Atlas shrugs and looks down, almost like he’s feeling guilty about something. “No clue, but it’s not important. What is important is getting you out of here.”
He’s hiding something. But, fuck, I don’t have a whole lot of options here.
“But I don’t know where I am. I was drugged for the journey. I could be anywhere in the world.”
He offers a slight smile. “I’m here now. I’ll find you. It might take some time, but I’ll find you and I’ll get you out of here.”
“I sound like a broken record, but why, Atlas? I wouldn’t exactly call us friends.”
And that’s an understatement. We’ve met twice and only because I kidnapped one of his friends. In my defense, his friend was following me first.
“I had these visions of you for a reason; we can figure out what that reason is later. First things first.”
I nod, slightly soothed by his promise. “I didn’t think anyone would look for me.” The words sound pathetic to me as I mutter them, but he barely flinches at my casual admission that I can’t think of one single person who probably gives a shit that I’m missing.
“Hopefully, it won’t take long. I’ll see if I can get outside and walk around for some clues. Or if the person who brings you food says anything that might help…”
“Oh, wait, there was something.” I hesitate for just a second. He’s not telling me the whole truth. What if he’s in on this plot somehow? But, fuck me, I’m getting a little desperate. I guess I have to… ugh…trusthim. I shudder at the thought, but I really don’t have much choice. “Elvira—that’s what I’ve been calling my hot, goth prison guard—she said something when I first woke up here.”
“What did she say?” he asks eagerly.
“Something about a war. I don’t know exactly. She speaks in broken sentences and doesn’t say much, so it’s not a lot to go on, but…”
“At least it’s something.”
“Yeah.”
“Alright, I’ll look into what kind of war could be brewing. And you keep doing whatever you’ve been doing to reach out. I can feel it, at least while I’m sleeping. I’ll do my best, Rune.”
It’s so unusual for me to be in a position where I need help that I hardly know how to act, but I do have some manners left, so I murmur a genuine, “Thank you, Atlas.”
“I got you. One thing about gargoyles, once we set our minds on something, we’re a little obsessive about it.”
“Lucky me, then.”
A clanking sound outside my door jolts me awake abruptly. My heart immediately sinks. Atlas is gone. The sound comes a second time, and I realize it’s the old pipes in this place rattling. Fucking great. The one bit of hope and company I had is gone.
I never thought I’d say this, but I sure hope the gargoyle finds me again. He might be my only chance of getting out of here.
FIVE
ATLAS
After Rune fades away, I’m trapped somewhere dark in my mind for a long stretch of time, unable to wake. I guess that’s what the witch was trying to warn me about. There are no dreams, just my thoughts. Thoughts about Rune, trapped in that prison cell, his clothes dirty and his skin sallow instead of radiating the slight glow he had last time I saw him. He might be unharmed at the moment, but he’s far from fine.
A protective feeling pulses in my chest, deep and powerful and born of millennia of ingrained instincts. Unlike most species, gargoyles didn’t evolve, we were made. Created by powerful magic for one purpose: protection. Unfortunately for our makers, the spell was too powerful and we became sentient, filled with our own wants and desires and dreams. We became just as real as any other creatures. But one thing we’ve never been able to shake is that sense of purpose, the need to protect and defend. It’s as vital to us as breathing, and right now, Rune needs my help.
Colorful little bursts of magic fizzle and pop in the darkness of my sleep prison like fireworks, and I watch them in awe, feeling Rune’s energy in every flicker.
I have the vague sense of someone calling my name, but I’m powerless to answer. I reach for Rune over and over, but all I can feel is a distant sense of him. And so, I float in the dark, wondering about the war he mentioned, and I wait for the potion to wear off.
“Atlas.”It sounds like the growl of Drax’s voice.
“Shit. Do you think he’s dead?”Mac asks, his voice far away like he’s whispering from the other end of a long tunnel.
“He’s not dead,” Cassius says with certainty.
“Maybe he’s cursed or something? Nobody can sleep this hard without magic,”Roman says. Their voices are becoming a little louder and clearer by the second.
