Gargoyle Knight: A Dark Urban Fantasy (15 page)

Rhianna was about to get up and seek out a much-needed shot of caffeine when she noticed a red discoloration on her hand. A furious scarlet line extended from where the
Eye of Balor
had sliced her finger all the way down to her palm. It looked like blood poisoning or a festering skin infection.
 

Unnerved, Rhianna studied the strange red pattern on her hand. On closer inspection, the red line seemed to be forming a Celtic rune symbol. Rhianna was now wide-awake and stared at the mark with a growing sense of dread.
 

Stay calm
, she admonished herself.
 

She wanted to obey the voice, but her heart throbbed against her chest and beads of sweat popped up on her face. She barely remembered returning from the kitchen and turning on her computer. A few seconds later, she was searching the web for a possible explanation for the strange symbol that had materialized on her hand.

The computer screen flickered and bathed her face in its electronic halo. Her fingers kept tapping the keys, but the words appearing in her search engine didn’t register. Fear had seized her in its icy grip and she was consumed by memories of the horrors she’d experienced in the last few hours. She had faced death and confronted a monster from which nightmares were made of. Then there was Artan. The enigmatic king of Kirkfall who also just happened to be...
 

She couldn’t bring herself to complete the thought. The memory of how the former king looked at her was etched in her mind. She had met his magnetic gaze both when he was a man and when he was a beast, and each time she’d been intimidated for different reasons. There was a promise in his eyes, as well as a warning.

A sudden rippling sound stopped her in mid-thought and turned her blood to ice. A dark shape had passed by her window. Gripped by fear but unable to remain seated and ignore the phenomenon, Rhianna approached the window even as her inner voice urged her to stay put. Considering what had happened at her dad’s apartment, she should be staying clear of windows. But if some fiend lurked outside and wanted to harm her, it would’ve done so already. Deep down, she hoped that Artan had returned.
 

Heart hammering in her chest, she pulled the curtain back and peered through the window at the soaring city outside. The first light of dawn was beginning to chase away the shadows of the night - daylight was upon the city. Traffic was already congested as the first commuters began to arrive in Manhattan from whatever suburban haven they called home.
 

A street-sweeper beeped and snorted its way down the avenue. Rhianna gazed at the neighboring building (no sign of the frisky couple across the street), paying special attention to the rooftops. At first there was just a vague sense of movement but she squinted and realized Artan sat perched atop the ledge of the neighboring building. He blended in with the cement structure and from this angle, might just be an ordinary gargoyle. The illusion was shattered the moment his onyx eyes found hers and those massive wings unfurled.

Startled, she took a step back. The creature took to the sky. A mixture of fear and excitement flickered across Rhianna’s face as she realized Artan was headed straight for the roof of her apartment building. She took a deep breath and made for the door.

***

The gargoyle sat crouched on the ledge. The first wave of morning commuters filled the city's cement arteries below. The night had started to lift and darkness was making way for morning. Artan took in the rising sun, his somber expression unreadable. His feral eyes were crimson chips. They started to change color as the sunlight hit them, turning human.
 

After the incident in the alley, Artan had returned to Dr. Sharpe’s apartment building. His wounds healed themselves, a gargoyle’s constitution dealing with most of the damage. A faint discoloration remained where Cael’s claws had raked his gray flesh.
 

From high above the building, his superior vision spotted Rhianna rushing toward the ambulance and his heightened senses could follow the conversation below. He didn’t yet possess a full command of the English language, but he understood enough to get the gist of the exchange. Unlike Cael, who had been trapped in a dark cave, Artan was surrounded by people during his entombment in stone. Almost through osmosis, some of the unfamiliar words and their meanings had penetrated his prison.
 

Once the ambulance pulled away, Artan followed the vehicle, alert, expecting Cael to appear at any moment but there was no sign of his older brother. As he was gliding through the night air, he wondered what he was doing. He had the
Eye of Balor
. What more did he need from the woman and her father?

Artan rationalized that his interest was purely of a practical nature. Cael might not possess the gem, but he posed a formidable threat as long as he walked this earth. Based on the various costumes and decorations Artan had glimpsed since his return to the world of the living, a dark celebration was approaching. Samhain. And he knew all too well the deeper significance of that date. Tomorrow night, the barrier between this world and the Otherworld would be at its most fragile. Cael would want to seize the opportunity and unleash Balor’s forces of darkness upon an unsuspecting populace.
 

Artan didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t go it alone in this alien city. He’d need a guide. Rhianna spoke his tongue and understood where he came from. She could act as a bridge between the past he had left behind and the future he now faced.
 

Of course, there was another reason, too. He was drawn to this young woman. Her presence was calming, an echo of his beloved Samara. After all these centuries of isolation and stony entombment, the need for human contact and connection had become overwhelming. His yearning filled him with guilt. Such emotions made Artan feel like a traitor to the memory of his long-dead wife. His thoughts turned to the here and now as the sun washed over his bestial features. Unlike the nighttime transformation into a gargoyle, which was filled with agony as dark magic ripped his body apart, reverting back to his human form was almost painless. As he exhaled, a giant weight was lifted from his shoulders. Massive muscles melted away within seconds, the demonic wings retracted, and his skin reverted from gray to its natural pink. One moment the
Eye of Balor
sat nestled in a clawed gargoyle paw and the next it rested in the palm of a human hand.
 

As the sun rose to its full daytime glory, the curse was lifted. Once again, Artan was human, at least until nightfall. He grew aware of his nakedness and his attention shifted to a clothesline strung up across the roof. Laundry hung from the line, flapping in the morning breeze.
 

Artan snatched a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, quickly slipping into the clothes. His timing was perfect as a roof access door opened and Rhianna appeared. Artan’s full attention fixed on the young archeologist. Her easy smile and open, forthright demeanor made Artan think of his wife again. His chest tightened and his fists clenched with emotion.
 

Rhianna eyed him with trepidation. Her beautiful red hair swirled in the morning breeze and for a moment, Artan’s mind turned to his past.
 

Samara... I thought I would never see you again...

The thought came unbidden and was followed by an angry admonishment. This wasn’t the same woman who had haunted his memories for the last fifteen centuries. His wife was gone and the man who’d taken her from him was still out there.
 

“Why did you come back here?” Rhianna asked.

The question hung in the air for a moment before Artan offered the simplest answer possible. “I need your help.”

***

Rhianna watched the man who sat at her kitchen counter. He was busy wolfing down a breakfast of eggs and toast that she had whipped together for her unexpected guest. She couldn’t help but be distracted by this striking medieval warrior who had saved her life twice now.

“I think you're the first man who likes my cooking. I guess after fifteen centuries away from food, everything tastes pretty good.”

Artan looked up from his plate, nodded his gratitude and resumed eating. Rhianna watched, fascinated to have an ancient warrior –
the mythical Artan McKeltar
- sitting in her kitchen and enjoying her culinary creation.

“I have so many questions. I do not even know where to begin.”

Artan focused on the meal.

“By the way, I never thanked you for saving my life.”

Artan nodded and grunted.

Rhianna shook her head. This conversation was getting a bit... one-sided. “You don't talk much, do you now?”

Artan stopped eating. Looked up from his plate.

“I am out of practice.”

The silence returned. Rhianna could almost see Artan’s mind working, trying to find a topic to discuss. Atrophied social skills creaked to life as he took his first stab at small talk
.
 

“How fares your father?”

“I think he's going to be okay.”

“I am glad to hear that.

Rhianna was touched by the genuine concern in Artan’s voice and it brought a flicker of emotion to her face. “Thank you.”

The silence returned. It seemed like the conversation had petered out before it had a chance to get started. Then he said, “How come you do not have a husband?”

This question gave Rhianna pause. Was it obvious that she was single? Her apartment must be telling. Before she could stop herself, she said in a voice she hoped wasn’t too defensive, “How do you know I’m single?”

“I see no children.”

Rhianna was both amused and peeved by Artan’s matter-of-fact response.
 

“It's hard to find a good man when you're busy cramming for a PhD.” Artan gave Rhianna a long, uncomprehending look. PhD didn’t mean much to a medieval warrior. She tried to put it in terms he might understand. “The 21
st
Century is a bit different,” she explained. “The girls actually have a say in who they marry.”

Artan snorted and stifled a gruff laugh.

“You have not met a Celtic woman, have you?”

Before Rhianna could retort, the door opened and Natalie popped into the kitchen. She did a quick double take when she spotted Artan, her curiosity piqued.

“I thought I heard voices. Hi there. And who'd you be? Rhianna has told me
absolutely nothing
about you.”

Natalie winked at Rhianna and had extended her hand to Artan when Rhianna got between them. She shot a quick look at the resurrected medieval warrior.

“Excuse me for a minute...”

Rhianna grabbed Natalie's arm and pulled her from the kitchen. Dark forces were at work and Cael was still out there. Rhianna saw what had happened to her dad. She couldn’t risk getting her roommate involved. And perhaps – if she was honest with herself – she didn’t want to share the attention. Natalie had a million suitors. She didn’t need Artan too.

“Hey! What’s going on?” Natalie protested as she was dragged through the door. She managed to trade a final look with Artan before she was whisked away. “Nice to meet you...”

Rhianna pulled Natalie out of the apartment and walked her toward the industrial freight elevators of their prewar building. Natalie was grinning ear to ear. “I see you've been working hard on your presentation.”

“I'll explain later.”

“You better. Text me. I want details.”

Rhianna rolled her eyes.
 

The elevator arrived and Natalie got in. She flashed Rhianna a big grin. “You go girl!”

The elevator doors closed and erased Natalie from view. Rhianna shook her head but had to smile. Her friend was incorrigible.
 

Artan had finished his breakfast by the time Rhianna returned to her apartment. The resurrected medieval warrior was now inspecting Rhianna’s work area. He seemed interested in her collection of Celtic texts. He flipped through a massive coffee-table book full of glossy photographs of medieval castles.
 

The rays of morning sunlight filtered into her apartment and enveloped Artan’s face. An expression of joy played across his face. Noticing Rhianna’s look, he said, “It is a long time since I felt the sun on my skin.”

Rhianna smiled nervously, wondering what else Artan might not have felt in the last fifteen centuries.

Artan nodded at Rhianna’s extensive library of medieval texts. “Why are you so fascinated with my world?”

“Like father, like daughter.”

“You prefer the past over the present.”

“I love history. You don’t know where you're going unless you understand where you've been. Where you’re coming from.”

Artan nodded, accepting the wisdom of her words. He studied a Celtic blade mounted near her workstation. Noticing his interest, Rhianna said, “Maybe I just have a thing for swords.”

Rhianna could feel her face turning red the moment the words left her lips. Couldn’t she be any more obvious? But Artan seemed oblivious to any subtext, or at least he chose not to acknowledge it.

“You said you needed my help. What do you mean?” Rhianna asked.

“I need someone who understands my past to guide me through your future.”

Rhianna shook her head. “Look at me. Do I strike you as a warrior princess?”

Artan's voice filled with a deep conviction. “You have great strength in you, Rhianna.”

She looked up at the warrior from another time, surprised by his gentle yet confident tone. “I'm sorry, but I can't.”

A darker edge crept into Artan's voice offering a glimpse of the gargoyle lurking below the surface. “You have a choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw the mark on your hand. Your life force restored the Eye.”

A defensive note edged into Rhianna’s voice. “I cut myself. It was an accident.”

“And the world will suffer for your carelessness.”

Artan grabbed Rhianna's hand and held it up, exposing the mark. Skin touching skin, she found their closeness both erotic and scary at the same time.