Seven lifeless-looking gargoyles filled the floor of the freight car, leaving enough room at the front for two canvas-lined cots and little else. The gargoyles’ frozen forms had made squeezing them into the tight space a bit like assembling a puzzle—one where the lightest piece weighed over a hundred pounds.
Marcus had impressed me with how quickly he’d mobilized everything. In the time it’d taken me to rush home and pack, he’d hired a quarry cart and driver; then we’d spent the last few hours riding around Terra Haven, collecting the dormant gargoyles. Somehow, he’d also booked us a private freight car on the last train out of the city, and we’d finished loading the gargoyles with a few minutes to spare. It would have taken me an entire day to collect the gargoyles on my own, even if I could have lifted them by myself, and I didn’t know the first thing about renting freight cars. I started to thank him, but he dismissed me with a flat look and turned to pay the cart driver. Marcus had been helpful but about as pleasant as a bee-stung bear. He hadn’t complained once or attempted to talk me out of the trip after he’d agreed to go, but his attitude made his opinion about our quest perfectly clear.
I did my best to ignore him and focus on being grateful for his help. Standing in Emerald Station helped.
Eight tracks and four loading platforms fanned across the station, all protected by an arching canopy of vines. Honeysuckle and wisteria blossoms scented the air, mingling with the baser smells of grease, metal, and sweat. People milled around the open shop fronts of the station or lounged among the wooden seats, and a talented fire elemental wove elaborate scenes of pure flame as he told stories to enraptured children. Too many people were in the way for me to get a good view of his show as I caught my breath, but I saw a few spectacular birds made of fire.
I hadn’t been on a train since a middle-school field trip, when we’d embarked on an exciting overnight stay at a sister school a city away. I’d lived for months in anticipation of the adventure. The same bubbly excitement stirred in my stomach now, mixed with anxiety and fear. This wasn’t a fun excursion to another city; we were headed straight into forbidden territory, and the lives of these seven gargoyles depended on me not only surviving but also somehow restoring a place I’d never seen to specifications known only to comatose gargoyles.
A heavy rumble and clanging pierced by the shrill whistle of steam brakes announced the arrival of another train on the opposite platform. The bittersweet odor of burning grass and clouds of cooling steam billowed from the engine before the soft elementally enhanced evening breeze dissipated them. Up and down the train, coach attendants opened passenger doors with timed precision and identical flourishes, and men and women poured out. Grabbing bags, they jostled their way through the passengers hurrying up the platform to board our train.
I glanced up to where Oliver perched atop the freight car. He stood with his back arched and tail high, his carnelian orange-red body glowing in the lights of the massive hanging chandeliers. His head never stopped moving, taking in the busy scene below him. He had an adventurer’s spirit, so unique in a gargoyle, and I was grateful every day that he chose to be my companion.
Situated at the prow of the freight car, Celeste stared straight down the tracks toward our destination. Where Oliver preened when he noticed people pointing at or admiring him, she appeared to have tuned out the world. As a rule, gargoyles didn’t ride the trains. Why would they when they had wings to fly? The sight of two on a single freight car sent ripples of curiosity through the crowds.
Most people didn’t look twice at the dormant gargoyles we’d loaded, though. To the casual observer, they could have been confused with statues, and if anyone noticed a moderate boost to their magical strength when they walked by, they probably attributed it to Oliver and Celeste.
I pushed away from the freight car and brushed the front of my pants, dusting off a layer of dirt. The heavy staccato bangs of a gong growing closer pulled my head up. The conductor swaggered through the crowd holding the line to the train’s khalkotauroi, a massive bull too tall to see over with heavy bronze feet and a bronze muzzle. He followed the slender woman docilely, chewing his cud, and when he exhaled a belch of fire, the conductor caught the flames in a ball of water element and reduced it to a hiss of steam.
All without taking her eyes from Marcus.
“I’d heard some jerk made a last-minute addition to my train,” she said, her husky voice cutting through the cacophony of conversations around us. “I should have known it was you, Velasquez.”
Marcus turned, his face lighting up with The Smile. Ruggedly attractive when he wasn’t trying, when he smiled that smile, he transformed into breathtakingly handsome. I’d been the recipient of The Smile a time or two. It was powerful enough to knock my thoughts sideways. The conductor merely quirked an eyebrow.
“You better not delay our departure,” she said. Her chin-length black hair swung into her face when she stopped, and she tucked it behind her ear. Standing between the khalkotauroi and Marcus, she looked fragile and elfin, but her sultry dark eyes swept over Marcus as if she were sizing him up for dinner.
“Naomi, when have you ever known me to slow things down?”
A sour flavor coated my tongue, accompanied by the visceral churn of jealousy in my gut: They were flirting. Ugh.
I grabbed the edge of the open freight car door and hoisted myself inside. Lacking coordination after the long day, I tripped on the tiger’s tail and stumbled into Rourke, hugging him to regain my balance.
“Is she okay?” Naomi asked.
“She’s fine, just a little slow in the head,” Marcus said.