Part 4 (1/2)

Anger, thought Perrin, his fingers curling against his palm, a loose fist, which he hid against his thigh. He had rarely fought with his hands before coming on land, never fought much at all. As a child, defiance had been discouraged in numerous, painful ways. As an adult, no one had dared confront him.

But all that had changed, in the end-and he had learned hard lessons over the past eight years.

”Go rest,” said the man to Eddie. ”I'll take care of this.”

Eddie shook his head and gave Perrin a measuring look-or a silent warning. Made him uneasy, either way. He strode past Eddie, footsteps light, ready for anything.

”M'cal contacted me,” said the other man gruffly, as Perrin approached. ”Months ago. Said there might be a time-”

”-when I need someone like you,” Perrin interrupted coolly. ”Yes, I know.”

The man-Roland-made a small, dissatisfied sound. He was tall by human standards, though several inches shorter than Perrin. Broad like a bear, grizzled. His brown hair needed a cut, and though he didn't sport a beard, the bristles around his neck would be long enough for one in a day or two. His dark eyes were bloodshot, and his checked flannel s.h.i.+rt and sweatpants were wrinkled. He smelled like beer.

Not impressive in the slightest.

Roland looked him up and down, his gaze flat, as though he found Perrin just as lacking. ”Come on. We'll try not to scare you away.”

Perrin held his tongue and followed the man. Eddie remained a short distance behind, a silent, warm shadow. They pa.s.sed through a large room filled with antiques, couches, and books-newspapers scattered on tables, most of them printed in different languages. Perrin smelled something sweet, like hot pie, and heard pots clanging beneath an exasperated tangle of voices. The argument, which had faded, seemed to be starting again. It got louder when Roland turned to walk down a narrow flight of stairs.

”It's ridiculous, and you know it,” snapped a woman, but whatever else she was going to say choked into silence when Perrin reached the bottom of the stairs.

He found a kitchen. Quite possibly the largest he had ever seen, dominated by those immense floor-to-ceiling windows. The entire floor felt as though it were floating in the heart of the city-a sensation enhanced by the shadows enveloping almost everything except the kitchen core: long counters, numerous gla.s.s-fronted refrigerators, gleaming golden tile set in the wall, and other copper accents. Nearby, a pit of deep couches surrounded a gas fireplace. And on his right, a cream-colored curtain covered the entire wall. A gap in the center revealed more gla.s.s and darkness on the other side. Not the city. A separate room.

Fleeting impressions. And, for a moment, the only things his mind could handle. Because, despite what he was-what he had been-it was too hard, too impossible, to accept the presence of the two people before him.

One of whom was not human.

Perrin saw the gargoyle first. Impossible not to. Perched on an iron stool, he was huge, his leathery wings hanging loose down his back and trailing against the stone floor. Silver skin, red, glinting eyes; a glimpse of horns from within the long thick hair bound away from his craggy face. He wore human clothes, which was an incongruous sight-straining T-s.h.i.+rt, jeans-and he held a stainless-steel thermos in his clawed hand.

He gave Perrin a look that was wary but unafraid, and quietly a.s.sessing-his reaction as much of a surprise as his presence. Perrin would not have been so calm if strangers found him in his sea form. Even now, he struggled.

A woman sat on the counter beside the gargoyle, her bare feet balanced on his thigh. She was muscular and round, with smooth brown skin and a mane of tight dark curls that brushed past her shoulders. She gave Perrin a sharp look and glanced at the gargoyle.

”Told you,” she said; and then, to Roland: ”Don't even think about using this as a distraction.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. ”We're done talking.”

”I think not,” said the gargoyle. ”You know what the Consortium has done, again and again, to others. Experiments, kidnappings-and this latest incident in Africa -”

”Breeding programs,” snapped the woman, pressing her fists hard into the counter. ”We have to go after them, Roland. I don't know why we haven't already.”

”It won't stop, otherwise,” rumbled the gargoyle. ”And if they continue to recruit the people I think they are, it's only going to get worse. If they involve witches-”

”Enough,” snapped Roland. ”We have a guest.”

”Don't,” Perrin muttered, giving him a cold look.

The grizzled man raised his brow. ”Excuse me?”

Perrin swept his gaze over the room, trying to make sense of its inhabitants, deciding it didn't matter. Air breathers, all of them. ”I don't know what is going on here, but the woman is right. Don't make me your distraction. Don't make me part of this.”

Roland laughed, but it was a bitter sound. ”You sought us out. You're not human. That makes you a member of the club, whether you like it or not.”

”Leave him alone,” said Eddie.

Perrin released the breath he had been holding. ”I've come to the wrong place.”

”Just the wrong time,” replied the gargoyle, with unexpected gentleness. He scooted off the stool and helped the woman from the counter by wrapping his arm around her waist and lifting her carefully down. She remained pressed against his side, which surprised Perrin. And made his heart ache, just a little.

There was a woman who had once fitted against his side, just so even if she had existed only in his dreams. Every night, growing with him inside his head, from childhood to adulthood-becoming a woman who had saved his life in more ways than he could name.

Until eight years ago, when he had stopped dreaming of her.

Stop, he told himself; and then: Nothing about this place should surprise you.

He, who was not human, who had come from a world no human-or gargoyle-could survive, should not have found anything at all shocking about this place, or these people.

The woman, however, suddenly winced-reaching back to rub the base of her skull. Much as he caught himself doing, at that exact moment. The similarity made him uneasy. Especially when she fixed him with a hard look that softened, after a disquieting moment, into compa.s.sion.

And worse, pity.

”I'm sorry,” she said softly. ”You should brace yourself.”

”No time,” murmured Roland, also studying him. ”Never enough time.”

Perrin's head ached. He stared into the faces of strangers and felt so utterly alone he could hardly breathe. Being here was too much. Too much, too soon. He needed air.

”I need to go,” he croaked to Eddie, and without another word, turned and began to climb the stairs.

Or tried to. Someone was standing on the landing above him.

Another young man, tall, with golden skin, golden eyes, and thick black hair cut with streaks of silver and ocean blue. He held pizza boxes, but they started to slip out of his hands when he saw Perrin.

”No,” he whispered, shaking his head. ”Not you.”

Perrin felt like saying the same thing. He sagged against the rail and dug the heel of his palm into his throbbing skull. Lights flickered in his vision, followed by waves of darkness. He fumbled for the vial of seawater shoved into his front pocket.

He felt very old. Bone tired. This was not what he had expected-or needed. Destiny, he thought, was cruel.

”Rik,” Perrin murmured, unable to bear the sight of the shape-s.h.i.+fter's familiar face. ”We both should have run farther.”

Eddie ran up the stairs to the young man, who turned away from him with an expression of pure agony. Perrin sympathized. He heard movement at his back, then a hush. Everyone, staring at him.

Green eyes. A voice, screaming.

Darkness rising.