Gargoyle Knight: A Dark Urban Fantasy (17 page)

He stayed there, frozen in place, for many years with the sounds of the city and the lights of the buildings his sole companions. When the building was scheduled for demolition to make way for a new steel tower, he was taken to Central Park, where he had remained until yesterday.
 

The park made him happy. Its lush vegetation reminded him of Kirkfall. He saw the leaves turn golden in the fall before they withered and died in the winter. He experienced the park encased in a blanket of white, ice forming on his stone body as the crowds thinned. He was there when life returned in the spring and made way for the crowds of summer. An unmoving sentinel bearing witness to the cycle of life while remaining untouched by the passage of time. Ever-present but always remaining apart. These impressions came to him as if he was looking up at the world from the bottom of a deep well.
 

Artan's tone grew wistful as he addressed Rhianna. “Over the centuries, truth became myth. Even my own bloodline stopped believing in the old ways.”

The words earned him a sympathetic look. “What's it like? When you transform?”

Artan considered Rhianna’s question, searching for the right words to describe the experience. “It is an agony and my world becomes a place of darkness and rage.”

“But you stay in control... When I looked at the gargoyle, I could see
you
inside the monster...”

Rhianna was right. His body changed, but his mind remained his own.
 

In despair, last night he had felt himself slipping away. The gargoyle was growing stronger.

“As Samhain approaches, the darkness inside me grows. Every time I change, I lose a little bit more of myself. In time, the curse of Balor will corrupt me.”

“What are you saying? You think you’ll become like Cael?”
 

Artan didn’t answer the last question. The possibility filled him with dread, but it also fueled him. There was a new urgency to their mission. Time was running out.

“Why does Cael hate you so much?” Rhianna asked.

“I denied him his birthright.”

“It wasn't your decision. Your father picked you to be king.”

“Perhaps he made a poor choice.” Artan was surprised by his own candor. He had only been able to express self-doubt to one other person in his life.

“You blame yourself for what happened,” Rhianna said.

“When I quelled Cael's uprising, I could have put an end to it all.”

A dawning realization played across Rhianna’s face as she finally understood the depth of Artan’s guilt. “You showed mercy.”

“Weakness.”

“He’s your brother. Most people would’ve done the same.”

Fury sparked into Artan’s voice. “I was not most people.
I was the king of Kirkfall.
”

Rhianna recoiled at the anger. Artan regretted his harsh tone – the gargoyle blood was indeed gaining a greater influence over his emotions – but there was no turning back now. “I refused to do what was needed and innocent people paid for my weakness.”

Artan was offering Rhianna a glimpse into his private little hell.

“How could you know what Cael would do?”

“How could I not? I knew him better than anyone. I hoped exile would change him. I was wrong. It merely made him more dangerous and twisted.”

“We all make mistakes. You’re only human.”

Artan’s voice grew dead and cold. “Not anymore.”

There was a somber finality to his words, and Rhianna grew silent. Artan appreciated her attempt to downplay his failure but refused to let himself off the hook. “My mistake cost the lives of hundreds of innocent souls. The lives of my wife and son.”

Artan's whole being imbued with a dark fire. “Cael will pay for what he did. I will make him pay.”
 

Rhianna believed him.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

IT TOOK MORE than a half-hour for the ferry to cross New York Harbor. When they reached the Staten Island port, they snagged a cab. They were now driving through an industrial section of the island. It was an endless stretch of warehouses that had been converted into lofts.
 

When Rhianna learned that Lord Irish lived in Staten Island, she was initially taken aback. It felt a bit off the beaten path to her, having visited the island only a few times over the years. She expected a more glamorous address, but Lord Irish appeared to be serious about securing his privacy.

The cabbie pulled up to a three-story red brick structure that vaguely recalled a fire station. She paid the driver and they faced the building Craig McConnor, aka Lord Irish, called home nowadays. Nothing about the structure hinted at the video game magic being created within its walls. To the outside world, it was just another building on a street filled with similar warehouses.
 

As they approached the structure, Rhianna recommended that Artan stay behind. His towering presence might freak out the game designer. Artan reluctantly obliged and fell back as Rhianna stepped up to the entrance and rang the doorbell.
 

A small monitor next to the door flickered to life. The digital avatar of the Lord Irish character filled the screen. The character popped up in the game’s fantasy world from time to time like a virtual Oz, offering tips and tricks. His electronically amplified voice emanated from a speaker.

“Identify yourself.”
 

Rhianna regarded the surveillance camera that hung above the steel entrance. “I'm Rhianna Sharpe. My father had dinner with you the other night...” She hesitated, knowing she needed to sweeten the deal if Lord Irish was to grant her access. She held up the
Eye of Balor
.
 

“He thought you might want another look at the
Eye
.” It had taken some convincing to let Artan entrust her with the gem but in the end, her logic had won out.
 

The screen went dark. Seconds ticked by and became minutes. Artan stood nearby and she could almost feel his growing impatience. If it had been up to the medieval king, he would have found a way to break down the doorway and seize the sword by force.
 

She glanced at him, indicating with her hands to be patient. Her self-control was rewarded a second later when she heard a bolt being unlatched and the steel door was pulled open. Craig McConnor poked his head through the door. He stole an eager glance at the gem before he flashed Rhianna a big smile.
 

“What a surprise. Benjamin never mentioned he had such a lovely daughter.”
 

Rhianna returned the smile. As the man further opened the door, Artan appeared behind her. Rhianna saw the game designer flinch and take a step back, but she grabbed his hand and flashed him a reassuring smile.
 

“He’s with me. This is...” She almost said Artan but decided against it. Instead, she said, “This is Arthur. He works for the security company we’re using to transport the blade to the museum.”

“According to your dad, a Brink’s truck was supposed to pick up the sword.”

Damn, she had forgotten about the truck.
Thinking on her feet, she said, “We’ve parked a block away. We didn’t want to draw any attention to your home.”
 

Lord Irish digested her words for a moment before he responded. “That’s quite considerate of you.”

Great. He was buying the story.

He waved them in.
 

They followed him into his loft, the steel door clanging shut behind them. Rhianna took in her surroundings and had to suppress a whistle. For a second, it felt as though she was visiting the castle of a mad wizard. The loft made for an impressive living/work space that belied its rugged exterior. But what stood out were the exotic items that decorated this abode, a wild, varied collection of the historical, the obscure and the weird. Lord Irish’s fortune had allowed him to indulge his inner geek. Everywhere Rhianna looked there were items that belonged on a Disney ride or in a museum of science fiction and fantasy.
 

Lord Irish enthusiastically pointed out the various items as he led them to the living room area. They were amazed to see a Russian space suit, dinosaur fossils and an Egyptian sarcophagus. There was even a gargoyle statue, a pale imitation of the two creatures she had faced the other night.
 

Rhianna studied the statue and glanced at Artan, almost compelled to make a joke, but the man’s steely expression gave her pause. She wanted to say, “Hey, check it out, a relative of yours.”
But she doubted the warrior would’ve been amused. He would answer in his clipped, sober voice, “How can you joke at a time like this?” And she would answer, “Let me see... My dad is not answering my calls. I'm standing next to an ancient Celtic king who turns into a gargoyle when the sun goes down. And I'm supposed to be sacrificed to a demon on Halloween. Maybe, just maybe, my sense of humor is what’s keeping me sane right now!”

Lord Irish managed to put an end to the erratic chatter of her thoughts. He had wrapped up the grand tour, offered them seats on his red leather couch, and was now grabbing them beer from his stainless steel refrigerator.
 

As Rhianna nursed her Stella, she noted that the living room area was as impressive as the rest of the loft. A beautiful skylight allowed sunlight to spill into the house. Everywhere she looked there was some cool piece of art or a stunning sculpture. Even the light fixtures were unique and expensive. The man must’ve hired one hell of an interior designer. Everything was cool, sleek and perfect. Suddenly her so-called “distressed” desk looked like the piece of curbside junk it was.
 

Her attention shifted from the decor to Artan. Once again, she could feel his eagerness, but rushing things and alienating McConnor wasn’t going to help their cause.
 

Rhianna turned toward Lord Irish and flashed the video game designer her most charming smile, while revealing as much cleavage as possible. Her full attention on Lord Irish, she said, “I don't think I left my room for two weeks when
Elf War III
came out.”

Lord Irish grinned, basking in the adulation and enjoying the view. A white terrier traipsed up to them, paws scurrying across the wood floor. She seemed happy until she picked up Artan’s scent. Her reaction was immediate and she led out a steady, rising growl. Lord Irish secured the dog and tried to calm the canine down, without much success. “I’m sorry, she’s normally not like this. Cass loves people.”
 

What about gargoyles?

After some coaxing and dog biscuits, Cass calmed down enough for their conversation to resume. Lord Irish said, “I must say, I wish there were more female gamers as enchanting as yourself.”

“Thank you. What are you working on right now?”

Before Lord Irish could answer, Artan interjected, “The sword?”

Rhianna arched an eyebrow. Artan had said the words in English. He was a fast learner. Lord Irish’s response was to point at the second floor of his loft. “The blade's upstairs...”

Artan rose. His patience had run dry. As the Celtic warrior headed toward the steel staircase leading to the loft’s second floor, Lord Irish shot Rhianna a querying look. “Your friend isn’t a big believer in small talk.”

Tell me about it.

Rhianna flashed their host an apologetic smile and said, ”You get a few drinks in him, he becomes the life of the party.”

Lord Irish nodded but didn’t look convinced. He got up and indicated for Rhianna to follow him. She obliged.

“Let’s join your friend.”

***

Artan sprinted up the steel staircase and reached the loft’s second level a few moments later. The dwelling was impressive, but he had expected more from a man who used the title of Lord.
 

He took in his surroundings, admiring the collection of medieval weapons lining the walls. At the center of the collection, mounted on the far wall, was the
Blade of Kings.

Artan advanced toward the rune sword. His hand closed around the smooth pommel just as Lord Irish and a slightly embarrassed Rhianna appeared behind him.

Lord Irish began, “The sword is close to eighteen-hundred years old... so please...” but Artan pulled down the blade and brought it up with lightning speed. “…don't touch it.” Artan expertly wielded the magical rune blade. Warrior and weapon reunited after being separated for an eternity. Steel whistled through the air. The weight of the weapon felt reassuring.
 

Lord Irish traded a nervous look with Rhianna. “Impressive. You seem quite skilled with the blade, my friend. But would you mind putting my
invaluable
artifact back in its rightful place...”

Artan ignored the man. Instead, he removed the
Eye of Balor
from his leather jacket. He placed it on a nearby table and raised the sword. Lord Irish’s bulging eyes looked ready to pop out of his head.
 

“Rhianna, what's going on here?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. McConnor.”

Rhianna's attention fixed on Artan. The ancient warrior stared down at the evil gem
.

One stroke, and it could all end right now.

A glimpse at the skylight above gave him pause. He could make out the swaying trees, sun dappling green leaves. Beautiful. His shifted his attention toward Rhianna.
A different kind of beauty.
There was a moment between them. Another reminder of what Artan was about to sacrifice.

“You sure there is no other way?”
 

The question hung in the air. Artan wished for nothing more in the world than to be able to say there was. After fifteen centuries, he had been granted another chance to drink from the cup of life, to know what it meant to be flesh and blood, to be alive.
 

But he could not allow any weakness. The enemy was out there and had to be stopped. Personal needs could not factor in his decision process.
 

He must stay the course and complete his mission.

Rhianna's cell phone chirped. She shot a quick glance at the caller ID. It was a call from Beth Israel. Artan took note of her anxious expression. Despite the unfolding drama, deep concern for Dr. Sharpe got the best of her and she lifted the phone to her ear.