Acropolis

THE ACROPOLIS

R.K. Ryals

Copyright 2012 by Regina K. Ryals

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or
are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to the people who have
helped me the most through this entire process. To my sister,
Sabrina Williams, who is the most amazing sister in the world, who
reads chapters at 2 a.m. just because I want an opinion. To Audrey
Welch, an amazing photographer and an even better friend. "Wuvs
you!" To Laura Wright Laroche, an amazing author who diligently
takes the time to produce the cover art for each of my books as
well as accompanying book trailers. Just amazing! To Melissa
Wright, author extraordinaire who beta reads with a diligence and
enthusiasm I greatly admire! She lends an ear for author vents and
made up dirty words. To Melanie Bruce, who scrupulously edits each
page. I couldn't ask for a better friend and partner in crime. And
to the amazing people I have met along the way for their
encouragement and interest in my books. You are all simply
amazing.

Chapter 1

Conor

"We have a new assignment for you, Mr.
Reinhardt."

The words are not comforting, and I barely
glance at the men and women gathered around the long, newly waxed
mahogany table. I can see my reflection in the surface, my jaw
tight, my eyes stormy. My dark blond hair is getting a little too
long, and I fight not to brush it off my forehead.

"I already have an assignment."

It isn't wise to question the Council, but I
am tired and overwhelmed. The girl I'd spent most of my life loving
is on a foolhardy quest with a Demon, and I had let her go. I had
known it wouldn't be long before the Council interfered. It had
been my job to protect her, and I had botched it.

"We have a
new
assignment for you."

The Director's voice is firm, unwavering, his
emphasis on the word "new" accented enough that I finally force
myself to meet his gaze. Director Gibson.

At sixty-two, Gibson is powerfully
built for his age, his body honed to perfection by a daily regimen
that would intimidate most men. His graying hair is still mostly
black, and the only wrinkles on his face are around his eyes and
lips. He is former military, a retired Navy Seal, and he expects,
no
demands
, attention when he
speaks. And I am foolish enough not to give it to him.

"Am I to forfeit the mission I'm already
on?"

The question is more an act of defiance than
a necessity. The way Gibson's eyes light up, I know he recognizes
this.

"Dayton Blainey did the forfeiting for
you."

More hurtful words have never been
spoken.

I eye Gibson warily. As head of the Council
of Gargoyles, he is, by far, one of the most powerful men I know.
For one, he is no ordinary gargoyle. In ancient times, a statue of
a griffin was carved, and with divine intervention, transformed
into reality to protect the weak and the possessed from Satan. In
his gargoyle form, Gibson is a terrifying half-lion, half-eagle
creature that will stop at nothing to defeat evil. I have only seen
him in this form once, at my induction into the Inner Circle, and
I'm not particularly keen on seeing it again.

Gibson stands up, his hands resting
resolutely on the table's surface. Somewhere a janitor is moaning.
The wax job isn't going to hold up.

"We have an escort job for you."

I try hard not to groan.

"An escort job?"

It is one of the more demeaning gargoyle
positions, transporting some hapless weak creature to wherever the
Council deems necessary. My botched Guardian job is biting me in
the ass.

"I'm better than that."

My tone is petulant even though I know I
shouldn't complain. It's an honor being inducted into the Circle at
all. Gargoyles are a protective, familial lot and they don't agree
with inducting anyone who hasn't first graduated from high school,
but I had come into my powers early and had been hard to ignore.
And with the recent developments in my relationship with Dayton
Blainey, the Council has decided my education would be better
concluded using tutors between missions. It isn't something I can
argue.

"Escorts are entry level. You haven't earned
anything beyond that."

Gibson is thrumming his fingers against the
table's top, and I know by the rhythm that he is getting
frustrated. Time to back down.

"Who's the mark?" I ask evenly.

I know resisting will do nothing more than
get me suspended, and I can't afford to lose my status, not while
both Dayton and Monroe are now as embroiled in the supernatural
world as I am. The two girls are my closest friends.

Director Gibson smiles. It is forced, but
still evidently approving.

"Emma Chase."

He takes a file from a thin, birdlike man
next to him and slides it to me from across the table. I catch it
easily, my fingers wrapping around the thick manila folder as I use
my other hand to pull out an extra chair at the end of the table. I
prop my left foot up casually on the seat and brace an arm against
the table as I flip the file open.

Gibson raises a brow at my irreverent
position, but I prefer him think me flippant rather than weak, and
the truth is, my leg is bothering me. I had sustained an injury to
it a year before in a car accident. While pulling my friend, Jacin,
from a precariously overturned Sentra, my leg had been crushed when
the automobile rolled unexpectedly. It had been a rash night of
partying, and my friends and I had all been drunk for varying
reasons. From the way my leg throbs now, I know it is going to
rain. Gargoyles can heal. Without the ability, my leg would have
had to have been amputated. I am lucky I only have an occasional
limp and only when I'm in human form.

I look down at the folder and pause. Emma
Chase. From the photograph now staring up at me, I know she can't
be much younger or older than my own eighteen years of age. The
picture is awkward, a quick snapshot of a slim girl, dark hair
framing high cheekbones and wide, scared eyes. She isn't
smiling.

Age: 17

Height: 5'10

Weight: 125

Name: Chase, Emma

I see nothing extraordinary until I flip the
page, and then there it is—six years of medical records, all with
similar descriptions written in indistinguishable handwriting, all
with the same grim prognosis.

I look up at Gibson.

"Shouldn't you be calling in the Angel of
Death?"

Gibson shakes his head.

"Not necessary." He gestures to the file in
front of me. "Flip past the medical."

I did as ordered and sit up so quickly, I'm
sure the whole room hears my protesting knee pop as I pull my leg
from the chair. My eyes fly to the director.

"This is a job for the S.O.S."

Gargoyles are divine protectors, assigned to
guard against Satan and evil, but the S.O.S., short for the Swords
of Solomon, is a special group of men and women trained to protect
artifacts attributed to King Solomon from the Bible. There are
other groups assigned to other artifacts, but the file I'm looking
at now definitely belongs to the S.O.S.

Gibson sits back down, his fingers now still
against the table's surface.

"The girl is not an artifact."

I know this, but . . .

"Have you mentioned this to Alessandro?"

Alessandro is the head of the S.O.S. His
operation is based out of Italy, but he has spies all over the
world. Gargoyles operate in a similar fashion. Our Center is based
in France, but we have families living everywhere.

"We've met on the subject, and he agrees with
me," Gibson says as I close the folder only to pull the cover back
open.

There, again, is the awkward photo. There is
nothing remarkable about the girl, nothing to make a person look
twice.

My eyes flick from the photo to Gibson to the
photo again.

"Does the mark know?"

Someone clears a throat a few seats away from
Gibson, and I let my eyes wander to the source. It is a brunette
woman of average height, her hair cut in a severe bob that does
nothing to diminish the sharp angles of her face. Her eyes are
heavily made up with mascara. Delilah Simpson.

Delilah is a member of the Council because
she had single-handedly taken out a group of rogue Demons who had
taken over a community in the Northwestern United States. Her
gargoyle form is much more impressive than her human one.

"The girl,
Emma,
does not know."

The way Delilah enunciates the girl's name, I
know she has a personal interest in the mark. I stare at her the
same way my mother always stares at me when she knows I'm hiding
something. Mom has a vicious "truth-inducing" gaze. It's obviously
hereditary. By the way Delilah squirms, I know she has spoken out
of turn.

"I handled her adoption," Delilah mumbles
before looking away.

That catches me off guard.

"Adoption?"

I look down at the folder and flip past the
girl's dossier. Sure enough, there are the appropriate
documents.

"I don't understand. How long has this mark
been in the system?" I ask.

It is unusual for a gargoyle to be assigned
to a person for life. It has happened, but the cases are rare.

"Since birth."

It is Gibson who answers, his eyes on
Delilah. She stares back defiantly.

"The girl shouldn't have been allowed to
live," Gibson points out.

Delilah didn't look the least bit fazed.

"Infants are allowed immunity."

A man I know only as Rainey grunts from
across the table.

"Despite the possible danger she could pose?
Both to herself and to society?"

Rainey pats the table angrily. The wax job is
definitely done for.

"She has never been a danger," Delilah
argues.

I watch the proceedings with growing interest
while working a piece of spearmint gum from my pocket and popping
it into my mouth. I had flipped the girl's picture back into view,
and her scared eyes stare back at me. A school picture maybe? It
isn't a surveillance shot. She had known this photo was being
taken.

"Conor?"

Huh? I look up to discover the whole Council
has turned toward me. I straighten.

"I'm sorry."

Gibson sighs but doesn't reprimand me.

"You'll need to use caution when approaching
her. The girl is a little . . . shy."

A few Council members snicker. Delilah glares
at them. I just lift a brow.

"Shy?"

Rainey can't seem to help himself. He snorts.
A tall man with thick, brown hair and wide shoulders, Rainey isn't
the type to skirt an issue.

"Terrified may be the better description,"
Rainey replies.

I glance around the boardroom and realize the
Council members are all avoiding my gaze. What kind of Escort job
is this?

"Where am I supposed to take her?" I ask when
it becomes obvious nothing more is going to be said on the whole
"shy but better described as terrified" subject.

"The Acropolis."

Gibson says the word firmly as if he's
expecting an argument, and by the looks shot his way, he's right.
The Acropolis.

There are ancient Greek ruins called the
Acropolis of Athens, but we all know he isn't referring to those.
No, the Acropolis is a project set in motion by a collaboration of
gargoyles, the S.O.S., and other groups devoted to protecting
mankind. It is a fairly new idea, a school, which has only been in
operation for two years with minimal success. It seems only
plausible the mark be sent there considering her records. But while
I look at Gibson with approval, the rest of the table stares at him
with expressions akin to horror. Were they not aware of Gibson's
plans?

"She wouldn't make it a week," Delilah
practically hisses.

The Council's reaction is beginning to worry
me.

"It's either that or we destroy her."

Gibson's words are final, and when he stands,
we all stand with him.

"You'll take her to the Acropolis."

This last command is meant for me, and I nod
as Gibson adjourns the meeting among sighs of discontent.

"You'll need to provide the school with extra
protection," Rainey calls out as Gibson leaves the table. The
Director doesn't turn around.

"It's taken care of."

Delilah moves up beside me as we watch Gibson
exit the room.