I was on my way, by taxi, to the airport in Paris, France when the call comes through. The number is a familiar one, and I groan.
"I just left the Council, Will . . ."
"And I just got called in to assist you. We've got trouble," my cousin interrupts.
My foot presses against the floorboard of the Peugeot 406, an unconscious braking effort on my part. I tap the seat in front of me, using my hand to signal the driver. The taxi slows and pulls to the side of the road amidst blaring horns.
"Define trouble."
There is a lot of noise on the other end of the line, and I recognize my aunt's irritated voice. Will is my first cousin, a year younger than me, and has just been accepted into the Inner Circle of Gargoyles. As a Guardian, I had ranked higher, but now . . . .
"The mark is in danger."
It takes a moment for his words to register. The mark? My mark? The taxi driver glances at me in the rearview mirror, and I open the car door, lowering my voice as I step outside.
"Emma Chase?"
Will grunts.
"No, the Pope, you imbecile."
I clench my fist. I hear my aunt yelling now in the background. She's agitated. It doesn't take long for me to realize Will is gearing up to fly, his mother trying her best to prepare him for the worst. Chills creep up my spine.
"Look, Will, this is my job. If there's trouble, they need to send in a Guardian . . ."
"There's no time, Con. They need someone now. And I'm the closest to the location. Forget the plane. You need to take flight."
I reach into my pocket, grab enough money to pay the driver, throw it into the taxi and walk away. I'm not used to dealing with foreign currency yet, and I'm pretty sure I just grossly overpaid the man, but I am beyond distracted and it's Council money anyway. My eyes instinctively search the buildings around me. I need a good place to take off. Flying in daylight is risky, but gargoyles have an advantage. We are born with the ability to foil radar.
"Explain," I order as I walk toward a dilapidated building with little foot traffic. It will have to do. Will hesitates on the other end of the line.
"Hell if I know. I wasn't told much. She's been caught in a compromising position, and she has been admitted into the hospital. You've seen her records. You tell me."
"Shit. Where is she?"
Will gives me the name of a hospital in Atlanta, Georgia. According to her records, Emma is from Illinois. She is a long way from home. Her mother is determined to exhaust all medical avenues. She wants to save her daughter. No one can fault her for that. I had been ordered to Georgia where I was supposed to catch the same return flight to Illinois as Emma and her mother. The rest was up to me. I hate when plans change.
"Look, just watch the facility. Don't go in without me. I'm on my way."
I start to scale the building as Will protests in my ear. I ignore him and end the call abruptly, pulling an ear piece out of my pocket and shoving it into my ear. The next call I make is to the Director.
"I didn't think it'd take you long," Gibson says, his voice strained.
"Will isn't a Guardian."
I say the words angrily. Will is family. Being related to a colleague isn't unusual in the world of gargoyles. Gargoyles marry gargoyles. Their children are gargoyles. It is just the way our people work. It is our duty. It is why each family is represented by a crest. Very rarely does a gargoyle deviate from this plan. I am one of the exceptional few, having fallen for someone unsuitable. Worse yet, it had been a mark. Hence my demotion. And even though every gargoyle takes his or her place in the Inner Circle when they come of age, I know Will isn't ready. He's only been in service a few months.
"Neither are you, Reinhardt. Not anymore."
"But I've been trained for it," I argue.
Gibson sighs, the sound carrying across the line.
"We don't plan for this to get out of hand. We only need an Extraction."
"Extractions go wrong," I point out.
I am way out of line, questioning authority, but I'm apparently getting good at being demoted anyway so why stop now.
"Conor . . ."
"Why Will?" I protest.
"He won't be alone. We have Roach working from the inside."
I have a hard time refraining from being completely and utterly insubordinate. Roach is a jackass.
"How bad is the situation?"
Gibson is quiet a moment.
"Not bad . . . unusual. The girl has developed a new symptom."
I am on the roof of the building now.
"Symptom?"
"The doctors call it haemolacria. Crying blood. It's usually indicative of an underlying condition, tumor, head injury, etc, but you and I both know she doesn't have a medical condition. What we don't know is what this means. If it's a new ability she doesn't have control over then . . . we fear she's broadcast her position unintentionally."
"Sweet Jesus!"
I drop the call and take flight, bat-like wings unfurling from my back through a navy t-shirt rigged for impromptu flight. I don't care if Gibson curses me a thousand times over for hanging up on him. This Extraction is destined to go awry. If the wrong forces know where the girl is, Will is headed for trouble.