LEVIATHAN #2
The room is empty except for old cutting equipment and stacks of damaged stone, but the second chamber gives us more.
Fresh marks cut through the dust where something heavy crossed toward another corridor, while the gargoyle’s scent suddenly divides, one trail continuing deeper and another doubling back toward the stairs.
I stop before Rowan can commit to either direction. “He’s doing it again. He knows I follow magic, so he’s giving me more of his to follow.”
Rowan studies both passages before looking back at me. “Then which one has Medusa?”
I ignore the gargoyle completely and reach for her instead.
Her signature is faint now, but it runs straight through the lower corridor without doubling back, and I point toward it once I’m sure.
“That one. He can smear his scent all over this place if he wants, but hers only goes where he took her.”
Amand slides his hand from my wrist into mine as we move. “Then that’s all we follow.”
The farther underground we go, the rougher the quarry becomes.
Finished limestone gives way to walls cut directly from the formation, while abandoned restoration pieces have been stacked wherever the corridor widens enough to hold them.
Broken statues stand shoulder to shoulder with unfinished columns and blocks of stone large enough to hide a body behind, and every few feet I find myself looking twice at something that should not require a second look.
Medusa’s scent strengthens near the end of the corridor, and something sharper rises underneath it. Blood catches in the back of my throat strongly enough that I speed up before forcing myself back down again, while Rowan’s eyes darken beside me as soon as he smells it too.
The trail turns into a larger chamber and stops so completely that all three of us freeze at the entrance.
The room is wide enough that our footsteps would echo if any of us were stupid enough to take another one, with old support pillars dividing the space into uneven sections and carved stone pieces filling almost everything between them.
Several gargoyle figures have been stacked against the far wall, some intact and others missing wings, heads, or limbs, and I immediately hate every fucking inch of the place.
Amand leans close enough that his mouth is near my ear. “Can you smell her?”
“She’s here.” I keep my voice low and let Rowan’s hand settle against my back while I force myself still.
The first few seconds give me nothing useful.
My eyes keep catching on carved faces, bent wings, crouched bodies, rough surfaces interrupted by restoration patches, and every shape looks like it might move if I stare at it long enough.
That is exactly what the bastard wants, so I stop looking for him.
My breathing slows as the restless pull beneath my skin settles with it.
Gray spreads lightly across the backs of my hands, picking up the limestone around us without me consciously asking for it, and I let the chamber separate into the things that matter instead of trying to take in everything at once: dust, light, texture, pressure.
One of the tall statues near the far wall has dust across both shoulders but almost none along the lower wing.
Another has old restoration marks running continuously over its surface exactly the way they should.
I keep moving my attention carefully until a shadow near the third support pillar catches wrong against the direction of the light.
At first, there are only three shapes there: one headless gargoyle, one crouched figure with half a wing, and a block of unfinished stone wedged between them.
Then I realize the unfinished block has a shadow it shouldn’t have with the light behind it, and the longer I stare, the more the shape starts pulling apart.
The block becomes a shoulder first. A folded wing follows, then one bent leg pressed against the base of the pillar. My pulse jumps hard enough that the gray on my hands threatens to flicker, but I hold still until the camouflage settles again.
I lift two fingers beside my thigh where Rowan and Amand can see them and point slightly left without taking my eyes off the shape. They follow the line of my hand, and Rowan’s entire body tightens when he finally sees what I do.
Medusa is sitting against the far side of the pillar with her wrists bound in front of her. Blood runs from one side of her temple, and several of the snakes covering her head are snapping hard enough that I can barely hear the sound from across the chamber.
The gargoyle is crouched beside her so completely matched to the limestone that I would have walked straight past him a week ago. One gray hand is wrapped around the back of Medusa’s neck while the other holds a blade beneath one of her snakes, close enough that a single movement could take it off.
I stay perfectly still, and Rowan and Amand do the same beside me. The gargoyle has gone to all this trouble because he still believes his stone can hide him from me, and for once I have no intention of correcting him until we decide exactly how to use that against him.