Chapter 26
Malek swore all of the bones in his hand broke at once.
He struck the gargoyle on his shoulder, expecting some give around the figure’s leather jacket, but was utterly wrong.
All Malek had heard about gargoyles was that they worked with stone; they were masons, often used in construction companies or chop shops, because they could handle rough materials and had a lot of brute strength.
They weren’t warriors or men of honour; they found something heavy and broke it, or they gathered up people and beat them bloody.
Gargoyles may not have been made of stone, but their skin was rough, hard, and there was no way Malek could defeat them with punches alone.
He yelped as he pulled his hand back. Everything throbbed. His skin turned blue, and he worried he’d change into his djinn form under this much stress. The blue became tinged with red as it formed a bruise. Malek flexed his fingers; pain rocketed through his arm to the elbow.
“Please, no broken bones, no broken…” He chanted and hoped for the best, but was cut short by a blow to his stomach. A gargoyle hit his ribs, his thigh, and along his back, so hard that Malek worried his kidneys would burst. He wondered how he could have ever thought fighting was a good idea.
When the pain subsided enough, Malek remembered he had legs and he kicked as hard as he could.
The gargoyle let out a cry, and his many rows of teeth shone in the sunlight.
At least that did something. Malek was about to raise his leg again when the gargoyle snarled and clipped him hard enough to send Malek skidding across the pavement.
His jeans and sections of his shirt tore from the impact.
His skin bloomed red from his superficial wounds.
All superficial, he told himself and tried to stand. You can do this, you can—
But another blow sent him down. And down again.
The only coherent thought in Malek’s mind was to protect the microphone.
This had to be why they were after him. Odafin found out Malek was trying to be free again.
The phone lines must have been tapped. Maybe the microphone had a sensor.
Now Malek was going down like Abe did. At least they don’t have the crown, Malek reminded himself.
Or maybe they do, because Cassie has now given us a riddle, and that means anyone can find it if they solve it.
If someone had been following them, they could have gone into Cassie’s apartment and gotten the answers out of her.
This is a bad idea. This has all been a bad idea. Another group of friends are all going to die because of me. And Caspar. Oh, Caspar… As the gargoyle raised his fist again, Malek wondered if the final blow would send him back to the Summerland, or if he would really die.
Maybe both would happen. He liked the sound of maybe in his ears. It sure beat the ringing from all his head injuries.
The gargoyle pulled on the back of Malek’s hoodie and made him look directly into his slate-grey eyes. Malek could barely comprehend the words as they came out of his gnarled teeth.
“What?”
“Where is the prize?” The gargoyle asked again.
“What prize?”
“The eye!” the gargoyle said, but soon his words blurred together and became nothing but a chant for “the prize, the prize” over and over again.
“Caspar?” Malek asked. “Caspar. No—oh—”
Malek’s vision focused to a sharp point.
Caspar was hoisted from the ground and tossed into the air.
Another gargoyle caught him, shook him, and then tossed him back over.
Caspar looked flushed, completely red, as if he was about to transform into his djinn form.
When Malek focused again, he noticed it was blood from a head wound that ran down his face.
Lots and lots of blood. Just like William’s blood on the pavement, still growing at an alarming rate.
Oh, no. Were the gargoyles trying to get Caspar’s other eye? Why would Odafin need that?
When a gargoyle stepped back, he slipped on William’s blood and toppled backwards, half on William and half on the jagged pavement.
Caspar flew through the air from the gargoyle’s toss.
He landed on his side, okay but still shaken.
Malek thought his arm was broken from the way he held it tightly against himself, but it wasn’t.
He was holding the jewels inside his front jacket pocket while he also tried to hide his face.
Both eyes were there, though obscured by how much blood was congealed on his cheeks.
“We just want the prize,” the gargoyle in front of Malek said. His voice was like rocks in a gravel pit. “The prize, the prize.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Natasha came up behind him and threw a punch.
Malek looked away before the hit landed.
He expected to hear her shrieks from being demolished by the gargoyle’s fist, or for her to pull away a mangled hand after hitting a stone wall.
Instead, Malek only heard the crunching sound of rock and her victorious shouts.
“You asshole,” she cried as she raised her fist again. “You don’t touch my friends. You don’t—”
The gargoyle flinched away from her blow.
Chips of his skin fell off like sand and piled onto the ground.
She was beating him. When he turned to catch her jaw in a punch, she ducked and hit him again.
She punched his cheek until a hole emerged and rows of his teeth became visible, the teeth glowing next to his black tongue.
“Fuck you.” The gargoyle tried to punch Natasha again, but she ducked, and this time when she kicked, she knocked his already weakened leg in half.
“Oh my maker,” the gargoyle wailed. He clutched at his knee as he fell on the ground. He held himself together, not fighting anymore.
In a matter of moments, he turned into a pile of rocks.
“Are you okay?” Natasha panted as she surveyed Malek’s injuries. His body ached, and his hand was bruised, but he was in too much shock to say anything. So he only nodded.
“Good.”
Natasha turned to the gargoyle approaching Caspar and punched him in the spine.
She struck him seven times in quick succession before he turned into a similar pile of rocks.
The stones fell down next to Caspar, who held himself in a tight ball.
Natasha turned her focus on the third gargoyle, who was still covered in slick blood.
He raised his hands to block the shots, but soon turned away and murmured his acquiesce.
“No more, please. No more. Let me go…”
William stood next to the gargoyle now. Blood streaked his face, but he wasn’t injured. The blood was a film, like sweat, like something magical. He seemed to glow, almost shimmer, before he struck the gargoyle with his bare hand.
“My—”
Rocks cracking. Blood boiling. The sounds were horrible, but the visuals were benign.
A gargoyle standing, then crumbling. William touched the gargoyle’s shoulder, his back, his legs, all of which broke apart.
Each embrace was an act of erosion in cosmic hyper speed.
William bled through his palms. He caressed the rock.
Then he went down.
“What… what’s going on?” Caspar rolled over and surveyed the scene. His head wound still bled, but not enough to cause Malek to worry. When Caspar caught a look at William, he shot to his feet, though he seemed dizzy. Malek rushed to Caspar’s side, while Natasha ran to William.
“Oh, William.” She crouched down by his side. William moaned as she took his hand. His eyes flew open the next instant, startling everyone. He turned to the side to throw up, but it only seemed to be water that came out. Lots and lots of shimmering, magical water.
“What the…?”
“I guess I manifested after all,” William said.
“Oh my God,” Natasha said. “You’re a water shaper!”
When Natasha extended a hand to help William up, he stood.
He was covered in blood down his side, along with sand from some of the gargoyles, but he was fine.
Malek seemed to be the most injured of all.
When the remaining gargoyle groaned, barely alive, Natasha’s eyes flashed with worry.
She extended her other free hand to Malek.
“We gotta go. Now. The cops will be here soon. Can you walk?”
“I can,” Malek said. “But I can only give you my left hand, since I’m pretty sure everything else is broken.”
Natasha and William switched sides so she could help Malek. When he caught a glimpse of the brass knuckles she wore on both her fists, everything that had happened started to make a lot more sense. Gargoyles hated brass. Natasha had been punching and obliterating them with their one weakness.
“How did you know?” Malek asked, pointing to her knuckles. “About the gargoyles?”
“Can’t be too careful,” Natasha said. “I always had these. Walking alone at night in Toronto is dangerous, so I figured I’d invest in brass knuckles and self-defense classes.”
“Jesus. You’re a natural, then.”
Natasha beamed. Her cheeks were red and some of her hair was out of place, but other than that, she didn’t look like she’d just taken down three stone-like men. “I also watch a lot of action movies.”
“Guys!” William shouted. Red and blue flashed in the distance, followed by the sound of wailing sirens. William still held a hand over his wound, not completely healed. “We have to go, right now.”
Natasha led the way through the back lot and into a complex covered in evergreens.
They were only a couple blocks from Caspar’s apartment, and as long as they stayed off the road, they could arrive without a problem.
When Caspar’s shoulder knocked into Malek’s, he had to fight the urge to hold his hand.
“Are you okay?”
Caspar nodded, though his eyes were still wide with shock. “I still have the jewels. And my eye. You…”
“Have the mic. We’re set.”
“And almost there.” Caspar linked his arm with Malek’s. He paused and assessed the area before he leaned over and placed a quick kiss against Malek’s cheek. “Come on. Let’s go home.”