Incarnate (A Spellmason Chronicle) (15 page)

Stanis

W
aiting was something that a
grotesque
knew how to do, and nowhere did my demonic form look more natural than in the aptly named Hell’s Kitchen, where I sat perched for hours atop an apartment building. Years of vigilance watching over the Belarus family had taught me a near-infinite patience, but with the uprising of these hostile
grotesques
causing unrest within my people and with Alexandra, I found waiting for anything or anyone unbearable.

When the familiar red hair of my target came into sight headed for the entrance of the building below, I stood, stretched my wings to their fullest, and stepped off the ledge.

Detective Chloe Rowland was almost to the doors of her building when I landed in front of her, the walkway beneath my feet cracking on the impact. She dodged to her right, a gun appearing as if out of nowhere in her hands. By the time she caught my eye, her face was full of uncertainty, the gun remaining leveled at my chest.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“Do we?” she asked, the gun unwavering.

“Yes.” I looked down at the weapon. “There is no need for that. Alexandra sent me.”

The detective lowered her weapon, then slid it inside the coat she was wearing.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s hard to tell your kind apart. You’re all carved by Alexander Belarus, so it’s not all that surprising.”

“We need to talk,” I repeated.

The detective looked past me into the building, then back down the sidewalk where there were more people approaching from off in the distance.

“Now? Here?”

“Yes,” I said. “And no.”

“Make up your mind,” she said, but before she could go any further, I reached out, secured her under her arms, and shot straight up into the night sky.

The detective’s eyes went wide and white, her mouth falling open. Before any sound could escape it, I came up over the edge of her building, bringing her down on its roof. I released her and she stumbled back from me until she could once again find her words.

“Next time
ask
before you do something like that,” she said, smoothing down her coat. “I almost lost my dinner.”

I folded my wings in close to my body, knowing just how uneasy they made most humans when they were flourished open.

“Although we met the other night, I do not believe we were formally introduced,” I said. “I am Stanis Ruthenia, and I humbly come before you as a representative of our kind.”

“You mean to help Detective Maron and I with our gargoyle problem,” she said.

I gave a single nod. “That is what Alexandra Belarus asked of me, yes,” I said. “I would do anything to see her happy.”

“Touching, really,” the detective said, then sighed. “But listen up—your kind
are
my problem. So what exactly do you plan to do about that?”

There was anger thick in the woman’s words, the kind that set off my own anger in return, but having come here at the request of Alexandra, I forced myself to choose diplomacy instead.

“Let me be clear about a few things, Detective Rowland,” I said, meeting her eyes. “I have watched this city clash for decades, when humans went at each other simply for having different shades of skin. And while those problems seem to persist, I also have seen your kind move beyond such grand generalizations. I would ask that in matters
grotesque
and gargoyle, you show the same restraint in lumping all of my kind into the category of being ‘your problem.’ Am I understood?”

Rowland went to speak, her face cross with reciprocal anger, but she stopped herself. Instead, she pressed the palms of her hands against the sockets of her eyes, rubbing at them.

“I’m sorry if I seem insensitive,” she said. “I’ve just been dealing with chasing down cases of arcane violence—ones where gargoyles
are
involved—for days on end.”

“I understand your plight,” I said. “Consider me an ambassador of goodwill for my kind. Those whom I or my fellow
grotesques
have been able to speak reason with have been welcome to become part of our peaceful community at a place I refer to as Sanctuary.”

“The whole lot of you are holed up somewhere together, eh?” she asked, her curiosity growing.

“Yes,” I said with reluctance at her reaction, “but perhaps for the time being I think it is best that I leave that location undisclosed. Until I know I can trust you and your fellow officers of the law.”

“Trust
us
?” she asked with a laugh. “We’re not the ones tearing up the city.”

“Still, you represent the most law-abiding of your kind, yes?”

“Some more so than others, yes,” she said. “Many of my brothers and sisters in law enforcement aren’t angels, that’s for sure, but the people
I
trust are the cream of the crop. I don’t know how exactly I’m supposed to prove that to you, other than my word.”

“Trust,” I said, “is something to be earned, and then only through time. These are early days, Detective. The course we set now will set the course for how the rest of the world perceives
both
our kind . . . the best
and
the worst.”

Detective Rowland visibly relaxed before me, and she placed her hands on her hips as she gave a small smile.

“How did you get to be so smart on such matters?” she asked.

“Long life and a penchant for observation,” I said, relaxing myself. “I’ve watched this city of ours grow over the centuries, and I have seen both the good and bad results of the changes that have occurred. In my human life I came from Europe’s ruling class, and although a quest for power had maddened some of those who came before me, I have learned much in my quest to broker peace before an all-out war erupts. I wish that I could report it an easy task, but there is much I am still learning to contend with even now. Those who have come to Sanctuary are dealing with their new lives and issues of their own, which makes it hard to motivate them while also handling them with compassion.”

“And here I thought you would have a heart of stone,” the detective said.

“I remember my time before taking this form,” I said. “I had the heart of a man. Even now, there are those among your kind that I care for dearly. And they are a constant reminder that even though I conduct myself as a creature of stone, I, too, was once human.”

“How does that work exactly?” she asked, pulling out her phone to type at it.

“All of
grotesque
kind were once human,” I said, “and while the animation of our bodies may be an arcane matter, the thoughts and actions of each individual creature come from a spirit within each of them. These spirits were once human.”

The detective lowered her phone again. “So . . . what? Let’s say I want to become one of you. My spirit just jumps bodies?”

“In theory, yes,” I said. “Although from what little I know about the process, it is far more complicated. Alexandra’s brother, for instance. Devon Belarus had bargained with my father, Kejetan the Accursed, for an eternal life in stone. His first form was a monstrous one, before many of my father’s followers were finally able to take the forms of Alexander Belarus’s statues. During that process, more than just Kejetan’s men were created, the stonework throughout the city filled by the souls of restless spirits in search of an empty vessel. That is where your—and my—greater issue lies.”

Rowland was back at her phone again, her fingers flying. “Detective Maron and I are going to need as much information as you can give me,” she said. “If I’m to bring any of this in front of my superiors, I need more than what sounds like the next Guillermo del Toro film to present to them.”

I did not know who that was, but her point was clear enough. “Those who have chosen to join Sanctuary seem to share a common theme,” I said. “Their spirits seem to have lingered due to violent or traumatic events that were done to them in their human lives. Most see this rebirth in stone as a way to either help others or do their penance for the life they lived.”

Detective Rowland looked up from her notes. “And those who do not join your Sanctuary?” she asked, but it was clear she already knew.

“You’ve already seen them in action,” I said. “At the armory. They would see harm come to this city. Perhaps their spirits linger on this plane because whatever powers that be . . . Well, neither side wants them, Heaven or Hell. But these creatures are out there and they are organizing under one
grotesque
.”

“Does this creature have a name?” she asked, pausing from typing. “What does he look like?”

“I have not seen him yet,” I said, “but to those who have been approached or threatened into joining him as I and Alexandra have been, he is called the Butcher of the Bowery. He was once known as the arcane warlock Robert Patrick Dorman. You may recall Alexandra shouting about him at the armory.”

Rowland nodded. “I’ve actually heard of him before that night,” she said.

“You have?” I asked. “I thought you and Detective Maron were only recently put to the task of dealing with the supernatural.”

“Everyone who goes through the regular old police academy knows of Dorman,” she said. “Although the word
warlock
never came up, that’s for sure. His crimes were many, it appears. At first he was thought to be a bit of an eccentric playboy, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. Eventually he was pegged for a series of ritualistic murders that started with women he had been with but branched out much further than that.”

“Blood magic,” I said. “Alexandra explained it to me. His hedonism only helped fuel the fire that led to the rest of his darkness.”

“You need to find this
grotesque
,” the detective said. “Maron and I can get some of the department to pay attention to the type of things we’re asking them to look for, but not without some kind of real evidence. The best he and I have been able to do is going out during the day to rooftops in search of these creatures and taking a sledgehammer to them when we come across one.”

“What?” I asked with a growl, my wings fluttering with a sudden rage.

“Daylight is the only advantage we have!” the detective fired back, defensive. “Don’t look at me like that. We’ve got zero chance in hell of capturing one of them when they can just fly away. But when they’re dormant by the light of day . . .”

I stepped closer, unable to stop myself from trying to intimidate her. My wings flared wide behind me. “Tell me, Detective,” I growled. “Since minutes ago you said we all looked alike to you, how do you know who exactly you are destroying in your efforts? Some of those may be
my own
people. You need to stop this practice. Immediately.”

There was anger in her eyes, which turned to fear the longer I stared at her with my stone-still eyes.

“Absolutely,” she said, finally giving a nod. “I can see how maybe that might be read the wrong way by your people.”

“Good,” I said, settling myself down once more, bringing my wings back in close to me.

“But Alexandra
did
offer your help,” she reminded me. “And we
do
need it. We won’t find the Butcher on our own.”

“I will set my people to the task of flushing him out,” I said. “We will find him, and his people will either be made to see reason or be dealt with accordingly.”

The fear slowly faded from Detective Rowland’s eyes as she slid her phone back into her pocket. I had hated using such obvious theatrics to put that fear in her, but I could not help myself at the thought of one of my kind being destroyed by her ignorant ways.

“Why do I have a feeling that your ‘dealing with accordingly’ is going to prove to be strikingly similar to what we were doing with our sledgehammers?” she asked.

“Let
me
worry about my people,” I said. “You will have my cooperation in your investigation.”

“Good,” she said with a look of satisfaction. “That’s all I was looking for.”

“I would, however, ask a favor of your law enforcement in return,” I said, letting all the growl go out of my tone.

Detective Rowland eyed me with suspicion. “The New York Police Department isn’t really known for doing favors,” she said, looking up at me, “but in your case I’ll make an exception. Lay it on me.”

I raised my hand and gestured toward the roof of the building across the way. A shadow at the top of it came to life, and with a spread of dragonlike wings, Emily flew down from it and landed hard on the roof behind me.

Rowland’s face grew wary at the approach of my more snake-featured companion, but made no effort to leave or back away.

Emily stopped when she stood next to me, wings folded close to her in a calm, relaxed pose despite the fact that I knew how nervous she must have been waiting in the wings while I had made sure the meeting with Detective Rowland was safe enough for her to join.

“Hello,” she said.

Rowland nodded. “Hello yourself,” the detective said, then looked to me. “This is your favor?”

“No,” I said. “This is Emily, but yes, I would ask a favor of you on her behalf.” I gestured to Emily for her to speak.

“Thank you, Stanis,” she said, almost shy now as she turned to address Detective Rowland. “I . . . I . . . I’m sorry. This is difficult for me.”