Unbound

“Wake the newlings.” Jenks’s hand dropped to the butt of his sword. “Let the children sleep. I’m sorry, but they’ll survive. I’ll protect Vi as if she was my own.”

Vincet looked torn, not wanting to trust another man with his children’s lives. Panicked, he turned to a secluded knoll and the freshly turned earth of his newling’s grave, still glowing faintly from the dust of tears. “I can’t…”

“Vincet, I have fifty-four kids,” Jenks coaxed. “I can keep your child alive. You asked me to help. I have to talk to whatever is trapped in that statue. Please. Bring her to me.”

Hesitating, Vincet’s wings hummed like a thousand bees in the dark.

“I promise,” Jenks said, only now understanding why Rachel made stupid vows she knew she might not be able to keep. “Let me help you.”

Vincet’s wings turned a sickly blue. “I have no choice,” he said, and trailing a gray sparkle of dust to light the dew-wet plants, he flew to his home and disappeared under the earth.

Watching him, Jenks started to swear with one-word sentences. What if he couldn’t do this? He was a stupid-ass to have promised that. He was as bad as Rachel. Angry, he fingered the butt of his sword and glared at the statue. Bis edged closer, his eyes never leaving the cold stone glinting in the moon and lamplight. “What if I’m making a mistake?” Jenks asked.

“You aren’t,” the gargoyle said, then stiffened, his glowing eyes widening as he pointed a knobby finger at the statue. “Look at that!”

“Holy crap, what is it doing?” Jenks exclaimed, the heartache of a child’s death gone as the moonlight seeping through the branches brushed the statue, seeming to make it glow. No, he thought as a gust of wind pushed him back. The stone really was glowing, like it had a second skin. It wasn’t the moonlight!

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Jenks said, dropping to land beside Bis on the bench.

“Yeah.” The kid sounded scared. “Something’s trapped in that stone, and it’s still alive. Jenks, that’s not a ghost. This isn’t right. Look, I’ve got goose bumps!”

Not looking at Bis’s gray, proffered arm, Jenks muttered, “Yeah, me too.”

Across the street, three TVs exploded into the same laugh track. The glow about the statue deepened, becoming darker, less like a moonbeam and more like a shadow. It stretched, pulling away to maintain the same shape as the statue, looking like a soul trying to slip free.

“Fewmets!” Bis barked, and with a ping of energy Jenks felt press against his wings, the shadow separated from the statue and vanished. “Did you see that? Did you freaking see that!” Bis yelled, wingtips shaking.

“It’s gone!” Jenks said, unable to stop a shudder.

The bench shook as Bis hopped to the sidewalk and tucked under the slatted wood. “Not gone, loose,” he said from underneath, worrying Jenks even more. “Hell’s bells, I can hear it. It sounds like bird feathers sliding against each other, or scales. No, tree branches and bones.”

Uneasy, Jenks slipped through the slats of the bench to alight beside Bis on the sidewalk where the heat of the day still lingered, watching the same empty air that the gargoyle was staring at. A thin lament rose from the small hummock of Vincet’s home. The sound hit Jenks and twisted, and he wasn’t surprised when the glow about the door brightened, and in a glittering yellow pixy dust, Vincet emerged with a small child in his arms.

She was in a white nightgown, her fair hair down and tousled. Two wide-eyed children clung to the door, a matronly silhouette beside them, crying and unable to leave the newlings.

The memory of the past night’s torment was on Vincet when he joined them under the bench. “It’s Vi,” he said, grief-stricken. “Please, you said you’d help.”

Jenks awkwardly took another man’s child, feeling how light she was, stifling a shudder when the girl’s unnatural, silver-tinted aura hit him. A piercing wail came from her throat, too anguished to be uttered by someone so young. Bis’s ears pinned to his skull, and Jenks shifted his grip, binding her swinging arms and tightening his hold on her.

“Please make it stop,” Vincet said, touching his daughter’s face to wipe her dusty tears.

Though it went against his instincts, Jenks brought the girl to his shoulder. Like a switch, the child’s wailing shifted to an eerie silence. Bis hissed and backed up, the scent of iron sifting over them as his claws scraped the sidewalk until he found the earth.

Jenks shivered. Not knowing what he’d find, he pulled the child from his shoulder and held her at arm’s length.

At the shift of her weight, the child opened her eyes. They were black, with silvery pupils—like the sky and the moon—and her weird-ass aura.

“Trees,” whispered Vi, clearly not Vi at all. Her voice was wispy, like wind in branches. “This cold stone is killing me.”