Shit. The enormous bookcase launched itself toward them, the gargoyle riding it. Lucien grabbed Ianthe by the waist, trying to swing her out of the way. A whip-like tail lashed around his boot from behind, yanking him off-balance just as the bookcase careened down across the desk, vomiting books like some tidal wave. The mage globes imploded with a small, thunderous crash.
Lucien hit the floor and kicked up with his boot, hitting the gargoyle in the face. It felt like kicking a wall, pointless and jarring. The creature snapped its fangs, teeth sinking into his boot. Sharp, wretched teeth sunk through the boot into his skin. Lucien yelled, but by some miracle, the boot came free, leaving the blasted thing with it. The gargoyle shook its head like a dog, worrying at the leather.
Heart in his throat, Lucien looked for her. "Ianthe?" Where was she? Lucien shoved aside the table. A mess of red skirts lay toppled beneath a mountain of books and the leaning bookshelf. She wasn't moving. "Ianthe!"
Get up! Lucien leaned his back beneath the bookshelf, where it had caught on the desk, and put all of his weight into it. The enormous thing shifted, and he ground his teeth together. "Can you move?"
Ianthe gasped, rolling onto her hands and knees. "Behind you!"
Shoving a hand out, she triggered the power stored in one of her rings. Lucien's coat hem flapped as the weight of pure force flung past him. One of the gargoyles had been midpounce. It hit the wall with a boom, powdered stone exploding onto the floor. The face slid free like a mask, tumbling onto the ground, the red eerie light of its eyes slowly fading like an ember and then dying. All that remained was the snarling nose, its leering teeth, and one eye.
"One down."
"One to go." Lucien twisted his head as he dragged her out from under the bookshelf and then let it fall onto the desk again. "Where did it go?"
Claws skittered over stone, almost sounding like hushed laughter. Lucien spun, but there was nothing in the shadows.
"I begin to suspect this is what a doe feels like when hunters are converging upon it," Ianthe said.
There was a flash of movement to the side, but when he turned, there was nothing there.
"It feels like it's mocking us." Lucien retreated a step and felt her do the same. They stood back to back, she with her hands raised and her power gathered, and he with his pathetic poker.
"Maybe we'd best take away its shadows," Ianthe said, and spat a power word. Light flashed into the room as a pair of mage globes formed as brightly shining as an electric bulb.
The gargoyle froze as it crept toward them, hissing at them.
"Lord Rathbourne obviously liked his constructs." Ianthe pushed her sleeves up, staring the remaining gargoyle down. "Two can play at that game."
The mage globes spun. Faint shadows sprung up on the walls as they whirled like a child's jack-o'-lantern, growing into humanoid shapes. The shadows stretched, and he realized that they were moving.
A shadowbinder in all of her glory.
Three of the shadows launched forward as the gargoyle attacked, grabbing hold of it. Its momentum slowed, its powerful haunches straining, but they could not stop it entirely. It gained an inch.
"I can give them presence," she gasped, "but not a great deal of weight. The gargoyle will outweigh them."
"Can you add force to the tip of the poker?" He brandished it.
Ianthe nodded, a trail of perspiration working down the side of her face. Handling several complex weaves was providing a strain that only frustrated him. He should have been able to help her.
The poker suddenly dipped as the end flared white-hot. Lucien grabbed it with two hands, straining to lift it. He staggered forward. A pair of red eyes locked on him, and suddenly the gargoyle stopped straining. Instead, it crouched low, as if to pounce.
Everything happened too quickly. The gargoyle launched itself at him, slipping free of the shadowy constructs, and Lucien brought the poker down in a resounding sweep that would have done his fencing tutor proud. It smashed into the side of the gargoyle, jarring all the way up his arm. Power flared, the gargoyle's eyes widened, and then...
The detonation threw them both backward. Lucien staggered into Miss Martin and another bookshelf fell. They both went down. Lucien cracked his knee hard on the cobbles, a pair of books bouncing off his shoulders as he curled himself over her. One hit him right in the spine, its edges sharp. Lucien winced.
And then it was done.
Silence. Stillness. Peace?
Pain flared through his knees. Skin scraped off, he presumed. Lucien looked up, but nothing moved.
Miss Martin blew a strand of hair out of her face, then tucked it behind her ear as she sat up. The chignon was beyond repair, and her skirts were torn. A streak of dirt marred her pale cheek, and it was that that suddenly enraged him.
It was his duty to protect her. From all things. And so far he was failing. What good was he? He might as well hide behind her fucking skirts!
"Bloody, fucking hell!" He turned and threw the bent poker he somehow miraculously still held. It made a rattling, tinny sound as it bashed into the wall and tumbled to the ground.
