Worse was the loss of the baetyl—its beauty, its soothing song, its promise of rejuvenation.
I lingered in the badger and longer still in the wolf, forgetting myself in their all-consuming relief to be home and healing. With each gargoyle, I gained more understanding of how they interacted with magic, and it was amazing. As a human, I could use the elements, channeling them into different shapes and patterns to create an outcome. As a gargoyle, I didn’t have to reach for the elements; they saturated me. Amplifying magic was a simple matter of folding it to make the elements denser. Focusing the effect, I could direct it where I wanted . . .
Each time I came back to my body, what had been so clear as a gargoyle didn’t make sense as a human. How could the elements be folded? How could you direct magic without using it? I tried to cling to the memory, but the drone of a voice would cut through my puzzled thoughts, and I’d lose it.
“You are Mika Stillwater, gargoyle guardian and healer.”
I focused on the intense stare of the man above me and the words he delivered with a vehemence that said they were important. “Your parents are water elementals. You live in Terra Haven.”
I frowned at the unfamiliar syllables.
“Say it with me. Say, ‘I am Mika Stillwater.’”
My hip throbbed, my arms stung. My head wanted to fall off my shoulders. Nothing was proportioned right. Where were my wings?
The man jabbed my breastbone with a stiff finger. I winced and frowned at him. A glowball hovered close beside us, casting stark shadows that pooled in the crease between his eyebrows and the hollows around his eyes.
“You. Open your mouth and say it,” he ordered.
“I am Mika Still . . .”
“Mika Stillwater. Say it.”
“Mika Stillwater.” I repeated the words twice, their shape familiar in my mouth.
“You are the foolish and stubborn gargoyle guardian, Mika Stillwater.”
I stiffened, recognizing my name. Alarm skittered down my spine as I reconnected with my body. I hadn’t recognized myself. At all.
Marcus must have read the fear in my eyes and known I’d returned, because he stopped talking. He shifted, pulling me tighter against him.
“You’re okay. You’re back. Everything’s okay.”
Everything was not okay. My hands didn’t lift when I tried to reach for Marcus. The baetyl sang just below my hearing range, a hum that made my jaw ache and sparkles dance through my vision. I didn’t want to be able to hear it—it was calling to gargoyles, and I shouldn’t be able to hear it—but I couldn’t stop myself from straining to make out the notes. The harder I concentrated, the more my head pounded. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Without looking, without moving, I could feel the remaining tiger and fox gargoyles.
My awareness of the gargoyles wasn’t natural. It wasn’t human. It was something the baetyl could do. I should have needed magic, but I’d blurred the lines. I’d reshaped myself too many times and too quickly, first in the baetyl and now with the gargoyles. I was losing myself.
When I shifted, the tunnel darkened and spun. I righted it with a blink. “How long?”
“Too long.”
“Okay. Tiger next.” Just as I could sense the location of both gargoyles, I didn’t need magic to tell she was the weaker of the two.
“Mika . . .”
“She’s fading too fast.”
“So are you.”
I tilted my face up to look at Marcus, my head resting on his shoulder, my body cradled by his. I fought the desire to close my eyes and relax against him. “I’ll recover.”
“Take a break,” he urged.
I tried to stand, but my body didn’t even sit up. I couldn’t feel my feet. Dropping my lashes to hide my panic, I focused on wriggling my toes. When they responded, I let out a slow breath. Tired. I’m just tired. If I stopped now, I wouldn’t be able to start again, not for hours. By then, both gargoyles would be dead and I would never be able to live with myself.
The tiger stood frozen at the bend in the tunnel behind us, farther from the baetyl entrance than the fox. She was only five feet from us, but it might as well have been five miles if I had to walk it alone.
“Please don’t try to stop me.”
Marcus scowled, but he surprised me when he stood with me in his arms and walked to the tiger.
“Thank you.”
I fell into the tiger and didn’t stop falling until I stood in front of her inner self. Her body’s shape ghosted at the edges, as if the golden light of her spirit were evaporating.
Or dying.
I saw the truth of my realization in her eyes and felt her acceptance of her death pulse between us.
No. I’m here to save you. The baetyl is right here. All we have to do is walk a few dozen feet.
I pushed my spirit closer, but she flared bright. The impression of a roaring tiger, sharp teeth, and rending claws flashed almost too fast to follow. I retreated, and the gargoyle’s fuzzy shape returned.
You can’t give up, I commanded, not sure how much she could hear. I willed her to live, to fight. She smiled, her cat mouth curling up around her thick muzzle, and sent me a feeling of serenity.
Don’t you dare. I shoved my spirit toward her again, enveloping her, holding the effervescent pieces of her together by sheer will. She didn’t struggle this time; she purred. The soundless vibrations resonated with love and gratitude . . . and forgiveness.
I clung to her, desperate to save her. We were so close. If she would hang on just a bit longer, I could save her.
I poured more of my will into hers, capturing her, holding her. I could do this. I could walk her into the baetyl.
My awareness expanded to her limbs—
Sharp pains tore through me. It wasn’t the gargoyle fighting; she’d relaxed in my grasp. It was the strain of anchoring the gargoyle to her body eating through me, pulling my spirit apart. It shredded my strength, shredded me. If I held on much longer, she would pull me apart.
If I let go, she’d die.