Chapter 3 #2
As much as those things scare me, talking to them is the only way I’ll find out what is happening. With my gun in my right hand, I twist back the deadbolt and open the front door, hoping I’d imagined the whole thing.
I didn’t.
“May we come in?” the biggest of the four asks.
“Why the hell not?” I step aside, watching the large men lumber into the house. What could possibly go wrong? I shut the door and our awkward stare-off resumes. At least we’re out of the rain this time.
“Okay,” I start. “Someone needs to explain what the hell is going on.” The men look at each other in question. “You don’t know?”
“It’s been years.” The big one closes his eyes, thinking. “Centuries.”
“Since you’ve been, uh, alive?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I blink, and look them up and down in the light.
They’re dripping wet from the rain but don’t seem to be bothered by the cold.
Each is bare-chested, wearing only ragged brown pants that have dirtied over the years from the elements.
The pants are wet, clinging to their muscular bodies, and outline every feature.
It takes effort to keep my eyes from wandering below the belt.
“How…how did this happen? And who’s Braeya?” I have so many questions, and part of me knows I won’t like all the answers. I shiver again. “Wait, no…who are you?”
“My name is Jacques Clairvaux,” the one who caught me says, pushing his dark, wavy hair out of his face. “These are my brothers Templar. Hasan.” He motions to the biggest one. “Thomas and Gilbert.”
In the light, I see Thomas’s and Gilbert’s sky-blue eyes, contrasting harshly with the dead appearance of their skin. They look at me with curiosity and amusement mixed with something else…hunger, perhaps? But not for food.
Jacques narrows his dark eyes. “Who are you? What did you do to us?”
“I’m Acelina, but everyone calls me Ace. And I didn’t do a damn thing.”
Thomas and Gilbert turn, looking at each other. I’m guessing they are actual blood brothers as well. They look too much alike not to be.
“Then how did we break free from the stone?” Thomas asks, running his eyes over me. He doesn’t even try to stop himself from checking me out. Or hiding the obvious lust the sight of my pert nipples through this thin dress causes him to feel.
I can’t stop shivering. I pull my arms around my body, keeping my finger near the trigger on my gun just in case. Hasan moves through the foyer, going into the two-story living room and right to the fireplace.
“Where is the wood?” he asks, accented voice echoing through the large house.
“I don’t know.” I turn in his direction.
“How can you not know where the wood is?”
“This isn’t my house,” I explain. “Well, I guess it is now. I don’t live here. I’ve never even been here until today.” As soon as the words leave my lips, something clicks into place.
I’ve never set foot inside the house until today.
The gargoyles awoke for the first time in centuries.
You don’t have to be a detective to make the connection, only I don’t know what two things I’m connecting.
How could I have anything to do with this?
I’ve spent my entire career proving magic and the occult doesn’t exist. I’ve never taken on a case where I failed to provide logic and reason behind the crimes.
Until ten minutes ago, I would have bet my life on the fact that magic wasn’t real. I swallow hard and get hit with a wave of dizziness.
Magic still isn’t real. It can’t be. I turn back around and look at the three men in the foyer. Water drips from their wings.
Wings.
Hasan picks up what’s probably a valuable antique chair and snaps it like a twig, tossing the pieces into the fireplace.
“I’ve gone crazy.” I squeeze my eyes shut, telling myself the gargoyles will be gone when I open them. They’re not. “I’ve cracked. They warned me this could happen. Said I compartmentalized too well, didn’t process the full extent of how fucked up people can be.”
“Acelina,” Jacques starts.
“Ace,” I interrupt. “Call me Ace.”
He gives me a curt nod, not trying at all to hide the indignation he’s feeling. I get the feeling he’s not interrupted often, and definitely not by a woman. “It can be a lot to take in. I myself remember the shock of being cursed.”
“Cursed? So now curses are real, too?” I let out a breath. “I need a drink. And I don’t drink.”
Gilbert comes forward, smirking. “We didn’t believe it either. But the sooner you accept this, the sooner we can figure this out.”
I hold up my hand. “Wait…Templar Knights are from a thousand years ago. How are you even speaking English?”
The smirk vanishes from Gilbert’s face. “A thousand years?”
“Give or take a few hundred.”
He turns to his brother, looking more human than ever. “We’ve been asleep for a thousand years,” he says quietly in disbelief.
Thomas’s blue eyes glisten for a moment, then he grins. “I knew there was a reason you looked like shit, brother.”
“You don’t look much better. You have moss in your hair and you reek like rat piss, though I can’t say that’s much different than before,” Gilbert counters.
Thomas brings a clawed hand to his head, brushing out moss and a few wet leaves. “Don’t be jealous. You know how—”
“Enough,” Jacques says, silencing the two immediately. He rounds on me, eyes narrowing. “Who are you?” he practically hisses. The venom in his voice sends a chill down my spine. Behind the anger, I can see his fear. He’s just as clueless as I am, which freaks me out even more.
Someone is supposed to have answers, and it sure isn’t me.
“I already told you. My name is Acelina Bisset. I’m a detective on the city police force. This house belonged to my Great Aunt Mary and I’ve never been inside until today.”
“Detective?”
“I solve crimes. Hunt bad guys. And I always win.” I push my shoulders back, trying to look as dignified as I can in this crushed velvet ’90s slip dress.
“But you’re a woman.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I retort, defenses automatically going up. I fought tooth and nail to get to where I am today in a male-dominated field. “Times have changed. Women are equal to men.” I let out a breath, bringing my defenses down. “A lot has changed over the years.”
“Has fucking changed?” Thomas asks, giving me that same crooked grin. “It’s been so long since I lay with a woman, even before the curse.”
“A thousand years and you’re still thinking with your cock,” Gilbert mutters under his breath, shaking his head.
“That’ll never change.”
“I don’t think fucking has changed. The concept is still the same, right? Though people are more open about their sexuality now,” I start, then shake my head. “So not the point, either.”
A glow comes from the living room, and I turn to see Hasan standing back from a fire. His eyes meet mine in the dark.
“Come,” he beckons. “Warm yourself.”
“Follow me,” I tell the others, and walk to the fire.
I sit near the hearth, holding out my ice-cold hands.
I give myself a minute to get the heat back into my fingers before drilling the gargoyles again.
I rake my long brunette hair over my shoulder, hoping it will dry quickly.
Wet hair on my back always makes me cold.
Jacques pulls a blanket off the couch, shaking off the dust. His eyes meet mine again for a fleeting moment as he hands it to me. There’s no denying the longing in his eyes as he again looks upon me as if he knows me.
“Thanks.” I take the blanket and drape it around my shoulders. My eyes go over the four men in front of me. “So you’re gargoyles.”
“Yes,” Jacques answers.
I stand, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “Okay, then. I’m going to go home and never come back. Because this cannot be happening.”
“It is happening.” Jacques steps in front of me, blocking me in against the fireplace. “It’s happening because of you.”
"Back off,” I order, and his body moves back on its own accord. “I already told you, I have no idea what’s going on, and right now…right now I want to go home.”
“Wait,” Jacques calls. “If you woke us, maybe you’re the one.”
“The one?”
“The one to break the curse.”