Trouble with Gargoyles: an Urban Fantasy (Moonlight Dragon Book 3) (7 page)

"We're not afraid you," Kleure snarled back, flecks of spittle flying from his jaws. "We'll take down the Oddsmakers and you'll fall right alongside them, Anne Moody. You're nothing but a traitor. All traitors deserve to
die!
"

I cried out in dismay as he hurled himself out of the booth, followed by the bodies of the other canine shifters. Behind me, something huge and fast rushed up.

My mouth opened into a roar. I felt my teeth elongate into fangs as pressure and heat built up in my chest. I uncurled my tongue to spray out fire—

The world flipped. Gravity seemed to reverse, and I went flying into the air as a monster roared…

~~~~~

I'd never been happier to be grabbed by the Oddsmakers. Once I recognized the twisted Sistine Chapel-like images above me, I rolled to my feet. Frightened chattering was my only warning before a little monkey leaped into my arms. I hugged Melanie close as I looked around the spooky, cavernous room.

The unexplainable black curtains were there as usual, occasionally emitting puffs of black spores or poison or who knew what. The images on the ceiling above were still moving, still tearing each other to pieces in slow motion. What was new was Kleure, who crouched on the concrete floor like a terrified puppy, his head twisting back and forth as he tried to take in the madness of this place.

"What happened? Wh-Where are we?" Kleure stuttered, his fear making his speech nearly indecipherable. The yellow canary had come with him and it huddled tight against his thick dog neck for protection.

I opened my mouth to say something snarky but that creepy girl's voice beat me to it.

"Welcome to the home of your enemy, Kleure of the Wood."

He startled with a yip, leathery wings fluttering. Even the blue flame halo around his head seemed to dim in his terror as a humanoid shape stepped up behind one of the waving black curtains. I knew there was nothing physical behind the curtain, that it was only a weird illusion, but Kleure acted as I had, assuming that a being actually stood there and was speaking to him.

"I'm important in the community," he said to the cloth-covered figure. "I'm important to Las Vegas. To the casinos. You can't—"

"Dare you presume to tell us what we can and cannot do?"

The maniacally sweet voice made Melanie's small body shiver in my arms and her tail latch tight around my wrist. I covered her protectively.

"We oversee all beings within this city, Kleure of the Wood. Even those who refuse to be overseen. Even those who resist, and cannot be made to behave."

I expected Kleure to continue cowering in light of such a statement, but to my amazement he did the opposite. He straightened and tipped his large, triangular head back. He spread his wings. If it were possible, he looked almost regal, like a supernatural dog king. Even the little canary stopped hiding and gave an angry, defiant chirp.

"There will be others to overthrow you," Kleure snarled. His canines showed wetly and his eyes gleamed dangerously. "You haven't beaten down the denizens of this city. The more you attempt to suppress us, the stronger and more powerful we grow. You have your sheep—" he sent a glare my way that stiffened my spine, "—but you will never rule over all of us.
You will never break
us
."

It was an admirable resistance, but for as much as I disliked the Oddsmakers, I didn't see the point of it. As Vale had once told me, it was wiser to pick your battles. Here, alone, Kleure couldn't win.

"You think we are not aware," Kleure went on mysteriously, "but we
are
aware of what you're planning. You're not nearly half as clever as you think you are. It's only a matter of time before—"

"Your threats bore and insult us."

The Oddsmakers didn't sound intimidated at all, yet I was intrigued. What had Kleure meant when he'd said the Oddsmakers were planning something?

I imagined I could hear Vale's voice in my head, warning me to stay out of it. But that only goaded me to pay more attention. No one was about to pat me on the head and tell me to keep quiet or not get involved. Not that Vale would ever dare, but the Oddsmakers might...

"We have given you every opportunity to fall in line and preserve the good health and well-being of the magickal community in Las Vegas and yet you have consistently defied us. For too long you have stirred the pot of discontent and beat upon the drums in your attempt to incite an uprising."

A breeze moved through the room, lifting the curtain and revealing only air behind it. The cloth settled once more over the humanoid head and chest, but I could see that Kleure now recognized he wasn't dealing with a person. He realized as I once had that the Oddsmakers were "other" and, as they'd claimed,
legion
.

"You cannot be allowed to continue, Kleure of the Wood."

Goose bumps jumped out across my skin. Melanie, clutching me tight, must have felt my fear for she shuddered violently.

Kleure, though, stood strong. "You will never silence us. My voice is only one of a chorus of outrage and—"

"We agree. You will continue to send a message, but not the one you intended."

Kleure turned to look at me then. His look of calm condemnation said,
This is all on you. This is what you support.

I didn't have time to feel outraged or defensive. The Oddsmakers acted too quickly for that.

I knew as soon as it began that I would never forget what I saw. Nor would I forget the sounds, both of the physical atrocities that were perpetrated upon Kleure, and of his screaming. I held Melanie's monkey head tight against my belly so she wouldn't see the worst of it, but I forced myself not to look away, not even to blink. The longer it went on, the greater grew my fierce need to witness all of it. So I wouldn't be able to pretend afterward that I hadn't understood what was happening. So I wouldn't be able to look in the mirror and see an innocent.

Because I wasn't innocent. Not while I stood silently by and did nothing to stop this.

When it was over and what remained of Kleure lay smoking on the floor of that place, I tried to swallow, but my mouth and throat were as dry as the valley. There was a ringing in my ears, but it was only the vestiges of Kleure's agony and terror.

Something whimpered. When I looked down and realized I was on the verge of crushing Melanie to death, I immediately unclenched the muscles in my arms. My entire body felt like it had been balled tight to survive a tumble down a cliff.

"Why did you…do that?" I choked out. I wanted to cry in sheer rage.

"So they would all learn,"
the sickly sweet voice replied.
"Have you learned?"

I wanted—needed—to scream, but I didn't. "Why did you do it
that
way? Why be—" I fought back a shriek, "—
monsters?
"

"Because for those who feel the need to fight, only the most dramatic of examples will kill that need."

It was a warning as much for me as for the sort of shapeshifters who frequented downtown and the Keyhole. I liked to mouth off against the Oddsmakers because it made me feel like I was showing my independence. But Vale had warned me again and again not to push them. I now realized it wasn't because he'd been tortured by them, or at least that wasn't the only reason. He understood what they were capable of. He appreciated how utterly cruel and sadistic they could be.

Movement near what had been Kleure made me suck in my breath. I watched, heart pounding, as the yellow canary settled on the floor beside the remains. It chirped pitifully, its pain unmistakable. I wanted to scoop the little bird up and protect it just as I tried to protect Melanie. I didn't care that it had once been an associate of Kleure and might have tried to peck my eyes out in a fight. I wanted no more death and suffering tonight.

"Tell them what happened here, little bird. Spread the information far and wide: the Oddsmakers exist to keep the peace and to keep you safe. To fight us is to fight the well-being of every magickal being in Las Vegas."

The figure beneath the black cloth turned my way.
"Is that understood, Anne Moody?"

My head throbbed and my vision edged with red. Had Melanie and the canary not been present, I would have burned us all to ash. "I understand perfectly."

I didn't try to hide my outrage and fury. But nothing was said to me, and when the pain at the back of my head came it was welcome, because it removed me from that place where I would have gladly surrendered my humanity in order to make a point.

When I opened my eyes again I was in the desert, lying somewhere outside Area 51. It wasn't fully dark; the sky in the east was edging into orange. Sunset was coming. Maybe it would hold back the nightmares.

"Anne…"

I sat up time to catch Melanie as she flung herself against me. She was naked, which sucked because we didn't have easy access to clothing out here, but at least she was alive.

"I wish I hadn't seen that," she whispered, clutching me hard. "That was the worst thing I've ever seen."

I swallowed down fire. "Me, too."

"All those times you said they took you there—it never really occurred to me that they would hurt you. Not after the first time. I thought…they must like you." She tilted her tear-streaked face back to look up at me. "But that could have been you."

"Maybe."

There was no lying to make her feel better. Not where the Oddsmakers were concerned. They were capricious and evil, and I abandoned any thoughts that what they did for us was a good thing. I wish I'd never learned about Dearborn's necromancy artifact. I wish I hadn't listened to Vale and I wish I'd tried to fight them. I didn't care if they killed me; I was sure I could take a few of them down before they did.

But that fight would have to come another day, when it was just me and them, with my friends far away.

I considered what I was wearing. It wasn't much. "Listen, we're going to have to hitchhike back. Are you okay with staying in your monkey form the whole time?"

She sniffed and nodded. "It'll be easier."

I got the feeling she meant more than the ease of travel. Maybe her thoughts formed differently when she was a monkey. I didn't know. I didn't ask.

We both turned at a nearby rustle of movement. It was only the yellow canary, rising up from behind a tumbleweed. It hovered in the air for a few seconds, maybe orienting itself. Maybe trying to find the strength to fly after all that had happened. Then it turned and flew swiftly in the direction where the city must be. Hopefully an eagle wouldn't try to eat it along the way.

With a monkey literally on my back, I began the trek to the highway. With luck, sunrise would bring an increase in traffic. Otherwise, it was going to be a long, grim day with nothing to do but think thoughts I shouldn't be thinking.

Melanie stayed with me in Moonlight, her fear of teeth in the mattress overruled by her fear of being snatched by the Oddsmakers. Together we listened to the footsteps of the ghost on the roof until we passed out from sheer mental and emotional exhaustion.

I slept fitfully, my dreams plagued by fire-breathing dragons and mutating dogs. I watched a monkey falling into a pit while I was bound by chains and couldn't grab for it. The chains were held by a gargoyle, but one that didn't look like Vale. It was monstrous. It called me by name. It called me
traitor
…

It was Melanie's phone that woke us both. It was her father, asking her to drive the Todos Tortas truck. Though puffy-eyed, I could tell that Melanie was glad for the job. It was something to do, a slice of life that had nothing to do with being magickal or being ruled by the Oddsmakers.

"Tell Vale," she urged me as I walked her through the front yard. She wore a pair of my shorts and one of my tops. "He's gotta know, Anne!"

I nodded, but I didn't say anything. I wasn't sure what to do about Vale, but my indecisiveness wasn't anything that Melanie needed to know about. It'd take her awhile to get over her first encounter with the Oddsmakers as it was.

As soon as she was gone, I took a shower and dressed quickly. It was just after noon, so the sun was an angry, blazing god in the sky but I welcomed its burn on my cheeks as I walked across the street. I imagined it was burning away any lingering taint from the Oddsmakers' lair, cleansing me.

Not a chance.

I looked around me once or twice as I approached the Greek revival house. If shifters or pixies were watching me I couldn't tell. If
I
were the Oddsmakers, I'd be watching my every move. If I were one of Kleure's pals, I'd be planning a retaliatory ambush. But in spite of my expectations, I reached the shop unharmed.

Tomes was a bookstore specializing in the occult. It was well-known throughout the magickal community both for its extensive collection and for providing a safe venue for performing rituals. I wasn't exactly thrilled to have occultists calling up dead guys and other entities directly across the street from me, but compared to a crack house for a neighbor it wasn't so bad. I rang the doorbell with my fingers crossed that no one was inside summoning Norwegian serial killers like the last time.

When no one answered, I tried the doorbell again, a sense of disquiet building at the base of my spine. Orlaton had to be home. The guy wasn't the partying type or even the go out for Jack in the Box type. Why wasn't he answering?

When a full two minutes passed, I cautiously tried the door. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. But if I'd been able to steal a car and start it, I could open a locked door. Assuming, that is, it wasn't booby trapped or otherwise protected by magick. Which it probably was. At the very least I was aware that Tomes was protected by wards that repelled dark spirits. Did the wards also deny dragon sorceresses? I was about to find out.

I called up Lucky as a wisp as thin as a bobby pin and sent him into the keyhole of the lock. Consciously, I told him to open the lock, but I had no idea how that would be achieved just as I'd had no idea how to start a car engine. But Lucky had something of an intelligence, enough for something like this.

I soon heard the soft click of the lock opening. I tried the door and was able to push it in. Though I was afraid this might be some sort of test to see how much of a nosy neighbor I was, I quietly entered the shop.

Tomes was huge inside, easily outclassing any "normal" bookstore I'd ever entered. I wouldn't have been surprised if Orlaton admitted that magick was behind it. Aisles and aisles of bookshelves stuffed full of old and dirty books stretched every which way back into darkness. It was a veritable maze of bookshelves, with a good chance there was some grizzled Minotaur camping out somewhere within it. The place stank of leather, rotting paper, and sage, the latter which was burned for purification purposes. I headed for the very center of the shop to the rotunda where rituals were often held. I was relieved to see that today the area was empty.

Rugs covered the floor. I resisted the urge to lift up the edge of one to see if the wood floors still held the scratches from the exorcism rite we'd attempted to perform on Vale. It wasn't my fondest memory, to say the least. I
was
amused to note the rearing dragon statue that now sat in place of the manticore one that I had destroyed that night.

"I always knew you were a sucker for dragons, Orlaton," I said to myself as I walked up to it and ran my fingers along a bronze wing. It was a European dragon, so visually it wasn't much like my dragon, but that was just nitpicking. Melanie had joked that Orlaton had a crush on me. Maybe she wasn't wrong. Or maybe the dragon had been the only statue on sale the day Orlaton had gone shopping for a replacement.

I stood for a long moment, ears straining to hear sounds of movement. Just when I was about to deem the place empty, I heard the distant rustle of cloth.

"Orlaton?" I called out.

To my surprise, the sound of a faint moan drifted to me from between the stacks.

Oh, great
.

I followed the sound, my heart rate picking up its pace. I wasn't in the mood for any more scary surprises. I was tempted to turn around and walk out. But of course that wasn't an option. Not after standing by and doing nothing while Kleure was taught his lesson.

Emerging from the stacks, I came upon Orlaton sitting sprawled on the floor. His legs were extended in front of him and his hands lay slack between them. Books lay scattered around him, disgorged from one of the shelves that had been tipped over. It had hit the wall with one corner, keeping it suspended at a sixty degree angle to the floor.

I hurried around to kneel by Orlaton's side. His chin nearly touched his chest but his eyes were open, staring ahead.

"Is it…is it closed?" he whispered.

"Is what closed?"

"The…menace."

Frowning, I traced his line of sight to the old metal trunk that was partially hidden in the shadow cast by the tipped over bookshelf. The trunk appeared old and weathered, with rusted metal bands wrapped around it. It would be the perfect decoration at a pirate-themed party. When Orlaton had pointed it out to me previously, it was to illustrate the danger of working with dark magick. But he'd been vague, not actually telling me what was so frightening about the thing.

That vagueness should have spurred me to write it off, however sometimes you didn't need a threat to be spelled out for you to recognize its danger. And that was the case with this trunk. The haunted look on Orlaton's face as he'd explained how he'd only barely bested whatever was contained inside it had stuck with me like a ghost story.

Orlaton was seventeen, but he dressed and acted like he was fifty years-old. His maturity was unnerving. So was his general appearance, which was of a pale, thin man with an overly large head and eyes. When he was afraid, like now, he resembled the figure in Edvard Munch's painting,
The Scream.

A sense of terror was climbing up my spine. It was exacerbated when I noticed that the big padlock that normally bound the trunk now lay open on the floor alongside two chains and two smaller locks that must have been recent additions. I'd thought the big lock was only a visual deterrent to keep the curious from opening the trunk, but maybe I was wrong. I could feel the ominous tickle along my senses that told me the magickal locks on the thing had been recently opened as well.

"Orlaton, I think it's open," I hissed urgently. "How did it get open?"

He chuckled weakly. "I wanted to see if it was still active."

"You couldn't have just kicked it?"

He rolled his blue eyes up at me impatiently. The Orlaton I knew and sorta liked was coming back. "It's not a puppy in a crate, Miss Moody."

"How would I know? You've never told me what's in there."

Frustratingly, he didn't rise to the bait. "No, and you don't need to know. Help me to stand."

I hooked one of his thin arms around my shoulders and helped him to his feet. After a few seconds he pushed me away, determined to stand on his own, which he did, albeit like a scarecrow battered by gusting winds. It bothered me to see him wipe a trickle of blood from his bottom lip where he must have bitten himself.

The color had returned to his cheeks but he still looked sickly to me. Granted, Orlaton's default look wasn't exactly sunny and healthy but he looked worse now, like one of the kids from
The Flowers in the Attic
.

"It called to me," he murmured as he stared at the trunk with equal parts fascination and horror. "It tricked me. How could it trick me?"

I felt itchy all over, and kept glancing over my shoulders at the shadows. "Jesus, Orlaton, would you just tell me what it is already?"

He turned to me then, and it was like locking gazes with a prisoner of war. "Why would you want that nightmare in your head?" he asked me softly.

"Damn you." I rubbed ferociously at my arms, trying to rub away the goose bumps that had broken over my skin. "I'm your neighbor, you know. I think I have a right to know if something godawful is across the street from me."

"And what would you do about it if you knew?" he challenged me.

He had a point. I wasn't ready to close up Moonlight Pawn just yet. Not even for mysterious pirate trunks.

"Maybe I'd bolster my defenses or something," I mumbled.

"You should be doing that anyway," he muttered, and to my alarm, strode boldly toward the chest.

I caught his arm. "What are you doing?"

He looked down at my hand, then up at my face. And then he just stood there, staring at me, until I let him go. The balls on this kid.

"I'm going to ensure it is properly closed," he told me. "Assuming I have your permission…"

I threw up my hands. "Have at it, Orlaton. Knock yourself out."

But I watched him warily, ready to call up Lucky should he be needed. Orlaton wasn't a magickal being. He was simply an ordinary kid with an obsession with the occult. Frankly, it was amazing that Orlaton had been allowed to know as much as he did. Had someone vouched for him to the Oddsmakers? I made a mental note to dig up information about who his parents were.

Today he wore another cardigan—navy blue this time—and a yellow bowtie with black dots. Combined with his pale, fine hair that under certain lightning made him appear to be balding, Orlaton looked like a high schooler playing his dad in the school play. But appearances were deceiving in this case. Despite his age, Orlaton was no child.

He stopped about four paces from the trunk and carefully tipped the bookshelves upright again. He must have tried to bury the trunk with the closest thing at hand. An act of panic, probably, which didn't do my nerves any favors.

He made some motions with his fingers while he murmured words I didn't understand. I knew zilch when it came to the occult arts. Too many formulas and rules, too much studying and paying attention to detail. I was a bit ADD when it came to magickal constructions. Probably in Orlaton's eyes that made me an unsophisticated pleb.

"Somewhere around here should be a bottle of blessed water," he said without turning to look at me.

I found the bottle buried beneath the piles of books. It was about the size and shape of a container of cough syrup. It was stoppered with cork and appeared to be half full. Or was that half empty?

Cautiously, I approached with the bottle held out at arm's length. "Right behind you."

He didn't turn, just held his hand out like a surgeon in the middle of an operation. I noticed with dismay that his hand trembled. I placed the bottle carefully in his palm. The cork came out with a cheerful sounding
pop
but that was where the cheer ended. When Orlaton flung the contents of the bottle over the chest, the thing wailed.

Several voices twined together to create the sound, like a chorus of tenors. But these were glee clubbers from Hell.

"You will regret this…"

"We'll tear you apart!"

"Kill him! Kill them all!"

I "heard" the wailing threats  not through my ears but in my chest. I actually clapped my hands over my breastbone as though I could stop the reedy vibration of my heart. It was a whir like a dentist's drill boring through my rib cage. I twisted with discomfort as Orlaton splashed the trunk with more of the blessed water, inciting a fresh round of wailing and threats.

"To Hell with you!"

"You will weep and you will bleed…"

"You will suffer worse than any have suffered!"

Their voices and their threats were a million times worse than those uttered by the cursed cameos in my shop. These were malicious. These wanted to hurt Orlaton in ungodly ways.

"S-Stop," I chattered. The voices were rising in pitch, creating a fine vibration that threatened to reduce my skeleton to powder. I clenched my teeth together. They rattled dangerously and I was afraid I'd jar my fillings loose.

Orlaton, white-faced, ignored me and my suffering. He emptied out all of the water, tossed the empty bottle, and then swiftly kneeled and began yanking the loose chains around the chest so they crisscrossed the lid. The trunk twitched. I thought I saw the lid begin to crack open, thought I saw the light glinting off the tips of needle sharp fingernails. I pointed wordlessly at that widening seam of darkness and what was coming out of it, unable to voice my horror. Orlaton worked faster, perhaps having seen what I had. I saw his hands begin to shake more violently. A bead of sweat slid down the side of his face.