“Good. Now, get out there and show my father exactly what one gargoyle can do.”
112
It’s High Noon and
Justice Doesn’t
Serve Itself
I reach deep inside myself and start to separate the colored strings as I walk the final steps to the field with my heart in my throat. When the others were in the arena with me, it was no big deal to shift out in the open. But now that I’m alone and everyone is staring at me, it feels uncomfortable.
Still, there’s nothing to do but suck it up. So I do, and I shift right out in the open—in front of anyone who wants to look.
Which, it turns out, is everyone. I mean, who doesn’t want to gawk at the new magical creature?
It’s just one more indignity in a long line of indignities I’ve suffered at the hands of paranormals over the last five months, and I refuse to let it faze me. Especially since people watching me become a gargoyle like they have a right to see it is the least of my problems right now. The biggest? Figuring out how to do this without Jaxon next to me or Hudson in my head.
As I walk up to the gate that leads to the field, I can feel everyone staring at me. Discomfort crawls through me, and I realize how much I’ve come to depend on Jaxon—and Hudson—in the time I’ve been at Katmere.
Jaxon acted like he owned the place, so it was easy to just accept people’s stares as par for the course. Hudson, on the other hand, basically had a kiss-my-ass attitude that made it a lot harder to care if other people were watching me, just like it made it nearly impossible for me to care what they thought.
But now I’m on my own. No Jaxon to hold my hand, no Hudson to say irreverent things that make me laugh and gasp at the same time. It’s just me and a field full of people who all want to see me fail.
Too bad I’m not about to give them that satisfaction.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and pretend for a moment—just a moment—that everything is going to be okay. That somehow I’ll step off this field safe and in one piece. It’s a good picture, so I put it out into the universe.
Then I square my shoulders and walk straight out to the center of the field, where the king is standing and Cole’s team is lined up on one of the now-bloodred lines. Trust the king to change a detail like that…along with a few other ones that have my heart pounding and the dome closing in on me.
The other day, it was bright and cheerful in here, with pennants waving and people cheering and delicious snacks being sold. This morning, it’s pretty much the exact opposite. The weather outside has turned everything dark and ominous…or maybe that’s just the king’s malicious presence. Whatever it is, it’s absolutely terrifying to see dark shadows encroaching from every side. Which, I’m pretty sure, is exactly what Cyrus wants.
Chills slide down my spine, and the cold wind whipping through the whole arena with the dome open has fear settling in my stomach like a fifty-pound weight. It drags me down, makes me realize just how impossible a task I’ve set for myself. Just how impossibly tired I already am.
I want to turn around, want to run away, want to be anywhere but here, doing anything but this.
The feeling is so overwhelming that it all but smothers me as I try desperately to get it under control. But it just grows and grows and grows until I can barely breathe, barely think. As I finally find the strength to start the formidable job of fighting it back, I can’t help wondering if the grayness is coming from inside me or if Cyrus has done something to the arena to make me feel like this.
Just the idea that he—or some member of the Circle—is messing with my emotions pisses me off beyond words. And makes me even more determined not to cave to these people. They think they can do whatever they want, that they can run over anyone in their path.
But they aren’t running over me. Not anymore.
Besides, they may be pulling this with me now, but if it works, I won’t be the only one. If I don’t take a stand, if I don’t make a point of showing them that