood, he saw his wife shield their son from the approaching nightmare. His eyes met hers one last time before she was erased from view by the giant wings of the gargoyles.

“NOOO!”

Artan’s cry of dread was drowned out by a raucous bellow and...
 

***

The roar of the gargoyle turned into the
whoop-whoop
of an approaching police car. The cruiser rolled past the abandoned warehouses, red-blue lights spearing the darkness.

Artan jolted back to consciousness. For a moment, he was disoriented, not quite sure of his surroundings. Once again, the lines between what was real and what wasn’t had grown blurry.

The cruiser continued rolling down the street, past the alley where Artan had sought refuge. It seemed to slow for a moment but picked up speed again and disappeared from view.
 

Something stirred in the dank alley and it wasn’t Artan, nor was it a rat. Rats didn’t stink so bad. A shadow moved. A grizzled homeless man stirred from his slumber, sensing another presence in the darkness. Bloodshot eyes peered from behind a tangle of long, unwashed gray hair. Lips formed words yet remained hidden under a dirt-encrusted beard.

“Get the hell out of here! I found this spot first...”

The words died in his throat as Artan stepped from the shadows.
 

Large wings unfurled behind him. His teeth glittered in the moonlight. The gargoyle let out a bellowing growl and ascended into the night air. The homeless man gasped and swore off the bottle.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

THE SHRIEKING MONSTROSITY lunged after Rhianna, a relentless force of darkness. The monster had blocked the exit and was backing her into a corner. Her only way out was to retreat, and that path led her onto the balcony. In a mad burst of panic that defied rational thought, she had tumbled over the railing. Any end was preferable to the claws and teeth of the beast now upon her.
 

Panic lodged in her throat as she plunged toward the pavement below. For the first time in her short life, she knew with absolute certainty that she was about to die. As she dropped twenty stories, she was surprised to realize that she felt strangely calm, almost as if a part of her brain understood that there was nothing she could do to prevent her impending fate.
 

Only two options remained over which she could exert some control. How would she face the end? She could close her eyes and wait for the devastating impact, or she could rush toward her doom with her eyes wide open. And even though these thoughts cycled through her mind in a split second, it felt like an eternity; time had truly frozen in that moment.
 

As the sidewalk grew closer, instinct took over and her arms came up in a futile attempt to protect herself from the devastating moment when flesh met cement and the forces of physics unmade her. She had just decided that she would rather close her eyes after all when she felt a rush of air, a lightning fast shadow enveloped her, and a pair of powerful arms wrapped around her in a jarring embrace.
 

Rhianna wasn’t falling any longer. She was actually hurtling over the street, which meant she was... flying. Correction — whoever had snatched her from mid-air was the one who was flying. She was just along for the ride.

She twisted her head and caught glimpses of leathery gray skin. She could feel the alien texture of the inhuman hide against her own bare flesh, but most of her attention was focused on the road below as the streets rushed past her.
 

Before she knew it, her feet were touching a rooftop. Her legs buckled, the shock having turned her muscles into spaghetti. She almost fell but the powerful arms that had caught her in mid-fall now lifted her back to her feet. She looked upon her savior and part of her wished she hadn’t. A hideous beast was glaring back at her.
 

The GARGOYLE.
 

The creature now facing her made her think of the Uruk-hai from
Lord of the Rings
, and specifically the brute Viggo Mortensen battled at the end of the first movie. Except this creature had giant wings — a demon made flesh.

Rhianna’s mind went completely blank, all thoughts ceased and as the beast spoke (
he could speak!
), she barely heard a word. The brain had ceased to function, her mouth frozen in place as if she was suffering a severe case of lockjaw. She merely managed to gasp at the creature. And even though her conscious mind hadn’t registered the words uttered by the gargoyle, another part of her was paying attention because her body started running for the nearby water tower.
 

Hide.
 

That was the creature’s advice, and she took it to heart.

Rhianna found refuge behind the tower and peeking out from the steel web of its support legs, she saw another winged gargoyle slicing past the building. Either it was oblivious to her presence or had lost interest in her.

It’s after the Eye of Balor
.

The thought was reassuring, at least for the moment. Once the gargoyle had disappeared among the maze of buildings, she had waited. And waited. The creature never returned. She could have spent the whole night in this position. She was shivering, the biting late-October night penetrating the layers of her clothing, but she felt safe.
 

As her pulse steadied and her fear began to subside, her thoughts turned to her father. She had seen the gargoyle fling him aside, remembered the impact of his body slamming against the living room wall, and grave concern filled her heart. Had her dad sustained serious injuries? What if he was in need of medical attention? Or worse, had the monster returned to his apartment to finish him off?
 

Rhianna refused to entertain the last possibility. He was going to be okay. He had to be. She was going to return to her dad’s place and make damn sure of it. Screw the risks.

Rhianna found a roof-access door, but it was locked. She let out a sharp curse. Fortunately, the building had a fire escape, and she decided to make use of it. Fifteen minutes later, her jeans sporting two new holes and now greased with rust and dirt, she once again felt the pavement under her feet.
 

Bundled-up New Yorkers streamed past her, rushing to and fro. Somewhere in the distance a car started honking, followed by a string of expletives. The city remained its normal self, going about its business unaware that Rhianna’s reality had completely changed. The full weight of what had happened this evening hit her. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe and was afraid she might pass out. She had almost died, but a monster had saved her from certain death and offered her a new lease on life. A savior who appeared to be the mythical Artan McKeltar. The old stories she was researching, the ancient texts and scrolls she had devoted hours to — they were all true.
 

Artan was real.
 

Cael was real.
 

The gargoyle was real.

The chill that permeated her body didn’t subside, not even when she reached her father’s building. A buzzing hive of activity awaited her. Two police cruisers and an ambulance, sirens bleeding into the night, were parked around the building. Gripping with mounting dread, she gingerly approached the ambulance. She realized EMTs were wheeling someone out of the building on a stretcher.
 

Her father.
 

Rhianna fought her way through the crowd, surging toward her dad. She traded looks with one of the EMTs.

“How is he? Will he be all right?”

“Miss, could you please step back...”

Rhianna could feel her face growing tight with anger. The pent-up emotion of the last hour exploded to the surface. The EMT had unfortunately stepped on an emotional land mine.
 

“I'm his daughter! Now let me see my dad!”
 

Rhianna brushed past the EMT and grabbed her father's hand, fighting back tears. “Everything's going to be okay. I'm right here with you.”
 

The EMTs whisked the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. Rhianna followed them. One of the EMTs was about to protest, but one look from Rhianna stopped him cold. She was coming along, whether he liked it or not.
 

As she hopped into the ambulance, she felt the urge to look up. The tall apartment buildings that ran down Central Park West loomed. She caught sight of a few vague silhouettes perched atop the various structures. Gargoyles. Only an hour ago, they were just a part of her everyday life. Now the stone figures were imbued with sinister portents.
 

Her attention shifted back to her dad. As the grumbling EMT slammed the ambulance door shut, one of the rooftop shadows stirred.

***

It was just another night in a Manhattan emergency room. In other words — barely controlled chaos. Everywhere Rhianna looked, she saw ailing people forced to wait their turn while the overwhelmed staff desperately tried to maintain order and stem the tide of suffering. Rhianna nervously paced back and forth, waiting to hear some news about her father. It had been over an hour. What was taking so long?

Almost as if someone had read her thoughts, which wasn’t too hard to do as they were plainly written on her face, a doctor appeared before her.
 

“Miss Sharpe?”

Rhianna looked up at the doctor, doing her best to keep her emotions in check.

“How's my dad?”j

“He sustained a fairly severe concussion. We're going to keep him here overnight for observation, but he should be fine.”

Rhianna let out a sigh of relief. She had feared that he may have sustained internal injuries.
 

“Can I see him?”

The doctor nodded and escorted her down a series of corridors. Doctors, nurses and various staff zipped past them and it seemed like they were all intent on stopping the doctor so they could ask some question, slowing Rhianna’s progress, but they finally arrived at her father’s hospital room and she was led inside.
 

Her face grew taut as she approached the figure propped up in bed, head bandaged, asleep. Rhianna squeezed her father’s hand, relief flooding her features. “What a night. Not exactly what a Masters in Archeology prepares you for.”

There was no response. He was out for the count. The doctor had stayed back and was watching her from the door. The tone of his voice, refined and educated, felt reassuring. “I’ll leave you two alone. Don’t worry, Miss Sharpe. Your father is in good hands.”
 

The doctor left. Rhianna continued to watch her dad's sleeping form. He seemed so peaceful, like the last few hours had never happened. Rhianna took a seat at his bedside. For a moment, she stared into space. She could feel tears welling up. If anything had happened to her father...

“I still don't believe it. How can this stuff be real?”

The only answer Rhianna received was the sound of her father’s breathing, which seemed amplified in the otherwise silent room. She hadn’t really expected an answer, or even that her words could magically penetrate his slumber. She was talking to calm herself.

She sat there for almost half an hour before she finally got up. Being back on her feet made her realize how exhausted she was. The horrors she had witnessed today were going to change her outlook on life.
 

She was about to leave when...

Her father woke up.

A deep sense of urgency filled his face. He grabbed Rhianna's wrist and pulled her closer. His voice was a glassy whisper as he spoke. “There's something you need to know...”

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

MANHATTAN WAS BURNING...

Fires raged all across the urban island, plumes of black smoke drifting across the skyline, a shifting landscape of heat and darkness. The pillars of steel and cement had been gutted and scorched. Broken structures thrust toward a sky of churning hellfire and clouds split by lightning. An army of winged monsters swarmed like a plague of locusts, turning sunny day into fiery night…

Standing on the roof of a burning building was... Rhianna. As she surveyed the terrible destruction, it felt as if she had been offered a glimpse into hell itself.
 

A roar pierced the air.
 

Rhianna looked up. A massive gargoyle was rushing straight at her, giant wings so wide they blocked out the surrounding light.
 

As the monster’s shadow loomed large, her mouth twisted into a scream...

Rhianna jolted from her nightmare and let out a sharp gasp, face beaded in perspiration. Her whole body was trembling, affected by her vision of Armageddon. She studied her surroundings, disoriented, her waking reality still untangling the cobwebs of her dream.

She found herself in the same spot where she spent most of her waking hours nowadays — hunched over her computer, surrounded by Celtic literature. She must have nodded off in her chair the moment she got back from the hospital.
 

For a split second, Rhianna hoped the experiences of the previous evening had just been a dream, but the bruises all over her body and the various gargoyle-related keywords in her search-engine history suggested otherwise. She had been combing the web for any piece of information that could add clarity to last night’s harrowing ordeal when she was overcome by exhaustion. The stress of the day took its toll on her and she must have nodded off. She felt even more tired now, the fitful nap having done little to balance out her sleep deficit.