Page 383 of Evil Hearts

Father Antoine nodded, his gaze distant as he briefly looked at her. “You and I were created very differently, My Child. Very differently indeed.”

She frowned, unsure how to respond. Father Antoine had been part of her life since she was born, but it seemed the weathering of age addled him.

The priest continued, his words measured and deliberate. “There is a prophecy, whispered through the ages, of one who will uncover the truth behind the gargoyles. One whose destiny is intertwined with theirs.”

Elena’s heart stuttered. “I wouldn’t take you as a man of mystical belief.” She had long since fallen away from religion, but it seemed odd to her that a man of pure faith spoke of legend and lore.

Father Antoine stopped, and she found herself stopping as well, unable to continue forward when he looked at her. His eyes bore into hers, searching, probing. “I have watched you grow, Elena. Seen the fire in your spirit, the hunger for knowledge in your eyes. If anyone can unravel the mysteries of this place, it is you.”

Around them, the cathedral seemed to hold its breath, the lengthening shadows creeping closer. Elena shivered as a chill raced down her spine. “This is crazy, there are no mysteries here. Just a bunch of gargoyles that I am oddly interested in.”

The priest’s smile was enigmatic. “Trust your instincts, Elena. Listen to what the gargoyles whisper to you. The path will reveal itself in time.”

With those cryptic words, Father Antoine turned and melted into the darkness, leaving Elena alone with her racing thoughts. She looked up at the gargoyles, their stone faces inscrutable, and felt a surge of determination. Whatever secrets they held, whatever destiny awaited her, she would uncover the truth.

As the last of the daylight faded, Elena made her way back through the cathedral, pausing at the base of the staircase to the roof. It was as if the steps whispered her name, but that was foolish. She simply loved the view, always had.

Elena’s fingers trailed along the cool stone walls as she approached the narrow staircase, its steps worn smooth by centuries of use. A flickering torch cast dancing shadows across the carved faces of the gargoyles flanking the entrance, their eyes seeming to follow her every move.

“Maybe a small delay is fine,” she murmured, steeling herself for the climb.

The first step creaked beneath her weight, a soft groan that echoed through the hollow space. Elena paused, her heart hammering against her ribs. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of untold secrets.

She pressed on, each step a battle against the tightening coil of nerves in her chest as the priest’s words seemed to take on a life of their own. The staircase wound upwards, narrowing as it climbed, the rough-hewn stone walls pressing in on either side.

Despite being inside, the winter chill seemed to find a way in, growing colder with each passing step. Elena’s breath came in short, sharp bursts, her lungs burning with the effort. But she refused to give in to her lack of fitness.

The higher she climbed, the more the world seemed to fall away, until there was nothing but the narrow staircase and thebeckoning roof. Elena’s mind raced with the tales she’d heard, the legends that spoke of the gargoyles’ power, their connection to the very fabric of the city.

She reached the top, her heart pounding with a mix of exertion and excitement. Elena paused, her hand resting on the rough stone wall, and took a deep, steadying breath. When this was done and she was back in classes, she was going to make the gym more of a priority when she didn’t have office hour days.

Pushing open the door, she was surprised at how ordinary most of the roof looked.

The rooftop stretched out before her, a sprawling expanse of weathered stone and ancient secrets. The city lay beneath her, a tapestry of lights and shadows that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. But Elena’s gaze was drawn inexorably to the gargoyles that stood sentinel at the rooftop’s edge, their stone forms silhouetted against the night sky.

She approached the nearest one, her footsteps echoing softly on the stone. Up close, the gargoyle was even more imposing, its features carved with a level of detail that took her breath away. Elena reached out a tentative hand, her fingers hovering just above the weathered surface.

Elena took a deep breath and let her hand come to rest on the gargoyle’s cool, rough surface.

Instantly, a shiver ran through her, a jolt of energy that seemed to emanate from the stone itself. Elena gasped, her eyes widening as a flood of sensations washed over her. It was as if the gargoyle was speaking to her, its ancient voice whispering secrets in a language she couldn’t quite understand.

“What are you trying to tell me?” she whispered, her voice trembling with awe. “What secrets do you hold?”

The gargoyle remained silent, but its power thrumming beneath her fingertips, a resonance that defied explanation. Sheclosed her eyes, letting the sensations wash over her, letting herself become one with the stone.

As if in response, the wind whipped around her, tugging at her hair and sending a chill down her spine. But Elena barely noticed, her mind racing with possibilities, each more tantalizing than the last. She paced the rooftop, her footsteps echoing against the ancient stones, as she tried to piece together the fragments of knowledge she’d gathered.

“The legends, the symbols, the whispers of the past,” she murmured, her voice barely audible above the wind. “How did I never want to paint these before?”

She paused, her gaze drawn once more to the gargoyles that sat and clung to the church spires above her. Their eyes seemed to follow her every move, their stone faces etched with secrets untold.

The night deepened around her as she stared at a building she’d known her whole life with new appreciation, the stars blinking into existence one by one. But Elena remained on the rooftop, her thoughts consumed by the cathedral and its secrets.

Only the chime of the bells snapped her from her reverie, her body long since going numb from the chill.

“I guess that’s my queue to head home.” Shrugging off the strange attraction to paint, she moved across the rooftop back to the stairwell.

Her footsteps echoed against the worn stone as she spiraled downward, the descent quicker than the climb. The air grew warmer, the scent of ancient history replaced by the familiar aroma of the city at night.

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