Mercy, A Gargoyle Story (20 page)

I push my claws between my ribs and clutch the dehydrated organ.
 
I secure my grip and pluck my heart free, right in my palm.
 
I pull it from my chest, as if it has been attached all along by nothing more than a strand of a spider’s web.
 
Truce and I gape at it, the small, dark thing, in the middle of my hand.

My heart suddenly flutters a beat and pain ripples through me, as if I’ve been slammed against a boulder.
 
After a second hesitant beat, I realize that my gift is a hot potato that needs to be placed.
 
Another beat, and I am sure that the gift will blow me to pieces if I don’t deposit it quickly.

I turn to Truce.
 
His eyes remain on the burnt offering in my hand.

“No,” he whispers.
 
“It can’t be.
 
There is no other human on the roof.”

I turn and search, expecting to find Selene hiding in a shadow with her pipe clutched in her hands, but he’s right.
 
Besides him, there are only gargoyles on the roof.

“Is it you?”
 
I ask, stepping toward the King.
 
Moag swoops down between us with a vehement hiss.
 
The heart beats again, this time throwing my head back and dragging a painful roar from deep inside me.
 
I bring the gift closer to me so I won’t drop it, and as it comes closer, my chest pulls, as if it is drawn to the shriveled pepper in my hand.

“Let me change your form, Madeline!”
 
Truce shouts.
 
He raises his hands as I cradle the heart closer to me, like an infant.
 
My chest sucks at the dead organ and another beat shudders my entire body.

It can’t be.

If the heart wants what I think it does, it also means that I will not have my son.

But I cannot resist it.
 
The pain insists upon it.

Truce is only a foot away, his palms aimed at me.
 
He shouts in a voice strong and deep, “Reform!”

At the same moment, I thrust my heart back into myself, the dark husk of it snapping in place, like a reverse slingshot.
 
The gargoyle form opens, and I am spewed into the air—as a vapor that dangles over the tarred roof, under Moag, but over my transforming gargoyle body.

Captured.

And free.

I dance there, in the filament, in front of Truce.
 
There is no signal to either stay or go, until the angels arrive, drifting to the right of me like filtered tissue.
 
They motion for me to come and my entire being begs to follow them, but I remain, paralyzed by the forlorn expression on the King’s face.
 
Truce waves a hand over his head, as though he is throwing a hook, and Moag zips away.
 
I drift in the King’s eyes until Moag returns.

In the gargoyle’s clutches is a gray body that shakes loose, just as Moag soars over the top of the roof.
 
Moag drops the stone heap of the gargoyle down onto the tar beside my transforming body.

The particles of me are hard to turn in unison, but I turn them enough to look at the body lying beside mine.
 
The deep gray skin is like fresh cement.
 
The body is curled, as if sleeping, broad wings attached to a fairly human form.
 
It may be sleeping or it may be deceased, I cannot tell.

“Is it my son?”
 
I ask, and the sound moans from my dust.
 
There is no going on, if it means leaving my child behind again.
 
I won’t make the mistake twice.
 
I labor to turn the particles back to Truce.

“Truce,” I say, and Kervus’s smile dies between his jowls.
 
“If this is my son, then, as Queen, I want him to be my gargoyle.
 
Will you make this happen if I agree to be your Queen?”

“If that is what you wish,” he says.

“I do.”

“Then it will be so,” he says simply and I nod.
 
He extends his hand and I take it.
 
The pressure of his silver fingers presses into my fog.
 
“Do you accept, Madeline?
 
Will you be my Queen?”

“I accept,” I say, and the moment I do, my breath capsizes.
 
The angels bow respectfully and depart.
 
My second death leaves me and I fall, like I’ve been struck with a wrecking ball, into my third life.

***

A man’s hands, broad and long-fingered, hold mine.
 
Three blinks and I see Truce’s face, hovering over me.
 
His smile is like a crack of lightening when he realizes my eyes are open.

“Madeline.”
 
He breathes a sigh of relief.

“What am I?”
 
I ask.
 
I need to know if I am in the world, in heaven, in hell, in a gargoyle form, in a human one.
 
In silent understanding, Truce holds up my hands.
 
They are still heavy and awkward, but in a very different way than before.
 

Instead of claws, I now have the long, slender fingers I knew in my first life and never appreciated.
 
I could almost believe I’ve just awaken from a dream, back to my human life, but studying my hands, I see my fingertips are now encased in the long, silver armor of the kingdom.
 
It churns over my fingers with jeweled replicas of real gargoyles, moving as if they are being stirred.
 
A hard flash across one finger looks just like a bolting panther and the obnoxious eyeballs that stare up at me from another, make me sure I am looking at Kervus.
 
This is no dream.
 
I may have a human form again, but I am not human.
 
Not anymore.

I am the Gargoyle Queen now.

I turn my head to see the gargoyle that Moag had dropped beside me moments ago.
 
He is squatting close by now, but he is not a baby.
 
He is a handsome young man, with a body as muscular as Jaibu’s.
 
He has my eyes and Adam’s lips, cut into a face of stone.
 
I reach out one hand, but my gargoyle son scuttles back, unsure of me.
 
He doesn’t know me.

Not yet.

As I stand, my King supports me, lowering his head to whisper in my ear, “Your name, love.
 
Tell me your name.
 
That will make you my Queen.”

I smile weakly at my son, and my lips brush Truce’s jaw, as I whisper, “Mercy, my King.
 
My name is Mercy.”

SPECIAL THANKS

Thank you to each one of you who have purchased this book, rather than obtaining it through piracy.
 
I am grateful for your financial acknowledgement of the hard work that goes into creating each book, and I deeply appreciate that you have chosen to trade some of your own hard-earned finances for my work.
 
It is an honor and a validation that I don’t take lightly.
 
Thank you for being one of the Good Guys.

Thanks again to Michelle Leighton, who has gone a hundred extra miles to teach me how to format.
 
You helped give my kids their Christmas this year, along with teaching me a necessary skill.
 
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Michelle, and God Bless.

Thanks to the Bloggers and the Indie community, who help one another so freely, especially Tsk Tsk What To Read’s Kathryn and Shelley,
 
my girl, A.M. Hargrove, I Read Indie’s (4AM) Mandy, and Michelle from Novels on the Run.
 
You each have gone way above and way beyond to help me so many times and I thank you for all the love.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Misty Provencher is the author of the CORNERSTONE SERIES, the Young Adult metaphysically-spiced series, as well as the author of HALE MAREE, a New Adult contemporary romance and MERCY, A GARGOYLE STORY, which is a dark fantasy for the New Adult crowd.

Other than writing, Misty is a girl who loves mustard on her eggs, dogs named Larry, and all things office supply.