Read Online Secret of the Gargoyles (Gargoyle Guardian Chronicles Book 3) by Rebecca Chastain - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rebecca Chastain
Ads: Link
gargoyles?” he asked.
I shook my head. “They need to get inside the baetyl.” If being near it had been enough, all the gargoyles from this baetyl would have stayed nearby until they recovered.
“Looks like we’re really going to Reaper’s Ridge, then,” he said. “The captain is going to skin me alive when he gets back. Unless we die first.”
A falling-down lean-to marked the once bustling Hidden Cache Station. Broken shards of glass lay around the base of the sunken ticket window, and paint flaked from the illegible sign and rotting siding. Weeds grew over extra lines of track that split out into the meadow to multiple neglected loading bays now defined only by thinner patches of weeds. Hidden Cache Station was no longer listed on any rail line, and I had Marcus and his connections to thank again for getting the train to stop here and not another fifty miles up the line at the nearest small town.
The station wasn’t empty. A rugged mountain air sled sat well clear of the dilapidated building, a pack of cerberi resting in the sled’s shade. The driver hopped from the padded seat to the ground as the train came to a stop. If the station’s run-down ticket booth and the mountain range had birthed a human child, the driver would have been their offspring. Wind, sun, and age had weathered his leathery skin into a crush of wrinkles around high cheekbones, a prominent nose, and thin eyes. Dirt caked his heavy pants, and streaks of grime coated a threadbare shirt covering his bony chest and stomach. The old man moved with unexpected agility, though, and clapped a worn cowboy hat to his head before shoving the air sled into position using brute force and a sizable amount of air magic.
Marcus walked back to open the large loading door, and I hopped down to join him. Unlike Emerald Station, this forgotten stop didn’t have a platform, which worked in our favor since the air sled hovered at a height only slightly lower than the freight car. We wouldn’t have to lift the heavy, dormant gargoyles far to get them loaded.
“The driver’s name is Gus,” Marcus said, his voice pitched low so only I could hear him. He had arranged for the sled driver to be waiting for us at the station, just as he’d arranged for the freight car to be hitched to the back of the first-class train. I opened my mouth to thank him again, but he continued without giving me a chance. “He’s not going to let us load the gargoyles until you pay him.”
“The FPD isn’t picking up this tab?” I asked, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.
“The FPD has a don’t-touch policy regarding Reaper’s Ridge. They’re not going to fund any portion of any harebrained expedition involving it.”
I clamped my mouth shut before I pointed out the flaw in his logic, since the FPD had already paid for our trip here. If he made me reimburse him for the train car and trip, I’d be in debt to him for the next five years. Besides, I recognized the verbal jab for what it was. Marcus wasn’t going to try to talk me out of going to Reaper’s Ridge, but it appeared he was done with making things easy.
I grabbed my bag and pulled out a neatly folded bundle of cash, then walked to the front of the sled where Gus was coiling thick bands of earth around twin stone anchors to hold the floating sled in place.
“Hi, I’m Mika,” I said.
“Yep.” Gus spat to the side.
“How much do I owe you?”
“This’ll do.” He swiped the cash from my hand and pocketed it without counting the bills.
“But . . . how much—”
“Oh, pardon me, ma’am. Did you want to shop around first?” He swept his arm toward the empty meadow and cackled, the dry sound turning into a wheezy cough.
I’d spent my life’s savings when I’d rescued Oliver and his siblings from Walter at the black magic auction, and Gus had just snatched up every last dollar I’d managed to save since then, including what I’d set aside to pay next month’s rent. Unless I sold a
I shook my head. “They need to get inside the baetyl.” If being near it had been enough, all the gargoyles from this baetyl would have stayed nearby until they recovered.
“Looks like we’re really going to Reaper’s Ridge, then,” he said. “The captain is going to skin me alive when he gets back. Unless we die first.”
A falling-down lean-to marked the once bustling Hidden Cache Station. Broken shards of glass lay around the base of the sunken ticket window, and paint flaked from the illegible sign and rotting siding. Weeds grew over extra lines of track that split out into the meadow to multiple neglected loading bays now defined only by thinner patches of weeds. Hidden Cache Station was no longer listed on any rail line, and I had Marcus and his connections to thank again for getting the train to stop here and not another fifty miles up the line at the nearest small town.
The station wasn’t empty. A rugged mountain air sled sat well clear of the dilapidated building, a pack of cerberi resting in the sled’s shade. The driver hopped from the padded seat to the ground as the train came to a stop. If the station’s run-down ticket booth and the mountain range had birthed a human child, the driver would have been their offspring. Wind, sun, and age had weathered his leathery skin into a crush of wrinkles around high cheekbones, a prominent nose, and thin eyes. Dirt caked his heavy pants, and streaks of grime coated a threadbare shirt covering his bony chest and stomach. The old man moved with unexpected agility, though, and clapped a worn cowboy hat to his head before shoving the air sled into position using brute force and a sizable amount of air magic.
Marcus walked back to open the large loading door, and I hopped down to join him. Unlike Emerald Station, this forgotten stop didn’t have a platform, which worked in our favor since the air sled hovered at a height only slightly lower than the freight car. We wouldn’t have to lift the heavy, dormant gargoyles far to get them loaded.
“The driver’s name is Gus,” Marcus said, his voice pitched low so only I could hear him. He had arranged for the sled driver to be waiting for us at the station, just as he’d arranged for the freight car to be hitched to the back of the first-class train. I opened my mouth to thank him again, but he continued without giving me a chance. “He’s not going to let us load the gargoyles until you pay him.”
“The FPD isn’t picking up this tab?” I asked, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.
“The FPD has a don’t-touch policy regarding Reaper’s Ridge. They’re not going to fund any portion of any harebrained expedition involving it.”
I clamped my mouth shut before I pointed out the flaw in his logic, since the FPD had already paid for our trip here. If he made me reimburse him for the train car and trip, I’d be in debt to him for the next five years. Besides, I recognized the verbal jab for what it was. Marcus wasn’t going to try to talk me out of going to Reaper’s Ridge, but it appeared he was done with making things easy.
I grabbed my bag and pulled out a neatly folded bundle of cash, then walked to the front of the sled where Gus was coiling thick bands of earth around twin stone anchors to hold the floating sled in place.
“Hi, I’m Mika,” I said.
“Yep.” Gus spat to the side.
“How much do I owe you?”
“This’ll do.” He swiped the cash from my hand and pocketed it without counting the bills.
“But . . . how much—”
“Oh, pardon me, ma’am. Did you want to shop around first?” He swept his arm toward the empty meadow and cackled, the dry sound turning into a wheezy cough.
I’d spent my life’s savings when I’d rescued Oliver and his siblings from Walter at the black magic auction, and Gus had just snatched up every last dollar I’d managed to save since then, including what I’d set aside to pay next month’s rent. Unless I sold a
Similar Books
