Chapter 20 – Medusa #2
“Tough crowd,” I say.
A lovely woman with pale yellow hair meets my gaze.
“Is it tough to be surrounded by all this testosterone?”
She raises a brow, and her lip quirks, but she doesn’t answer me.
We shuffle to the largest building in the tiny town. It’s made out of stone, unlike the other ones, with moss covering nearly every inch of its walls and roof. The two big doors are thrown open, and I’m surprised by the slight chill that swallows us as we enter the darkness.
The old man reaches the room and struggles up the stairs of a dais, before seating himself on a simple throne. Three ancient people are seated to each side of him, three women, and three men. All of them watch our group with suspicion, as we come to stand before them.
“Let’s see her,” the old man orders.
Byron’s grip tightens around me for one second before he slowly puts me on the ground.
My legs tremble ever-so-slightly, which I’m sure has more to do with our long flight than my nerves. At least that’s what I tell myself.
“Why aren’t her hands bound?” the man says, and his angry words echo around us. “What’s to stop the monster from simply reaching up and removing her glasses, killing us all?”
I answer before the others can. “How about a thing called a moral-code? You know, the same thing that keeps your gargoyles from just snapping weak humans’ necks.”
There’s thunder in the man’s eyes. “Bind her hands.”
Marcus steps forward. “That’s not necessary. She’s agreed to help our cause.”
A woman speaks from beside the old man. “I’d hoped that Max and Arthur’s account of their interaction with you was incorrect, but it seems we do have cause for worry.
The four of you are treating the monster as less a prisoner and more of a guest, which suggests she may have manipulated you into trusting her. ”
Marcus crosses his big, muscular arms over his chest. “Only a fool would use excessive force with a willing prisoner.”
The older humans lean toward one another and begin to whisper. I don’t know what my gargoyles are thinking, but their actions are making me nervous.
At last, the oldest man’s gaze lands on Byron. “We can’t wait any longer. Each moment brings us closer to death.”
He nods and moves to my side. “Father, I understand. And Medusa is ready to help.”
Father? This old man is his father? I didn’t even know gargoyles had fathers… and this guy looks human. So how did that work?
“So, how do her powers work?” the old man asks.
I answer instead, hating to be talked about like I’m not here. “I remove my glasses, and any humans or weaker magical creatures are turned into stone. Pretty simple.”
The old man glowers at me. “Can’t you get her to shut up?”
My men stiffen, but say nothing.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you lacked basic manners.” There’s a bite to my words. “You’d think after helping you get Eros’ statue and Athena’s necklace, that you’d at least treat me like a person.”
His mouth curls up in disgust. “I think somehow you’ve forgotten your place, so let me remind you. We are the protectors of mankind, hunters of monsters. And you are a disgusting creature the world would be better without. Helping us on our mission doesn’t change that.”
I open my mouth, but Byron cuts me off. “How do we want to do this?”
His father looks angry as he takes a deep breath. “I’ll go first, so we can see if it even works.”
“No,” Byron says, his word final. “Someone else—“
“I won’t ask my people to risk their lives if I’m not willing to.” The old man stands. “I’ll go first.”
“Go first with what?” I ask.
For a second I think he won’t answer me, but then the old man’s gaze holds mine. “You’re going to turn me into stone.”
I can’t breathe. No, I don’t just go around turning people into stone. No matter how much of a jerk Byron’s father is, I can’t be responsible for taking his life. Not only does the idea turn my stomach, but this man is Byron’s family. If I kill him, he’ll never see me as anything but a monster.
“No,” I refuse.
The old man smacks the end of his cane on the stone, the sound echoing loudly in the room. “You will do as I say.”
My hands clench into fists. “I know what you think of me, but I won’t have your death on my conscience."
A man laughs. My gaze goes to him. He has pepper-grey hair and yellow teeth. “And what about all the others you killed?”
I glare at him. “I don’t kill for fun. I’ve only done so when I didn’t have a choice.”
The man with the yellow teeth grins, and a chill runs down my spine. “Oh, how lovely. A monster with a moral code.”
Harold gently takes my arms and turns me to face him.
“We’re not asking you to kill him. We’re asking you to try to save his life.
Remember, most gargoyles are immune to your powers because we can turn into stone any time we want.
But with these people, we think your powers can more than work on them, we think they could give them immortality. ”
Save a life with my curse? Yeah, right. “I think you have my powers all wrong.”
He smiles, and there’s sadness in his stunning blue eyes. “Hear me out. Something’s happening with our older gargoyles—“
“She doesn’t need to know that!” Byron’s father shouts.
Harold continues, as if the old man never spoke.
“They’re losing their stone-forms, and without them, they’re aging rapidly.
Using your powers is our only chance at turning them back to stone and saving their lives.
We think that if you turn them to stone, then it may re-activate their ability to change. ”
Something chokes my throat. I could use this curse to save people? It’s… it’s not possible. “And what if it doesn’t work?” I whisper. “What if it just kills him?”
He pushes the hair back from my face. “If you don’t try, he’s got maybe weeks left.”
“A few weeks are better than nothing,” I tell him. “Trust me.”
I look back at the older humans, and sympathy blossoms within me. At one point they were immortal, frozen in time in healthy bodies. They must be terrified.
And maybe… maybe I can help them.
“Please,” Harold begs. “Just try. We wouldn’t have brought you here if we thought you’d fail.”
I take a deep breath. I can try. Maybe if I can save them, they’ll see me differently. My gargoyles won’t have to fight to justify why my life should be spared. These old gargoyles will see with their own eyes that I can do more than just kill.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I say, squaring my shoulders.
“We weren’t giving you a choice,” Byron’s father says, his voice shaking. “You’re our prisoner, and you will do as we say.”
I stare at them, and something changes within me, something I know is a result of the four men at my side. Men who seem to care about me.
“And I want to make something clear to you. There are people who believe gargoyles are evil, that they are cursed beings. There are people who fear mermaids, sirens, witches, nymphs, demi-gods, gods, and every other magical being. But after all your lifetimes, you must have come to realize that there are good and bad in every group. That you can’t just decide an entire species is bad.
So, yes, I’m a monster. Yes, you hunt my kind.
But I want you to know here and now that not all of us are bad.
I’m helping you today, not because I fear you.
Because believe me, you’re not the first group to kidnap me.
I’ve endured prisons. I’ve endured torture.
I’ve endured things that none of you could ever imagine.
And if I didn’t want to help you, nothing you could do would force me to. ”
The man with the yellow teeth sneered. “Nice speech, monster.”
A few of the old people laughed. I can feel the tension in my gargoyles.
“I just had to say it,” I say with a shrug. “But I know empathy can’t be taught, so it is what it is. I’ll try to save your life, and you guys go right on hating me. I’m sure it’s easier that way for all of you.”
“Let’s get on with it,” Byron’s father says, but there’s something unreadable in his expression.
The older man stands. He seems unsteady on his feet. Byron sprints forward and moves to take his arm. His father pulls away, then shakily steps down the stairs on his own. Byron hovers behind him, his expression concerned.
I watch them, and something twists in my chest. Byron loves his father. Of course he does. But it was hard to see it under his tough exterior. Now, however, as he hovers behind him, I see it.
I don’t know if any bored Gods are watching us now, but I pray they save this angry gargoyle’s life.
Do you truly pray? The unfamiliar voice echoes in my head. The power of a God humming in each word.
Someone is listening. Someone is watching.
I haven’t prayed to the Gods since I was exiled, since I still believed in something. But I slowly sink to my knees, and clasp my hands in front of me, bowing my head.
Yes, I pray. I pray that I have the power to save these gargoyles. To do something good with my curse.
I wait for a long minute on my knees, my eyes squeezed shut. But there’s nothing. No voice. No response.
Regret makes my heart clench. The words I thought I heard…
they must have been a trick of my mind, the desperate hope of someone who was terrified, someone who finally found people who could see the good in her.
Someone who knew that if she killed this man, four handsome men would never see her the same again.
When I open my eyes, I’m surprised to feel a tear flowing down my cheek.
A curious request of a monster. The voice comes again, but this time it sounds amused.
I don’t move for a long second, waiting to see what more he’ll say, but the voice is silent. Then I realize the God I’ve prayed to could just as easily be here to watch me kill this gargoyle as he is to help me save him. Fucking Gods.
I brush the tear away and climb to my feet. Which is the first time I realize that the entire room is silent, that every eye is on me.
No one knows what to make of my prayer. I can see it in their faces. But hell, I don’t know what to make of it either.
Byron’s father stands in front of a massive window made of different colored glass. It makes up an image of a gargoyle on top of a building, staring down at a city with a sunset behind him.
The old man stands alone. Byron is back by my side.
And the Elites are to our side.
My legs shake as I take a deep breath and move closer to him. He watches me warily, and when I’m just a few feet from him, I pause.
“What’s your name?”
He looks hesitant. “Elite Edgar.”
I smile. “Here’s what I need you to do, Edgar. I need you to put all your energy into hoping this works, because I’m scared. And I need one of us to be brave.”
His eyes widen in surprise. “All right.”
I take another deep breath and reach for glasses, but freeze. Looking behind me, I search out Byron. “Is there anything you want to say?”
He opens his mouth and then closes it. “No, because this is going to go just the way we plan. My father and I can talk afterwards.”
His faith in me is like a warm hug. “Thanks,” I say, and the word is barely a whisper.
He nods, his gaze holding mine.
I turn back around. “Ready?”
The old man looks pale, but nods.
And… I slide my glasses off.