“The deity who created the goddesses,” she corrects him. “But yes. In order to balance out the forces of order and chaos caused by the humans and paranormals, they made gargoyles. It was Aciel’s wish that after a while, gargoyles would balance things out, and then one day their daughters—having learned their lesson—would be freed from this earthly realm. But to make that possibility a reality, they had to create a creature who couldn’t be swayed by either side.

“Since gargoyles were created from the source of all magic, instead of from chaos or order, you hold both within you, Grace. A desire to create order, a desire to create chaos. Always at war but also always in harmony. It’s this ability that allows you to straddle both worlds, become a beacon of peace for both sisters’ creations. It’s also what helps you channel magic from both sides.

“That is not to say you are immune to magic,” she assures me. “You are a creature born of magic, so you will always be tethered to it in one way or another, but only the most ancient magic will ever work on you.”

As if to prove it, she sends a little current of electricity across the room that zaps me hard enough to make me gasp.

“What’s wrong?” Hudson asks, looking between the Crone and me with narrowed eyes.

“Just a little demonstration of what true magic can do,” she answers placidly. “She’s fine.”

“I’m fine,” I echo, even though every nerve ending I have feels like it’s been electrocuted.

I have so many questions I want to ask. Does this mean I really am as different from the others as I feel sometimes? Is it because gargoyles have all but disappeared from the earth that things seem to be spinning so rapidly out of control—in both the human and the paranormal worlds? And if so, am I supposed to find a way to bring balance back?

The idea seems absurd on its face. There used to be thousands upon thousands of gargoyles walking the earth. Now there are only two that I know of, and one is chained up in a cave, driven almost completely mad by the isolation. How can we possibly fix everything that’s wrong?

It’s a lot to process, a lot to think about and worry about and try to find a way to cope with. And now isn’t the time for any of that, not while the Crone is watching me so carefully. And not when everything else seems to be spinning out of my control—Jaxon, Cyrus, my feelings for Hudson…

Right now, it feels a lot like I’m walking a balance beam that’s way too high. One wrong move and not only will I fall off, but I’ll end up smashed to bits. I can sense my chest tightening, my heart hammering as my stomach sinks. No, no, not now. Not a panic attack now.

I take a shaky breath and manage to get the words through my rapidly closing throat. “If I am supposed to be able to straddle both worlds of chaos and order, why does even the hint of conflict steal my breath?”

“That is a good question, now, isn’t it?” She’s smiling again—and again it doesn’t reach her eyes. But after a few minutes of watching me struggle to breathe, she waves a hand, and it’s as though she released a vise around my chest. My breath comes flooding back into my lungs, the anxiety that had seized me only a moment before gone now.

I want to ask her desperately how she did it, but I know I’ve already shown too much weakness. So instead, I hold her gaze and ask the other question that’s been burning in my chest. “But if gargoyles are meant to bring balance and are immune to both sides, how did they lose so badly in the Second Great War? How did they become nearly extinct?”

The Crone shrugs. “How does anything like that happen? Betrayal.”

“Betrayal?” Hudson asks, even as the word rocks me to my core. “By whom?”

“The gargoyle king,” she answers. “Who else’s betrayal could have such a devastating effect?”

“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “I thought gargoyles were supposed to bring balance. What could he have possibly done—”

“He sided with the paranormals over the humans, even became mated to one. He broke the balance between them once and for all, and for that, he was swiftly punished. But the punishment ended up affecting everyone, not just him. And so one of his men—eager to stop what he saw as a threat against himself and all gargoyles—went to the vampire king and told him how to kill gargoyles, a secret nobody knows. He thought Cyrus would use it only against the gargoyle king—”

“But he used it on all of them,” I whisper in horror. “He killed them all.”

“He did,” the Crone agrees.

Horror washes through me—through all of us, if the looks on my friends’ faces are anything to go by. And I would bet we’re all thinking the same thing…

If Cyrus knows the secret to how to easily kill a gargoyle—why didn’t he use it on me earlier? Why not take me out before the trials? “Cyrus nearly killed me with his Eternal Bite. Is that a gargoyle’s weakness, since they should be immune to his magic otherwise?”

“Oh no, dear child. Cyrus’s bite isn’t magic at all. It’s venom.” Her eyes are twinkling evilly now. “In fact, Cyrus lost most of his magic a long time ago—which is why he rules with fear and ruthlessness. Better for you to fear him than he fear you, no?”

The vampire queen’s words to Hudson flood my mind. Appear weak when you are strong. We’ve been so busy trying to figure out what she meant, we didn’t even bother to consider that there is a second part to that saying. I turn to Hudson and say, “Appear strong when you are weak.”

Hudson’s eyes narrow in understanding. The vampire queen was telling us Cyrus is as desperate as we are to find the Crown. He needs power. What would he do with it if he got the Crown before us? Nothing we’d survive, of that I am sure.

97

My Enemy’s

Enemy Is Still

Sketchy as F*ck

Panic starts to well up inside me, and this time I’m not sure I’m going to be able to beat it back. My heart is pounding out of control, my chest feels like an elephant is sitting right on my solar plexus, and my hands are shaking so badly that I slide them under my thighs in a desperate effort to hide them from the Crone and my friends.

I take a few deep breaths, try to calm down, try to tell myself that it’s going to be fine. That it’s ridiculous to get this worked up about anything. But if there is anything in the world worth getting worked up about, an enemy with a secret that could kill me seems a good place to start. Especially if this knowledge was already successful once. And a Crown out there that would give him the power to do even worse.

I’m trying to keep it together, trying not to let anyone know how bad the panic is. But Hudson must sense it—or maybe he recognizes the symptoms from spending all that time in my head—because he scoots over until the outside of his thigh is pressed against the outside of mine.

It’s a far cry from grass under my toes and sun on my face, but he feels safe and warm and secure, so I’ll take it. I blow out a long, slow breath and concentrate on the feel of his leg against mine. Hard. Strong.

I take another deep breath and then blow it out slowly. Steady. Unwavering.

One more breath in, one more breath out. Right. He feels right.

“Okay?” Hudson asks under his breath, and I nod even though it’s not quite true. “Okay” is a definite stretch from what I’m feeling, but it’s better than freaked the fuck out, so I’ll take it.

I look up to realize the Crone is staring at me like I’m a bug under a microscope. Because she’s never seen a panic attack before? I wonder. Or because she’s cataloging my weaknesses—trying to figure out where and how to hit me?

I hate that I think like this now, that I look at everyone—even people we’re forced to ask for help—as adversaries who might or might not try to destroy us at any moment. It’s a bullshit way to live, a bullshit way to think. But considering the alternative is not living at all…the dilemma is real.

The others must notice the same thing, because Flint leaps into action—and by action I mean throws out his most charming grin. “I know you said you were expecting us, but does that mean you know why we’re here?”

Reluctantly, she turns her gaze to him…and then stares him down until his smile wilts and he averts his eyes. Only then does she allow herself to smile a little and say, “There are any number of reasons you could be here. My herbal teas. A particularly strong love potion.” She examines her lavender-painted nails. “The Aethereum.”

My entire body freezes at the last word she says—there’s something about the way she says it, with a reverence that makes it sound special to her. Like had a hand in building it special?

Either way, it’s obvious she’s playing coy. I just wish I knew what she got out of it besides a captive audience.

Then again, maybe that’s all she needs. If she’s been alone out here as long as she says, then maybe all she wants is someone to talk to for a while. And maybe making us guess is how she guarantees we stick around a little bit longer.

Hudson has obviously had enough, though, because instead of playing her game, he just flat-out asks, “Can you help us get out of the prison or not?”

“Get out?” she asks, brows lifted. “Are you planning on doing something to get yourself put inside the Aethereum? And if so, why?”