Free Gargoyle Quest by William Massa Page A

She stumbled two more steps back when strong hands clamped over her shoulder and grabbed her by the waist.  
    She spun around, ready to scream, but no sound escaped from her lips as she saw the man who’d snuck up behind her. He wore an expensive black suit, tailor-made for the imposing, sinewy physique. A Roman nose dominated an ascetic face, pale skin framed by a mane of black hair tied back in a bun. He could’ve passed for another New York City hipster if not for the icy intensity seething in that gaze.
    “Help me, help me….”
    The terror in the guard’s voice was reaching a crescendo, almost as if he could sense the presence of the man in black.
    “I’m afraid you are beyond all help, my blind friend. Now be quiet.”
    The man whispered words in Greek and waved a hand over his own mouth. Instantly, the guard’s lips vanished, skin now sealing the orifice in the same horrific manner as the eye sockets.  
    Rhianna recoiled from the sight. Only the fear of suffering a similar fate prevented her from crying out in terror. She stared at the man in black. Like Cael, he had to be a practitioner of the dark arts.
    A painful invisible force pulled at her limbs. As phantom hands dragged her to the ground, the man in black approached. A grim certainty gripped her—Artan’s disappearance had to be connected with this terrifying figure. Once again, the Celtic king had become embroiled in a supernatural conflict of some kind, and she was merely collateral damage.  
    “Where’s Maxwell?” the mage asked. His voice sounded pleasant and assured.  
    Rhianna blinked in surprise. Maxwell? What could this man possibly want with Maxwell? She considered staying silent, but the growing pressure against her legs promised a fresh burst of pain.
    “Your will is strong, but you are no match for my powers. That is not an idle boast; I am merely stating the facts lest you forget who is in charge. Now, where is Maxwell ?”
    “I d-don’t know,” Rhianna stammered. “He didn’t show up for work today, and he isn’t returning his calls.”
    The mage nodded almost as if he expected this explanation. “My enemies must’ve gotten to poor Maxwell before he could prove himself useful.” He regarded her with an unflinching, penetrating intensity. “Ironic that my quest for the grimoires should make me cross paths with the bride of the Celtic king who sacrificed his humanity to save the world from the abyss. I wonder what he sees in you?”  
    How did this fiend know about Artan and herself?
    “Who are you?” she said, each word a struggle to get out. The man’s words confirmed her worst fears regarding Artan’s disappearance.
    He bent down, only inches between them. She could feel his breath against her cheek, and she picked up a musky, almost animalistic scent that was all too familiar. Rhianna recoiled, trying to turn her face away.  
      “You sense the beast inside of me, don’t you?” The mage grinned. “Living with one has no doubt taught you to recognize Balor’s dark gift.”
    “You’re wrong. Balor is dead, and Artan isn’t…isn’t like you,” she said, but her certainty was wavering. What if the demon’s evil hadn’t been banished from this world for good? She summoned the rest of her courage and spat, “What do you want?”  
    A year earlier, Rhianna would’ve been a terrified mess, unable to form a coherent thought. But this wasn’t her first brush with the dark side. She’d faced true evil and lived. Her heart hammered in her chest like it was ready to burst, adrenaline spiking. Fear could keep her alive, but panic would get her killed. This practitioner of the black arts was after something - a grimoire of some kind judging by his words - and he would let her live as long as he believed she might prove useful in his quest.
    An icy smile stole across the warlock’s features and he waved his hand. “Rise.”
    Rhianna felt herself being dragged back to her feet, a helpless plaything under the