Still, preserving her nonchalance took effort.
The Blacksuits could stand still for hours at a time. Golems spun down to hibernation. Only the faintest margin separated a skeletal Craftswoman in meditation from a corpse. But the gargoyles, Seril’s children, they were not active things feigning immobility. They were stone.
“I don’t see Shale,” she said.
“He remains uncomfortable around you. Even you must admit, he has his reasons.”
“I stole his face for a good cause,” Tara said. “And he tried to kill me later, and then I saved you all from Professor Denovo. I think we’re even.”
“‘Even’ is a human concept,” Aev said. “Stone bears the marks of all that’s done to it, until new marks erase those that came before.”
“And vigilante justice—was that carved into you, too?”
“I see you heard the news.”
“I damn well heard the news. How long have you been doing this?”
“Our Lady sent her first dreams soon after our return to the city. A simple offer of exchange, to rebuild her worship.”
“And your Lady—” Tara heard herself say the capital letter, which she didn’t like but couldn’t help. She’d carried their goddess inside herself, however briefly. “Your Lady controls Justice now. She has a police force at her disposal, and She still thought this terror-in-the-shadows routine was a good idea?”
Aev’s laugh reminded Tara of a tiger’s chuff, and she became uncomfortably conscious of the other woman’s teeth. “Justice may belong to Our Lady, but when She serves as Justice, She is bound by rules, manpower, schedules. Your old master Denovo wrought too well.”
Tara’s jaw tightened at the word “master,” but this wasn’t the time to argue that point. “So Seril uses you to answer prayers.”
“Seril is weak. For forty years the people of this city have thought Her more demon than goddess. Her cult has faded. Those who hold Her rites—rocks into the sea at moon-death, the burning of flowers and the toasting of the moon—do not know the meaning of their deeds. So we give them miracles to inspire faith. Lord Kos and His church preserve the city, but Seril and we who are Her children work in darkness, in the hours of need.”
“Some people wouldn’t like the idea of a goddess growing in the slums, feeding off desperate people’s blood.”
“We have stopped muggings, murders, and rapes. If there is harm in that, I do not see it. You have lived in this city for a year—in the Paupers’ Quarter, though its more gentrified districts—and it took you this long to learn of our efforts. Is that not a sign we have done needed work? Helped people otherwise invisible to you?”
Gravelly murmurs of assent rose from the gargoyles. Wind pierced Tara’s jacket and chilled the sweat of her long climb.
“Seril’s not strong enough to go public,” she said.
“Our Lady is stronger than She was a year ago, as She would not have been if we listened to you and kept still. Some believe, now—which is more success than your efforts have yielded.”
“I’ve spent a year chasing leads and hunting your old allies, most of whom are dead, and that’s beside the point. It sounds like you waited all of ten minutes before you started playing Robin-o-Dale. You didn’t even tell me.”
“Why would we tell you, if we knew you would disagree with our methods?”
“I am your Craftswoman, dammit. It’s my job to keep you safe.”
“Perhaps you would have known of our affairs,” Aev said, “if you spoke with the Lady once in a while.”
Moonlight, and cool silver, and a laugh like the sea. Tara shut the goddess out, and stared into her own reflection in Aev’s gemstone eyes.
“You’re lucky they still think Seril’s dead. I want a promise from all of you: no missions tonight. And I need you, Aev, at a council meeting soon as it’s dark enough for you to fly.”
“We will not abandon our responsibilities.”
“This is for your own good. And Seril’s.”
Aev paced. Her claws swept broad arcs through the air. Tara did not speak their language enough to follow her, but she recognized some of the curses.
“No!”
The stone voice did not belong to Aev. The gargoyle lady spun, shocked.
A gray blur struck the roof and tumbled, tearing long grooves in the stone with its landing’s force. Crouched, snarling, a new form faced Tara: slender and elegant compared to the hulking statues behind him, majestically finished, limbs lean and muscles polished, but no less stone, and furious.