Incarnate (A Spellmason Chronicle) (24 page)

Alexandra

I
had forgotten there was actually such a thing as a good kind of exhaustion, but there we were—Rory and I—covered in post–
Rocky Horror Picture Show
rice, newspaper, confetti, and bits of toilet paper. I might pay for it all come morning, but getting my cult music theater on was still an easier task than reading my arcane brains out or running all over Manhattan playing superhero. I hated to admit it, but Rory had been right to pull me away from my day-to-day insanity.

Tired as we were, I chose for us to walk across the Village like we were all of sixteen again, when the worst that would have happened was a stern talking-to from my parents. The stretch of Fourteenth Street between Fifth and Sixth was relatively quiet at three a.m., and I couldn’t help but yawn over and over as we moved crosstown.

“Not to alarm you,” I said, my voice cracked and shot from singing along with the show tonight, “but I may start snoring as I walk.”

Rory laughed. “That tired?” she asked. “You’re the night owl.”

“Relaxing is
exhausting
,” I said, leaning my head on Rory’s shoulder. “Seriously. It’s like my brain doesn’t know what to do with itself when it’s not soaking up arcana. I miss the simple life of just wanting to be an artist, but truth be told? I’m not sure I’d know what to do with only that on my plate.”

“You
are
an artist still,” Rory insisted. “Just in a different medium than you expected.”

“I suppose,” I said. “I just wish my creations didn’t tear up the city so much. The sooner I figure out the truth about my great-great-grandfather, the sooner I can get the Convocation on board with our greater efforts with Stanis to bring this gargoyle population under control.”

“And if you happen to score the Cagliostro Medallion along the way, well, that’s just a bonus.”

“Please,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “Stop. It’s hurting my brain just thinking about it right now.”

We walked east in silent exhaustion down the rest of the block, but as we turned the corner onto Broadway, the sight there woke both of us in an instant.

For three a.m. I expected Union Square Park to be at best filled with a few late-night stoners and students drunk off their asses. I certainly wasn’t prepared to find it filled to overflowing with people everywhere.

“What the sweet crap is all this?” Rory asked. “Some kind of late-night NYU rally?”

“I don’t know,” I said, grabbing the magical loop of cloth around my neck that Marshall had given me, “but hoodies up, okay? We don’t need this many eyes on us.”

I pulled mine into place, which I was surprised to find so relaxing. There was a comfort in anonymity, and thanks to Marshall, Rory and I could walk among the crowd without drawing any undue attention to ourselves.

“There,” Rory said, pointing off to our right far ahead.

At the north end of the park the crowd was even thicker where the pathways and benches gave way to a large paved section. I knew it well, having explored the spray-painted labyrinth mazes that now were underneath the mad crush of people.

But not just people. Towering shapes several feet higher than the tallest person in the crowd moved among them.

“Gargoyles,” I said. “Look at them all.”

“There have to be at least a dozen,” Rory said.

The
grotesques
moved like slow ships among the sea of humanity, a sight that was hard to absorb given the general state of relationships between our two species.

“What are they doing?” I asked, and without waiting for an answer, I started pushing my way north toward the far end of the park. Though the going was slow against the tide of people, moving closer made it easier to make out the details of the individual gargoyles involved here.

When I saw a familiar angel among them, I relaxed and smiled. I leaned over to Rory, lowering my voice. “That’s the one Stanis and I met,” I said. “Nathaniel.” The angel meandered through the crowd, taking his time as he strode along in silence. “It looks like someone decided he
is
a joiner, after all.”

“Yeah,” Rory added. “A real gargoyle of the people.”

The other gargoyles came to rest, simply standing silent and still among the crowd. If I didn’t recognize my great-great-grandfather’s artistry in their carving, I would have thought them just statues.

Nathaniel alone moved through the crowd then. People pressed closer and closer, their arms and hands stretched out just to touch him as he passed. Stanis’s father would have torn them apart, but Nathaniel’s face was awash with patience, not shying away from their touch.

I turned to Rory for her reaction, but she gave a simple shrug.

“I guess it’s a unique approach,” she said. “You wouldn’t find Stanis doing this.”

“True,” I said, “but he spent centuries avoiding contact with humans because of the rules my great-great-grandfather bonded him with. I do think, however, that the gargoyle Stanis is now would have eventually gotten around to something like this.”

“I don’t know about that,” Rory said.

“He’s just cautious. I would be, too, if I had the maniacal mad-lord father he had. He’s one to choose to err on the side of caution first.”

“This doesn’t seem all that cautious, either,” Rory said. “I’m not sure causing a mob at three a.m. is such a smart idea on the part of Nathaniel and his friends.”

“Me, either,” I said, “but the crowd seems to be enjoying it. I think Stanis would be jealous.”

Rory cocked her head at me. “How so?”

“Just of the acceptance.”

“I’m not sure this is acceptance, Lexi. Look at everyone’s faces.”

I examined the bunched-up areas of the crowd that pressed in closest to the gargoyles. There was awe in the eyes of those people, the kind usually reserved for the faces of celebrity stalkers on
TMZ
.

“It’s like a cult,” I said.

“Yeah,” Rory said. “It begs the question, doesn’t it? Why are these gargoyles doing this? Why is this crowd so enthralled? I don’t get it.”

“I do,” I said. “In a city as big as ours, everyone is looking for something, some kind of meaning, right? To these people . . . Well, who knows what they make of these
grotesques
? It’s the closest thing to superheroes they’ve got, right? Imagine what Marshall would be like if he ever met Spider-Man.”

“I don’t have to imagine,” she said. “He was pretty unbearable the time he met Stan Lee.”

Two people shoved past me in the crowd as they headed toward the gathering of gargoyles, nearly knocking me over. I was about to yell at them, until I realized I recognized their faces.

Detective Rowland hobbled through the parting crowd like a train pushing its cattle catcher. Even with the limp, she was still outpacing her partner as he followed after her.

“Hey!” I called out to them, but with the dull murmur of the crowd all around us, it was hopeless.

“Detective Rowland!” I called out, louder this time. “Maron!”

The two of them were wary-eyed and looked about ready to jump out of their skin, but hearing the formality of their names gave them something to latch onto in all the chaos. When Maron caught sight of Rory and me, his face relaxed, but Rowland wore her now-familiar scowl.

“Is this your doing?” she shouted across the crowd, whose entire focus was on all the gargoyles off in the distance.

“Nice to see you, too, Detective Rowland,” Rory shot back.

I laid a hand on her arm to shut her up.

“This isn’t something of my doing, Detective Rowland,” I said. “We just stopped to see what all the commotion was about.”

Maron’s eyes searched out over the crowd. His finger went from gargoyle to gargoyle as he counted them and scribbled in a notebook cradled in his hand. “Any of these creatures yours?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so,” I said. “Although I have met one of the angelic ones.” I pointed to where Nathaniel was moving among the crowd, wings spread wide as he took his time so everyone had a chance to reach out and touch him. “He’s one of the good guys.”

“So what is this?” Maron asked. “A simple meet-and-greet?”

I couldn’t help but shrug. “Your guess is as good as ours,” I said.

“We have no idea,” Rory said.

Detectives Maron and Rowland moved closer, all four of us trying to absorb the entire scene. Far away, Nathaniel’s lips moved, but between the excitement of the crowd and our distance from him, none of our group could make out what he was saying.

“Screw this,” Rowland said, pushing forward through the crowd once again. “We need to know what he’s saying.”

Maron fell in behind her, and Rory and I did the same, passing through the crowd in their authoritative wake. Even in plain clothes, the two detectives still carried themselves as cops, and as they went, people seemed to sense their authority and got out of the way.

When they closed to about twenty feet away from Nathaniel, they stopped. Rory and I followed suit, and were pleased to find we were finally able to hear Nathaniel’s voice.

“That’s right,” he said to the people he passed among. “Get a feel for your future. The Life Eternal is humanity’s next great evolution.”

“The Life Eternal?” Rory repeated in a whisper to me. “Please don’t tell me this is the new Scientology.”

“Let’s hope not,” I said. “Although as far as religions go, I’d say actual physical proof of gargoyles beats out theoretical space aliens on the believability scale . . .”

The gargoyle Nathaniel continued examining the crowd as he went. When his eyes came in my direction, I couldn’t help but slip behind someone taller in the crowd. Even though the gargoyle couldn’t see my features within the artificial darkness of the hood, I feared even the hoodies might give us away. I didn’t want to draw any notice if I didn’t have to, at least not until we had heard what he had to say.

“There are those of my kind who would keep themselves secret from you,” he said. “Doesn’t that make you wonder what they have to hide?
I
come before you with others of my kind, an angelic messenger sent to give you guidance in these chaotic times. The skies are full of winged beasts, filling you full of terror, no doubt, but I am here to tell you there is nothing to fear. We welcome you among us; we have nothing to hide.”

A smatter of applause broke out among those closest to him, and grew as it worked its way out into the crowd. Cries of “Hallelujah” and praising of various gods broke out here and there across the park.

I sighed and shook my head. “I fear Nathaniel Crane has traded up his human life for a more evangelical stone one,” I said.

The detectives nodded in agreement, but their eyes remained fixed on Nathaniel as he basked in the crowd’s adoration.

“We do not shy away,” the angel said. “We do not fly above you, judging, hiding . . . and why should we? We are the Life Eternal. And those who wish to join us will well have a chance at our kind of life.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I started to tense in anger. I had watched my father give the greater part of his life over to religious zealotry, and listening to this crock of shit out of this gargoyle was more than I could take. I pushed forward through the crowd past all my friends, unable to control myself.

“Oh, really?” I shouted, losing control of my astonished anger. “And how exactly do you plan on going about that, Nathaniel?”

The angel stopped midstride in the crowd and gave a slow turn until he caught sight of me moving toward him. Even though he couldn’t make out my face within the sheer darkness of the hood, there was recognition in his look. “Well, well . . . ladies and gentlemen, this is
indeed
a rare treat. May I introduce . . .
my
creator.”

This time it was wild applause that erupted throughout the crowd, the enthusiasm a strange counterpoint to my anger. These
followers
, these
easily swayed
, these
sheep
 . . . Their ignorant clapping bliss only enraged me further.

“Oh, no, no . . . I’m not responsible for that guy,” I shouted to the people all around me. “Nathaniel, tell them!”

The crowd parted as the massive form of the angel closed with me, even the detectives backing away to leave only Rory to come forward to stand at my side. Nathaniel stopped in front of me, leaned close, lowering his voice.

“Like it or not, you
did
create me, Miss Belarus.” His words were calm and calculated, and I hated the truth in them.

“What exactly are you promising these people, Mr. Crane?”

“I only offer these people the same chance that was given to me,” he said. “The Life Eternal.”

“My creation of you wasn’t some grand plan,” I said. “I hate to break it to you, but you were at best a mistake.”

Nathaniel grinned. “What you call a mistake, I call divine intervention,” he said.

“You can’t expect these people to take you seriously,” I said.

“Look at them,” he said, raising his hands straight out over the crowd. “We walk like gods among them, each and every person wishing they could become like us. And through their servitude, they will get that chance. They, too, can take the stone form and live forever.”