Stonecast

Twenty-six

Alexandra

While I could appreciate the artistry of the architecture that went into the building of a church, I always found the statuary within them a bit on the morose side, more so when I was the one dragging it into the damned place.

The staff all around the Libra Concordia watched with curiosity as I pulled the cowering, twisted form of my former brother down the main aisle, letting it drop with an echoing thud in front of the half-walled partition of Desmond Locke’s office.

Locke rose from his desk, peering over the wall as he crossed his space and pushed through the half door to it, joining me in the aisle.

“Miss Belarus,” he said with a tight-lipped smile. “This is an interesting surprise.”

Several of the other workers stopped what they were doing to rise from their own desks farther back in the church; my heart caught in my throat when I spied Caleb among them. I hadn’t talked to him since the fiasco on the roof of the Belarus Building, yet a small, dark part of me had secretly hoped I would find him at the church. Still, it was not the main reason why I had come.

I turned my focus back to Desmond Locke.

“Is this a present?” he asked, holding his hand to his chest. “For me? I am flattered.”

“You know, I’ve never particularly liked you,” I said. “Always creeping around my family. Then these past few weeks, finding out what you were really all about . . . I used to think maybe I hated religion, but I think the truth of the matter is maybe I just hate you.”

Locke circled around the tormented, broken form of the gargoyle until he was standing opposite me. The rest of the crowd kept their distance, all except Caleb, who moved away from the bull pen he had been working in to come down the aisle toward us.

“Why do you bring me this?” Desmond asked, looking up at me for a moment.

“You wanted my father’s ‘angel,’” I said. “This is what remains of him. This is the creature that watched over our family for centuries. Stanis.”

Desmond stared down at the broken gargoyle. “And why bring him to me now, when he is broken?”

“I want an end to all this,” I said. It was true. Years of my family’s being influenced by this man, the fact that there was a secret society keeping tabs on us . . . the creep factor was off the charts. The lie that the remains on the floor of the church were actually Stanis’s was one easily told for the freedom it might bring me.

“There’s a new world order starting out there,” I continued. “The skies over Manhattan are full of his kind now. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding another to fixate on.”

Desmond stood there, examining the broken gargoyle at me feet. “This is not Stanis,” he said.

I didn’t react, fearing any reaction might betray me. “What makes you say that?”

“I know this piece,” Desmond said, squatting down next to it, running his fingers against the stone of it.

“You do?”

“Yes,” he said, bitterness in the single word. “Of course I do. It comes from one of Alexander Belarus’s churches. If there’s one area of architecture I do know, it is most certainly the churches of Manhattan. I believe this one belonged to one of the closed ones that is now a nightclub or some such monstrosity. Dreadful treatment of the divine, if you ask me.” His hand lingered on the face. “Funny. I do not recall the face looking so tortured from my memory of it.”

A twinge of pain shot through my chest at having been the cause of that torture, regardless of the fact I was perfectly justified in my actions.

Desmond stood. “Why do you bring this lie before me?” he spat out.

“It was worth a shot,” I said, shrugging. “I had hoped to do this the easy way.”

His eyes filled with wariness, and he stepped back from me. “And what is the hard way?”

I didn’t respond, my mind and will already reaching out beyond the confines of the church, allowing an old connection to familiar stone to call out. In response, the enormous stained-glass panel to my left erupted, shards of it crashing down into the room as a familiar figure came through it.

Stanis’s wings were spread wide, catching the air as he gently glided down into the gap between me and Desmond Locke.

“I know you,” Stanis said to him. “You are the one who has kept watch over Alexandra’s father all these years.”

A fascination crept over Desmond’s face, his eyes sparkling like those of a child on Christmas Day.

“Yes,” he said, addressing Stanis. “And the Libra Concordia will always be watching.”

“No,” I interrupted, his face falling at the word. “They won’t. I want you to call your people off of researching the Belarus legacy, and I want you, specifically, to stay the hell away from my family.”

My words had little of the desired effect I had hoped they would, and Desmond turned back to Stanis, continuing to marvel at him.

“Stay away from the Belarus family and their delicious secrets?” he asked. “Oh, I think not. Not after seeing this glorious creature.”

“You will,” I said. “You’ll hand over what you have about my family, about my great-great-grandfather, or I will have ‘this glorious creature’ kick your ass.”

Nearby, Caleb coughed into his hand.

“You might want to do what the lady asks, sir,” he said.

Desmond spoke, his tone a bit darker now. His hand went quick into his coat, coming out with his gun. He waved it at me. “But I’ve dedicated my life and work in the search of him.”

“Find a new hobby,” I said, more angered than scared as I stared down the barrel of the weapon. “My family is off-limits.”

Locke shook his head. “My organization is more than just me,” he said, a hint of desperation in his words now. “The Libra Concordia is long-lived.”

Stanis stepped in front of the gun, looking down at Desmond Locke no more than a few inches away from him.

“And so am I,” he said, his voice lowering into a growl. “The dedication of your entire life to this pursuit is but a small moment in time to me. What is the waste of one lifetime such as yours? I have watched over four generations of this family. I have stood looking over this Manhattan as people withered to their years and were buried, over and over. I will outlast your Libra Concordia, and the Belarus family will always be under my watch.”

The gun shook in Desmond’s hand, then tumbled from his fingers, clattering among the broken glass on the floor. He rose and grasped the many talismans hanging around his neck.

“You cannot hope to harm me,” he said.

Stanis smiled, revealing his fangs. “I can try.”

“Maybe you should bring him closer to God,” I said.

Stanis grabbed the man by both arms, his claws tearing through the cloth of the suit. Desmond did not seem pained, but kept staring into Stanis’s eyes, shaking. Stanis’s wings opened to their full extent, and with one great leap, the two of them were airborne. They rose like a shot up through the church, passing out through what remained of the stained-glass windows. I covered my eyes as a few fresh pieces came loose and fell to the floor.

Caleb walked over to me, his eyes fixed on the broken stained glass. “Is he going to . . . ?” He smashed his fists against each other several times.

I laughed.

“No,” I said. “Just wanted to put a healthy dose of fear in the man, so he’ll back off. I’ve pretty much had it with people trying to manipulate me.”

Caleb nodded and fell silent.

As one of the people who had actually manipulated me, the best he could muster was a sheepish half smile, but words themselves seemed to fail him.

The rest of the workers of the Libra Concordia still seemed in a panic, the gargoyle at my feet causing those who were fleeing to give Caleb and me a wide berth.

“Anyway,” I said, finally breaking the silence, “I just wanted to thank you.”

Caleb’s eyebrows raised. “For . . . ?”

“That gift box you sent,” I said, looking down at Devon’s body at my feet. “It proved . . . useful. A real lifesaver, in fact, quite literally.”

“Good,” he said, managing a small smile. “Great, in fact.”

I managed a small smile of my own. “I keep expecting to find an invoice in the mail.”

“Lexi,” he said, souring, but I didn’t want to let him off the hook just yet.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t consider it.”

“That gift was just the first along the way of making many an apology,” he said. “What Stanis said that night about playing both sides of the fence . . . he was right. I never knew who or when to trust. I’ve been doing this so long on my own that I couldn’t think straight. I was so busy trying to get you to trust me, I didn’t think to trust you. I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not all bad,” I said. “That potion bomb you set off . . . You changed the world. There have been sightings, videos on YouTube . . . People are talking. They don’t understand what they’re talking about, but it’s a start. They’re awakening to the idea that there’s more to this world than what they can actually see.”

“I know some witches and other clients out there who might not be as ready to come out of the broom closet yet,” he said. “A gaggle of gargoyles may prove a bigger hassle to them than not.”

It felt good to have even the slightest hint of our easy rapport once more. And, more important, I sensed his total sincerity at the heart of his apology this time.

“I could use a hand in bringing the situation under control,” I said, by way of a peace offering. “I’ll hire you if I have to.”

“Not necessary,” he said, running back to his workspace and gathering his things into a messenger bag before slipping it over his shoulder and coming back to me. “If it’s the client I think it is, I’ll be happy to do this one on the house. I only hope we can get to him before he can post any one-star reviews of my freelance services online.”

“Let the Libra Concordia find shelf space for that,” I said as I stepped around Devon’s gargoyle, leaving it behind me. I stopped and looked at Caleb. “Is that really a thing? One-star review on some kind of arcane Yelp Web site?”

“Give the changes going on out there in the world, with the media reporting all these gargoyle sightings these days?” he asked, taking my hand in his and walking for the door leading out of the Libra Concordia. “It probably will be soon enough.”