And then she saw it. The low table in front of the sofa, where Constantine and Hugh had been seated earlier drinking tea. Resting forgotten, atop the lacquered mahogany wood, was the diffuser net. Vander had taken the one designed for Axia, but not this one, designed for demons—and mercurite-dipped for protection against gargoyles.
The tall, mullioned window behind them exploded. Hathaway dropped Gabby’s arm to shield his body from the rain of glass. Jagged shards rained down on Gabby’s neck and scalp as Yann’s shaggy coat shook off the bits, like a dog casting off water. Hathaway came up out of his hunched stance with both swords drawn, and Gabby, ignoring the raw sting of her sliced skin, bounded across the room for the low table.
Yann’s screeches and Hathaway’s grunts of exertion were a tidal wave, pushing her forward. Gabby dove for the crossbow. Her heart sank. The bloody thing hadn’t been loaded! In her haste, Gabby knocked the bolt, the net tightly wound and ready for loading, onto the floor. She lunged for it as Yann’s next grating shriek thundered directly behind her. The Chimera had beaten his way past Hathaway and now stood at the arm of the sofa, the corvite’s vacant birdcage directly underneath him, the dagger still embedded in his chest.
With unreasonable calm and unnatural strength, Gabby yanked the crossbow string into locking position. Yann’s beak darted forward in a pecking jab, and Gabby braced herself, ready to smash the empty crossbow into his beak.
But another object smashed into Yann first. And then another. Books, Gabby realized as a third volume, this one thick as a dictionary, rammed into his neck.
“Stay away from her, you big ugly bird!”
Gabby gasped as Mama chucked another book at Yann, distracting the Chimera long enough for her to slam the wound-up net into place. She heard the satisfying click, raised the crossbow, and pulled the trigger. The kick of the release knocked Gabby off her feet, and as the net went sprawling through the air, she crashed backward onto the floor. The net spun open as Mama hurled one last book at Yann, striking him in the eye. The silvery mesh slapped down over Yann’s head and back. Though the net didn’t drape entirely over his outstretched wings, it didn’t matter. He shrieked as the mercurite-dipped mesh flattened him, the rim of the net springing spikes that drove into Constantine’s parquet floor. The tips of Yann’s wings, left outside the perimeter, were pinned into place as well.
Gabby heard the bend and twist of metal as the birdcage disappeared under Yann’s thrashing body, and then another, sharper snap and the distinctive peal of shattering glass.
“Gabriella!” Mama dropped her next heavy text and rushed toward her.
“Mama,” she breathed. “That was … that was brilliant!”
Mama reached for her arm and helped her to her feet.
“Well done, Lady Brickton,” Hathaway groaned as he stumbled against the back of the sofa, clutching his bloodied arm to his stomach. The sleeve of his shirt had been flayed open, his skin underneath as well.
Gabby felt Mama stiffen. “I desire no compliments from you, sir.”
Hathaway glowered before turning to see the Chimera, sealed beneath the net, a puddle of blood seeping out beneath the spiked rim. For the briefest moment, Gabby puzzled over the blood—she hadn’t mortally injured him with the dagger, and the net wouldn’t kill, only immobilize. And then the color of the blood registered. Cherry-red. Not black, as a gargoyle’s blood would have been.
Hathaway’s strangled outburst put everything into place. He started toward the captured Chimera with a look of pure shock but drew up short of actually reaching for the net. The blood streaming out from under Yann was neither gargoyle nor human. It was angel blood. The jars had been inside the portmanteau Hugh had perched his birdcage upon earlier.
“Oh dear,” Gabby said, unable to hold back a smile. “That is quite unfortunate for you.”
The Directorate representative made a low growl in his throat. He turned his back on her and stormed out of the library.
Grayson bypassed the exit to the tower’s first level and continued up the stairwell, toward the second. It had been less than a five-minute climb to this point, but that was plenty of time for Marco to home in on Ingrid’s peril.
The gargoyle was frantically flapping his wings as he circled the pillar, searching for a break in the iron that caged the stairwell. Grayson ignored him and took a glance back at his sister instead. His hand still shackled her elbow in an effort to keep her from running away and to help pull her up the steps.
Ingrid’s deep blue eyes met his. She’d said nothing since he’d told her he was taking her to Axia. Rather than ask a slew of questions, his sister was apparently trying to determine his course of action on her own. He doubted she would ever succeed, and they only had another few minutes before reaching the second level, where Axia waited.
“I’m supposed to be convincing you to give up your angel blood willingly,” Grayson said, more winded than he’d have liked.
Ingrid lifted her chin. Grayson saw a spark of understanding.
“Axia bought it?” she asked, taking the next few steps in a short burst of energy.