Soulkeeper Page 32

  Devin laughed despite himself. Layers of mental armor slipped off his mind. The public persona of Soulkeepers was of skilled, armed protectors of life and manipulators of souls. Their arrival in a town often signified a dire need of some sort: a spreading disease, mass burials, or bandits thought to be beyond the reach of the Royal Overseer’s soldiers. People saw them as invincible, but Devin knew better. He remembered Soulkeepers-in-training getting homesick in their early days as a novice, remembered their broken bones and bleeding noses during training, foul jokes over meals, smuggled bottles of rum and beer, and awkward, uncomfortable sexual escapades between young men and women in cramped wooden bunks. They were human, and it felt good to be one with someone who understood that.

  “When daylight comes, would you like to find a tavern somewhere and toast to old times?” he asked her.

  “Sure,” Lyssa said. “I assume you also haven’t given up alcohol?”

  “Are you kidding?” he asked. “No sex or alcohol? I might as well—”

  A shadow crossed over the moon. Devin shoved Lyssa aside and brought his pistol up to bear. A deafening screech assaulted his ears and threatened to disrupt his aim. Wings and feathers and reaching claws whooshed through the spot where Lyssa had stood. Devin pulled the trigger, immediately sensing he was already too late. His shot splintered harmlessly into the side of a building. The enormous owl flapped its wings with enough force to blow the hat off Devin’s head and rapidly ascended back into the night sky.

  Lyssa rolled to her feet. Her pistols appeared in her hands as if she’d merely willed them out of their holsters. Two more rolling cracks of thunder echoed through the street from her flamestones’ eruption. If either shot hit, the owl showed no sign of it. Together the two Soulkeepers watched the bird of prey fade into the distance.

  “Holy shit,” Lyssa said. Her pistols remained aimed at the fleeting shadow despite being empty. “Holy shit, Devin. Holy shit.”

  “Did you believe the owls imaginary?” he asked her.

  “It’s not that,” she said. “I nearly died. Just like that, I’d be owl food. Holy shit.”

  A somber reminder that an empty street did not mean safety. One moment they were laughing and discussing their journeys as Soulkeepers, the next, diving for their lives. Holy shit, indeed.

  “We need to keep moving,” he said. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Better us than someone else.”

  Lyssa pulled herself free of his touch.

  “I know my job,” she said. “And forget splitting our attention. We both keep our eyes on the sky.”

  They reloaded their weapons and continued their patrol of Low Dock. All hint of their jovial banter was buried beneath steady gazes and careful examination of their surroundings. The owl’s attack had unnerved him greatly, so when Devin heard sudden pounding against wood from around the corner he had to stifle a jump. The two Soulkeepers exchanged glances, and Lyssa gestured for Devin to take point. He drew his sword as she readied both her pistols. After a silent count to three he rushed the corner, and upon discovering a scrawny man beating against the locked door of a bakery, he brought his pistol to bear. Disappointment quickly replaced his adrenaline. No half-green, half-black hair, just sweat-stained brown locks atop a young dockworker.

  “Hey there,” Devin said as he lowered his pistol. “What is the matter, friend?”

  The man ignored him. His fists struck the door with a steady rhythm. A simple glance through the window showed the small bakery closed and empty. What was he hoping to accomplish?

  “I said hello, friend,” Devin called again, this time with far more edge to his voice.

  The man spun about and shoved his back against the door. He looked haggard and bruised. The bottoms of his brown trousers were stained from the waters of the Septen River. His eyes locked onto the drawn pistol.

  “What?” he asked. He sounded perturbed, as if the two Soulkeepers were annoying interlopers. Hardly the respect they deserved.

  “The place is closed,” Lyssa said. “Why the fuss?”

  “I’m hungry,” he said as if that explained everything. He scratched at his neck. His skin looked pale and unhealthy, as if he hadn’t seen the sun in years.

  “Hungry or not, there’s no food to be had here,” Lyssa said. “Go home. Find yourself a big breakfast come morning.”

  “Can’t sleep,” he said. “I’ve given up trying.”

  The dark circles underneath his eyes certainly lent evidence to that, but overall he looked wired and edgy, not tired. Something about his movements seemed off, though Devin could not quite decide why. Like he moved in spurts. Certainly not drunk, but then what?

  “Do you know where the local church is?” Devin asked. The man nodded. “Good. My sister is a Mindkeeper there. Go to her and ask for a nocturnal medicine. She’ll give you something that will knock you right out.”

  The man nodded twice, three times, four, five.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe, maybe.”

  And then he ran full tilt up the street. Devin watched him go with a deep pit in his stomach.

  “Did any new powders or mushrooms arrive recently in Londheim?” he asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Lyssa said. “Just the standard weeds from the south. They don’t wind you up, though. Quite the opposite.”

  The strange man ducked around a corner and out of his sight. Devin decided to ask Adria if she’d encountered similar behavior. If something new had hit Londheim, especially in its overcrowded state, it could be…

  Movement drew his eye. On the rooftop, not far from where the man turned. Shadows crawled. He caught the faint outline of wings.

  “He’s in danger,” Devin said. “Follow him, hurry!”

  They sprinted over the cobbles. A terrible cry added an extra burst of speed to their steps. That wasn’t a man in pain. That was a man dying. Devin drew his sword and pistol as he turned the corner, anticipating the worst and still not prepared to view it.

  Two monsters huddled over the man’s corpse. They looked made of stone, with crooked backs and clawed three-toed feet. Long, reptilian wings sprouted from their shoulders. Though their arms and legs resembled those of a human, their faces were akin to a panther’s, with narrow eyes, a broad flat nose, and long, pearly-white canines. They were unmistakably gargoyles, only instead of decorative objects meant to shunt water away from rooftops, these breathed and snarled and ripped meat off the dead man’s ribs and into their stone mouths. They heard the Soulkeepers’ approach and turned. Their eyes shone a sky blue with little white veins crackling throughout.

  Lyssa’s extended pistols remained as still as the statues the gargoyles were supposed to be. She showed no outward panic or fear. Life-or-death training had taken hold. No doubt she analyzed the gargoyles with the same clinical mind-set as Devin. The gargoyles opened their bloodstained mouths and growled in unison. It sounded like angered mountain lions, only strangely higher-pitched.

  “Their skin may be real stone,” Devin said. “Aim for the eyes, or the throat if you can’t.”

  Her aim shifted to the left gargoyle. Devin trained his pistol to the right. The four of them remained still, each pair tensely watching the other. Waiting for movement. Seeking weakness. The left gargoyle spread its wings and growled again, the pitch even higher. Lyssa fired before the sound could even leave the monster’s throat. Blue blood erupted from its mouth in a spray. As the force of the bullet rocked its head backward she fired again, this time into the skin directly beneath the jaw.

  Lyssa’s shot forced Devin to take his own. The bullet ricocheted off the other gargoyle’s skull. The monster flapped its wings in a frantic, graceless rhythm compared to the calm beats of the giant owls. Its skinny legs aided its ascent with a jump carrying it up to the nearby rooftop.

  “Check it,” Lyssa said, her calm voice out of place after the detonation of three flamestones. The shot gargoyle wasn’t moving, but that was evidence of nothing. Devin holstered his pistol and rushed toward the body, his
sword pulled back for a thrust with both hands.

  The second gargoyle dove headfirst off the rooftop. Its teeth opened wide, eagerly extending those four long canines. Devin had no time to think. Training took over. His body was primed for a thrust, so he shifted his aim skyward and tensed his legs and elbows. The gargoyle’s momentum carried it into contact, driving the sword down its throat tip first. Devin had a brief second to feel the cold, wet insides of the gargoyle’s mouth before the weight of the body made contact.

  The two slammed into one another in a chaotic tumble of arms, legs, and wings. Devin’s head hit the ground first. The sudden crack flooded his vision with giant black splotches. His sword ripped out of his hands. Something sharp raked his chest. Claws? Teeth? He didn’t know. He rolled onto his stomach as the weight slid off. His hand shot to his waist where he kept a hunting knife. Had to arm himself. Had to fight.

  Fingers closed around his elbow. His panic nearly caused him to slash Lyssa’s hand off at the wrist.

  “Nice kill,” she said. “Keeps us at an even one and one.”

  His vision was returning, however slowly. He settled his eyes on the stiff gargoyle lying beside him. His sword remained embedded up to the hilt in its throat. Grimaces and groans accompanied his push to stand.

  “Should we get you to an apothecary?” Lyssa asked.

  Devin put a foot on the gargoyle’s head and yanked his sword free after a few tugs.

  “Nothing’s broken,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

  He stood over the gargoyle. It’d been surprisingly difficult to pull out his sword. Despite dying mere seconds ago its entire body appeared locked in rigor mortis. Even stranger, he saw no sign of blood anywhere. He knew these things could bleed. He’d seen the spurt from the one Lyssa gunned down.

  “Bizarre, isn’t it?” Lyssa asked. She joined him in staring at the dead creature. “It makes you wonder, are all of the gargoyle statues alive? Were they alive all these centuries, or only when the magical creatures emerged?”

  Good questions, and all of which Devin had no answers for.

  “We’ll need to call for some guards to clean up the mess,” he said.

  “Lucky them.”

  It wasn’t much, just a low scrape of stone against stone, or claw against cobble. Devin dropped to one knee and spun. The first gargoyle they’d “killed” was very much alive, and it lunged at him with open mouth and reaching claws. Its aim was too high, and Devin ducked even lower as he swept his sword in an upward arc. The creature landed between the two of them with a howl. Blue blood flowed from the cut across its chest, joining that which dripped from the earlier bullet wounds.

  Instead of charging again it flapped its wings and soared into the air. The gargoyle circled like a hunting falcon, the two Soulkeepers its wounded prey.

  “Buy me time to reload,” Lyssa said.

  “I don’t know if I can fight it off,” Devin said. It took much of his strength to remain on his feet.

  “Then just look scary,” she snapped. “I only need a few seconds.”

  Devin had witnessed Lyssa reloading her weapons countless times during their training, and she’d gotten only faster with age. Her fingers curled the pistols downward, her thumbs pulling back the hammers and then smoothly dipping into two pouches belted on either side of her waist. Out rolled a flamestone into each chamber. Her hands twisted again, rotating the pistols so they faced upward. Another smooth motion rolled two lead shots wrapped in cloth out of two higher belt pouches and into the barrel. Last she twirled them downward, sliding the barrels over two short rods of metal poking upward from her custom belt. When she lifted her loaded pistols to the sky, a mere five seconds had passed from start to finish.

  Not once did her eyes leave the circling gargoyle.

  “Come on, you son of a bitch,” Lyssa breathed. “Make the dive. You know you want to.”

  Perhaps the gargoyle knew they were prepared. Perhaps it didn’t care. Two loops lowered its height significantly, and the third sent it spiraling into an uneven dive toward the Soulkeepers. Devin stood his ground and trusted his friend. Lyssa’s pistols moved in tiny little shifts, tracking the dive, anticipating its movements.

  Fire burst from the barrels. Two loud cracks announced the bullets finding their marks. The gargoyle plummeted off course and smashed into the side of a building. Devin’s eyes widened, and he had but a half second to dive aside before the gargoyle’s body ricocheted off and slammed through the street at a dizzying roll. Lyssa instinctively held an arm up before her, and then the two collided into a rolling tangle of limbs.

  “Lyssa!” Devin screamed. He pushed to his feet and ran to where she lay upon the cold stone. One of the gargoyle’s wings rested atop her like a blanket. Her eyes fluttered, and then she let out a pained groan.

  “Never lucky, am I?” she said.

  Devin sighed with relief. “Are you all right?”

  “More or less,” she said, gingerly rising to her feet. She clutched her right arm to her abdomen and hissed in sharply. “I’m thinking less. Motherfucker broke my arm.”

  Devin turned his attention to the dead gargoyle. At least it looked dead, but he was taking no chances this time. He watched the flow of blood cease from its wounds, something familiar about the sight. He used his sword to open up a new cut on a flank of skin relatively free of bloodstains. When Lyssa asked what he was doing he merely held up a finger and asked for patience.

  After a minute or so he saw the first blue drops of blood coalescing along the wound.

  “I was right,” he said. “I have seen this before.”

  “Seen what?” Lyssa asked. “Something turn to stone?”

  “It’s not turning to stone,” Devin said. “It’s slowing its own time.”

  He lifted his sword with all his might and brought it slamming down upon the gargoyle’s neck. The blow severed its head, and the instant the spine broke, the body thrashed wildly. Blood spurted from the gargoyle’s many wounds. Whatever magic had frozen its time was spent. Devin moved to the other and with two quick whacks severed its head as well. Blue blood flowed across the cobbles.

  The two Soulkeepers quietly surveyed the mangled remains of the two creatures and their unfortunate victim. It seemed neither wanted to break the silence. Devin certainly didn’t. His mind was too busy reeling from the implications of this discovery. How many gargoyles were perched upon the corners of Londheim’s taller buildings, particularly in the older districts such as Church and Quiet?

  “Summon the city guard,” Lyssa said softly. “No civilian should see this.”

  “Agreed. Go get your arm looked at by an apothecary. I’ll spread orders to break and shatter all gargoyles from their perches. A few may be real, or maybe all, but it’s the only safe course to take.”

  “We’ll need to get permission from the mayor, or perhaps even Royal Overseer Downing.”

  Devin looked to the shredded corpse of a man he’d talked to mere minutes before. To the gaping hole in his chest where the gargoyles had torn open his rib cage and devoured his intestines.

  “Then we get it,” Devin said. “Come daylight, every last one of those gargoyles is coming down.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Jacaranda waited until the stars were out before emerging from her bedroom fully dressed and armed. She peeked at the couch and saw Tommy snoring atop it. Good. She slipped to the door, then paused as the one person still present and awake let out a little cough to draw her attention.

  “Where are you going?” Tesmarie asked. She fluttered up from her new makeshift bed. It was on a shelf with two rolled-up strips of cloth plus a small collection of loose cotton. It looked like the fanciest bed for the world’s tiniest cat.

  “I’m going out,” Jacaranda said, keeping her voice soft to prevent waking Tommy.

  “But-but-but Devin says it’s dangerous at night. Plus you have your, you know…” She twirled her finger before her neck. “Your mark.”

  Jacaranda subconsciously tighte
ned the white scarf covering her tattooed chains.

  “I have my own matters to attend,” she said. “I ask that you not speak of this to Devin.”

  Tesmarie flew back to her bed and sat on its edge with a sad huff.

  “What if he asks? I’m not good at lying, Jacaranda. I’m, well, actually kind of terrible at it.”

  “Promise me,” she insisted. “If Devin knows, he will want to help, but this is something I must do on my own.”

  “All right, I promise,” the faery said, looking miserable. The fire popped. Jacaranda glanced at it in time to see strange ripples across the top of the flame. Tesmarie heard and promptly translated. “Oh, and Puffy says he won’t tell anyone, either.”

  Jacaranda had planned to sneak out unnoticed, but now she was unsure. If Devin came home before her, the slightest interrogation would crack Tesmarie like an egg. Nervousness bubbled in her chest. How might he react? Would he be angry with her?

  A surge of anger blasted the thought away. What did it matter how he reacted? She was not his soulless. Jacaranda lowered her hat over her face and pulled her long coat tighter about her neck and shoulders.

  “Don’t worry about me, either of you,” she said, stepping out the door. “I am no stranger to the night.”

  Jacaranda had been many things for Gerag Ellington, and one of them was his loyal assassin. Nine times she’d climbed through windows into bedrooms and private studies to eliminate a rival in business or, more often, someone who had slighted Gerag and his new wealth. Countless other nights she’d protected his illegal shipments as they were slipped through the streets under the noses of the city guard. Going out alone was second nature to her, a skill as well trained upon her soulless self as eating and bathing.

  Jacaranda hurried down the quiet street, then turned south. Each road she passed was easily named in her mind. Part of her training had been two straight days of staring at maps of Londheim and committing every detail to memory. Her instructor had not told her she could sleep or take sitting breaks while doing so. The crippling pain in her legs and back was so horrible by the second day that Gerag had brought in a masseuse and ordered her to take a full week of bedrest. The instructor had suffered dearly for that oversight. She’d even been the one ordered to cut the tendons from his heels.