Chapter Eight: The Gryphon With Bloody Talons
Lou's jaw dropped open. "Illishar!" he began to shout, then he cut himself off with a shake of his head. Later. Later, he could scream at the teenager for sneaking out when he'd promised Wordy he wouldn't. "Never mind," he snapped, hurrying to the gryphon's side. Fresh horror spiraled through him when he saw a young girl sandwiched between Ed's unconscious body and the gryphon's upper back. "Spike, need your help here." To Illishar, he added, "Can you lay down?"
The dirty, sooty animal obeyed, laying down on his stomach, though he was careful to keep from trapping Ed's legs beneath his heavy bulk. Spike, at Lou's signal, helped the tan-skinned constable work their Sergeant's limp form off the gryphon's back and onto the pavement. Though Ed's eyelids fluttered a few times, he didn't wake. Illishar let out a plaintive whimper-trill, rubbing his head against Lou's arm; Lou grimaced at the fresh streak of dirt the movement left on his armor.
"Easy, Illishar," he murmured. As angry as he was at the foolhardy, reckless teenager, he'd done it again. Saved a member of Team One from near certain death at the last second, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat with not an instant to spare.
As Lou checked over the unconscious Sergeant, Spike eased the little girl off Illishar's back, cradling her in his arms to keep her head from hitting the pavement. Like Ed, she was limp and unconscious, leaving the two constables to wonder how on Earth Illishar had managed to get two helpless victims secured on his back, never mind how he'd gotten them out of the building.
"Got a pulse, Lou," Spike reported.
"Copy," Lou acknowledged, flicking a glance at Illishar. "You. Shift back now." The order was a hiss, fury beginning to leak through the less-lethal specialist's calm.
Rather than obey, Illishar streaked under the SRU truck, tail vanishing out of sight only moments before Lou heard the sound of running feet. He snapped around, but it was only the paramedics, descending on four obvious victims of the fire. Lou waved them to Ed and the girl, pleased when that diverted most of the paramedics.
The lead paramedic descended on him. "Constable, let's get you on a stretcher." Despite the soothing tone, man's expectations of being obeyed were clear.
Lou shook his head. "No, we're fine," he countered. Waving to his armor, fortunately coated in debris, he lied, "We got all this when we got our Boss and the little girl out."
The other man was unconvinced. "Regardless, you've breathed in smoke," he argued. "You need to get checked over and treated for smoke inhalation."
"And we will," Spike chimed in. "But our team leader had to get our other teammates out a different way and he doesn't know we were able to save the Boss." Unfeigned anguish shone in the bomb tech's eyes. "We can't leave him hanging, sir. He has to know Ed survived."
Lou nodded solemn agreement with his friend, grateful the fire debris hid the fact that he and Spike were in different uniforms. In a low tone, he said, "Look, we get it. You want to make sure we're okay, but we only lost our last Sergeant two months ago."
For a long minute, the paramedic wavered, then he sighed. "Fine. I'll need both of you to sign a medical release, then you're good to go." Scowling, he pointed at them. "Make sure you come in later to get checked out. Smoke inhalation isn't anything to mess around with!"
"You got it," Lou replied, a firm nod backing up his acceptance of the order. The two constables signed the paperwork as the other paramedics got Ed and the little girl up on stretchers to take them to the hospital. Once the paramedics and their patients were gone, the less-lethal specialist turned to his friend. "Spike, the radios are probably still down. Think you can call the others and let them know?"
"Sure thing," Spike agreed, pulling his phone out.
About to turn away, Lou stopped. "Spike." When his friend glanced up at him curiously, he added, "Call Jules; Wordy and I don't have phones anymore and I've got Sam's."
Spike's gaze darkened, the bomb tech easily deducing how his teammates had lost their phones, but he nodded.
Lou switched his attention back to the SRU truck – or, rather, the Animagus hiding underneath it. Kneeling down, he eyed the gryphon. "Okay, big guy, they're gone. Come on out."
Hazel eyes met his, earning an internal blink of surprise – weren't Lance's eyes blue – then the Animagus nodded and crept out, whimpering softly. To Lou's further surprise, Illishar gazed up at him, but remained as he was, not transforming back.
The constable frowned in confusion, reaching out to gently rub the gryphon's head feathers. "Come on, Illishar, what're you waiting for? It's only me 'n' Spike here."
Illishar whimper-whined, shaking his head. He shifted, bringing one forefoot up, then yelped in pain and let the foot back down.
Alarm surged in Lou's chest; Illishar was hurt. Moving fast, he swept around Spike, still on his phone, and opened the truck's rear hatch, grateful for the lack of gear inside the vehicle. "Okay, big guy, come on," he called, craning back towards the gryphon.
He did not have to offer twice; Illishar scrambled after him, jumping up into the truck and clambering in far enough that he was able to turn around, laying down in a position that allowed him to keep all four feet off the truck's rough carpeting.
Even as Lou's confusion deepened, Spike joined him, reaching out to carefully pull one of Illishar's forefeet towards him. The gryphon wriggled forward, but didn't resist the movement; instead, he lowered his head to his other forelimb, letting out an almost silent sigh. Lou ran his eyes over the animal, noting several things. The talons on both forefeet looked as if they'd been ground down, almost to their nubs, which made absolutely no sense – Lance had been his form for at most a few hours. And yet…even under the dirt and debris from the fire, Lou could tell that the gryphon's fur was filthy, long, and tangled. There were even more than a few leaves caught in the Animagus' feathers. Along with that, the gryphon's very demeanor spoke to a level of extreme, bone deep exhaustion. As though he was awake and on his feet by sheer willpower alone.
"Lou." The less-lethal specialist looked down at the forefoot in Spike's grasp and sucked in a breath. Blood was coming from it and although the flow was minor, liquid, and recent, he could see specks of dried blood all over the underside of the gryphon's talons and foot. Unless something serious had happened in the fire, this wasn't the type of damage that occurred instantly.
"Check his other forefoot," Lou ordered, moving around his friend to crawl up into the truck and inspect the gryphon's rear paws. Like the forefoot, they were both bloody, but with far more damage. The pads on the underside of the animal's paws were so worn down that they were almost nonexistent and the flesh looked like raw hamburger. How was Illishar even walking?
"What's going on?" Spike asked, pale as he looked up from the other forefoot. "It looks like he's been walking for days."
"Months," Lou murmured. It made no sense; Lance and his sister walked on a daily basis, but he knew their feet weren't in this condition. Even in his ice-cold, 'I only care about results' state, Wordy never would've stood for any of his charges quite literally walking the skin off their feet. Besides, if Lance actually had walked the skin off his feet, he wouldn't have been able to hide his condition and even assuming Wordy missed it, his wife would not.
The gryphon huffed and shifted, leaning his head and his weight against Lou, as though he was desperate for physical contact. Even more confusing, he made no effort to pull his forefoot away from Spike – another sign that he was soaking up the physical contact. Except…Lance shunned physical contact, had ever since his uncle had 'gone on a bender', which was apparently Intelligence Services code for 'we stuck him undercover without his permission and put a gag order on him'. Without thinking, Lou carefully let down the second paw he'd inspected and reached out, resting his hand on the gryphon's head, right between the ears. The gryphon managed a weary squrr, lifting his head a touch to nudge the constable's fingers. Bowing to the silent request, Lou began to scratch behind the animal's ears, applying pressure to just the right spots. A tiny smile touched his face when the gryphon's bird-like purrs grew louder, the vibrations in his chest creating a soothing buzz against Lou's side.
It felt like the answer to the riddle was staring him right in the face, but the pieces of the puzzle just refused to click. Lou met Spike's eyes and his friend nodded, as though he, too, felt the answer should be obvious, but they just couldn't grasp it. Something seemed to niggle at his soul, crying out for recognition, and yet… It wouldn't come. It had to be Illishar – how many gryphon Animagi did they know who would run into a fire to save their Sergeant's life – but the clues were all screaming that it couldn't be Illishar. Who did that leave?
"Constable Young."
Smooth, polished, with an elegance born of a lifetime of training. Not to mention a distinctly American accent. Lou adjusted his position in the truck, instinct keeping him close to the purring gryphon nuzzling into his side as if life could offer nothing more satisfying. He had to remove the hand scratching behind the animal's ears as he twisted around, but resumed the action with his other hand as soon as he was settled again, one leg dangling over the truck's rear bumper and his posture slightly hunched to avoid hitting his head against the upper part of the rear hatch. The gryphon adjusted his own position, leaning so far into Lou that he was almost in the constable's lap, a sense of weary contentment radiating. The tan-skinned constable felt movement behind him and realized Illishar was curling his hindquarters up against his back. Desperate for contact was suddenly feeling like the understatement of the year.
Archangel quirked a brow at Lou's location and the gryphon all but wrapped around him; beside him, Marella giggled behind her hand, betraying a far softer side to her than Lou had been aware of. Despite his status as a gryphon 'teddy bear', the constable maintained his dignity. "Archangel. How's it going on your end?"
The American spy leaned on his cane. "The police captain is understandably perturbed by the explosion," he replied. "I took the liberty of informing him that a single explosion is really quite…restrained…when it comes to Hawke."
Both of Lou's eyebrows shot up. "You blamed Hawke?" Beside him, Spike made a cut-off choking sound.
The blond's single eye narrowed. "You made it most clear that this entire attack was orchestrated in order to destroy your team's reputation and ensure their arrest for crimes beyond their ability to control."
In Lou's lap, Illishar let out a distressed noise, nuzzling even harder into the constable's chest and even shooting Spike a worried look. Archangel paused, regarding the big animal with an air of astonishment.
"Animagus," Lou deadpanned. "He's really a wizard."
"Why hasn't he changed back?" Marella wondered aloud.
" 'Cause he's hurt," Spike put in, expression and tone subdued. "If an Animagus gets hurt in their form, they usually have to stay in it until the injury heals."
Lou nodded, ignoring a sudden flicker of guilt. Everything they'd said was true, so why did it feel like he'd just lied? Why did it feel like he'd just denied one of the most important things in his life? Why did it feel like he was missing something – more than just the obvious, this time.
Archangel considered, then offered a short nod. "As I was saying, given the enemy's objectives, to reveal the true course of events would accomplish those goals. Something I am loathe to do, Constable Young." One shoulder hiked. "You are, of course, free to tell the good captain the truth."
Inwardly, Lou shuddered, because he knew just as well as Archangel that he'd rather be drawn and quartered than accept that barbed invitation. Even though he should. Two wrongs didn't make a right, after all. But to let his teammates suffer for what they hadn't done of their own free will was an even greater wrong and he couldn't do it.
The American studied him, reading the answer in his face and the leashed tension in Spike's posture. "Very well," the blond remarked in a genteel tone. "I'm afraid I have…other news."
Both constables stiffened and Lou felt Illishar shift, one ear rotating towards the spy. "What do we got?" the tan-skinned officer asked.
Archangel glanced to his assistant and she moved to the fore. "Are either of you familiar with a Constable DeValle?"
Lou's jaw almost dropped. Revan. Team Three's Auror liaison and Giles Onasi's old partner.
To the side, Spike muttered, "I guess he finally got the paperwork done."
Dark eyes skewered the bomb tech. "You knew he was changing his name?"
One shoulder hiked and Spike twisted to glance up at his friend. "After, um… After Sarge told him his mother's last name, he wanted to change his own."
"To hers," Lou breathed, understanding. "But…where'd his come from?"
The other shoulder went up. "Revan told me it was his cover name back then," Spike explained. "I bet the Head Unspeakable came up with it and just kept it after everything went sideways."
It made sense; since only Percival Calvin had known The Fox's real name, Revan had been left with a first name and not much else. But to become an Auror, he would've had to have a last name. Part of Lou wondered where the Head Unspeakable had come up with 'Vao', but that was a question for another time. Because Revan was still getting used to living normally even by wizarding standards, never mind regularly interacting with non-magicals. The Sarge had laid out the entire history for Team Three's Sergeant, making sure the other man knew what he was getting into with an ex-Unspeakable who'd spent most of his life as the Unspeakables' pet defective Wild Mage. As a result, Team Three had all but adopted the young Auror and they were extremely protective of 'their wizard'. For Revan to be on his own without them meant something was wrong.
Turning back to the curious spies, Lou muttered, "Later, okay?" He started to straighten, but a warning squawk from the gryphon stopped him just in time. "Thanks, Illishar," he whispered; banging his head on a car hurt. "What's wrong at the barn?" he asked hastily, to cover his near accident.
Marella frowned and Archangel replied, "He wouldn't tell us. He only said that he knew Team One was here and he needed to speak to Sergeant Lane as soon as possible."
Lou's forehead wrinkled; Revan should've known that Team One was Imperiused – he was Team Three, after all. "Ed's on his way to the hospital," he informed the Americans. "I don't know about Wordy, but I bet Sam and Jules will end up in the hospital, too." Glancing over, he asked, "Spike, what'd they say?"
"Some guy named Dom picked up Jules' phone," Spike reported, gaze grim. "He said Jules has a broken leg, Sam has a concussion, and Wordy had to be knocked out by Hawke before they could get him off the building."
Lou winced and felt Illishar cringe in his lap. Really, he should've known it would take more than Ed giving the order for Wordy to walk away from a trapped, dying friend. "They headed for the hospital?"
"Yeah," Spike confirmed. "Dom promised to let Wordy know about Ed as soon as he woke up. I gave him my OMAC code so Wordy'd know he wasn't just blowing smoke."
The less-lethal specialist nodded approval, absently noting that Illishar was nodding, too. That was odd; although the teens had helped Sarge set up the initial OMAC codes, Lou was pretty sure neither would've known immediately why Spike had given a perfect stranger his OMAC code. An SRU officer on the other hand… Lou shut that train of thought down. He was dead and never coming back.
For a second time, Lou turned back to the Americans. "You got Revan with you?" he asked.
"We do," Marella confirmed. "We wanted to be sure you recognized the name first, though."
"Copy," Lou murmured, more to himself than anything else. As Marella headed off to retrieve the Auror, the constable continued to scratch behind Illishar's ears, pondering the mystery of the gryphon's physical state.
Greg resisted the urge to curl even closer to Lou and go to sleep. Somehow, he had a feeling his constable – former constable – wouldn't appreciate getting trapped under the bulk of a sleeping gryphon. But it was so tempting, particularly with Lou's scratching turning his mind to utter mush. Of course he was worried about the rest of Team One, but the worry was fading further and further into the distance as Lou kept up with the scratching. Even the throbbing pain from his feet was receding, a curious sensation indeed. Lou knew all the good places, too, sending waves of relaxation, contentment, and pleasure running through his body. His own exhaustion tugged, begging him to simply rest and let his team fuss over him. He'd done more than enough; he was home.
But even through the pleasant buzz, Greg was still a cop, still a negotiator; he'd picked up the worry in both American spies. Revan might not have told them what was going on, but the Sergeant suspected they had been able to make a few guesses regardless. Particularly if they now knew about magic. The mention of Hawke meant they likely had a connection to the helicopter/Obscurus, though Greg's muddled mind had no interest in trying to figure out if they'd known about magic when they'd recruited his team to help catch an East German spy.
One ear flicked towards the sound of footsteps, easily distinguishing between Marella's lighter tread and Revan's heavier one. A sharp intake of breath alerted the gryphon to Revan's first sighting of him; behind Lou's back, his tail thumped once and the Animagus opened his eyes lazily. He wasn't moving unless he had to.
"Is that…"
"Illishar," Lou filled in; privately, to himself, Greg sighed. He would've thought all the clues – heck, his feet alone – would convince his former teammates that he wasn't Illishar, but apparently not. Poor Lance was going to be rather confused with why he was being yelled at.
He refocused back on the conversation in time to hear Spike say, "Revan, they know. We'll get the paperwork signed later, now what the heck is going on?"
He heard a put-upon sigh from Revan, then the Auror gave in. "Fine, whatever. Tell anyone you want."
Greg rumbled deep in his chest – last he'd checked, Team One did have authority to override the Statute if necessary. Lou backed him with a low, "Revan."
The silence hung just long enough to be pointed and Greg was about to bring his head up off Lou's lap when the Auror finally spoke. "They got Team Three."
"Who got Team Three?" Spike demanded, alarm audible.
"Who do you think, Scarlatti?" Revan fairly snarled. "I guess your team wasn't enough for 'em, so they came looking for mine!"
Lou cursed softly. "They must've figured me 'n' Wordy would find a way to break the spell," he said, fury and horror underlying every word.
"Well, you do have a Wild Mage," Revan sneered. Then he faltered and Greg heard a sharp intake of breath. The next words sounded as if Revan was staring at the ground; guilt and self-hatred rang. "Not a wannabe Wild Mage like me."
"Lance didn't break the curse," Lou corrected. "He didn't show up till after the bomb went off. Stop beating yourself up; we'll get them back."
Revan shook his head in refusal and moved on. "They…they showed up at the barn an hour ago. I was talking to Winnie for an update when they walked in." A harsh swallow. "Winnie saw it coming; she yelled for me to duck and I did." A second swallow. "It hit her instead."
Dear Aslan, what was going on?
"They killed her?" Marella demanded, shock and revulsion written in every sound.
Greg brought his head up, shaking off the muzziness; if Winnie was dead, he was going to slaughter the wizards responsible. Rage uncurled, flooding his veins with adrenaline and drowning out the pain. A low snarl began to build in his chest only to falter when Revan shook his head.
"Imperius," he choked out. "I Disapparated out and went straight for Simmons. Got there just in time to see 'em get him, too."
"They're trying to enslave the whole barn?" Spike blurted. "Is that even possible?"
The Auror shrugged limply. "Don't know, but they're tryin'," he replied.
Lou gulped. "We're down to just me 'n' Spike," he admitted. "Maybe Wordy if he wakes up." Turning to Spike, he asked, "Did Dom say how Hawke took him down?"
Spike bit his lip. "No, but he said Wordy wasn't injured. Just knocked out. Sounded like a sleeper hold to me."
Greg winced. If so, his former constable was going to wake up with quite the headache…not exactly conducive to a tactical raid on the barn against a superior force, both in terms of strength and magic. He had no doubt in Lou and Spike's abilities, but they weren't used to working with an almost nonexistent team. Well… The Sergeant reconsidered; Spike wasn't, but Lou had undoubtedly learned on the fly with this whole mess if his mental image of the situation was correct.
However…a guerilla attack, with a tiny number of individuals… Precisely the tactic his mob boss alter-ego had utilized against Castor Troy's gang. Although he'd divided his crews up into numbers roughly equal to an SRU team, more than one operation had required even smaller numbers – or required working with unfamiliar teammates. If only he could talk. Or transform. But he couldn't…the only thing he could do was…
Realization dawned. He could help them retake the barn. In his gryphon form. And why not? He'd already dealt with two serial killers in his Animagus form. Managed to simply knock them out and work with human assistants to restrain them afterwards. Even when dealing with opponents under the Imperius, Greg was fairly confident he could act fast enough to take people down without getting shot or cursed. As he'd seen in the tiny police station in Colorado, even those who knew about magic didn't know how to respond to a big – predatory – magical creature. True, Team Three had worked with his gryphon form before, but he'd been on the same side during that fight. He doubted they would know how to counter a gryphon attacking them.
Greg let out a low, rumbling snarl and uncurled, leaping down from the truck and landing in the middle of the huddle with his wings tented. The message was clear: he would help them retake the barn and save their friends.