by Zoe Chant
"Thank you," Thea murmured, turning pink.
She opened the door into a small, cluttered office swamped in books—crammed onto the shelves, stacked in piles on the desk and heaped in boxes. Books ... and other things. There was a stuffed raven on her desk, half buried in a sea of books gently rising around it like an incoming tide. There were stone objects in shoeboxes, or being used as paperweights, and lots of artwork, mostly framed photos of scenic mountainous places, some of it hanging on the walls, other pieces propped against the bookshelves and supported by book-stack foothills. A scale replica Viking longboat dangled by wires from the ceiling.
It was a place that Mace could have happily settled into. It reminded him of his library back home, only with much less space and a corresponding lack of room to move around in.
"Just take the chair there, Sophie, please," Thea said to her student, picking her way around the desk through piles of books. She deposited the books stacked in her arms on top of a precariously wobbling pile of other books. "Mr.—um—I'm sorry, I don't think I got your name."
"Mace. Mace MacKay."
"Right, um—this is going to take about half an hour. Oh, please put those—" She pointed, and Mace laid his disorganized handful of papers onto some loose books on the edge of a bookshelf, for lack of anywhere else to put them. "Can you come back in a half hour? Or more like 45 minutes? I can only give you a few minutes of my time, I'm afraid. I'm teaching a class after that."
"I'll be back with coffee," Mace said. He smiled at her and withdrew, leaving the grad student sitting nervously on the edge of the chair, looking like she was afraid to touch anything without triggering a book avalanche.
There was a washroom near the stairs. Mace collected a handful of paper towels and then went back down the stairs and mopped up the spilled coffee in the stairwell.
He felt strangely light, euphoric almost. It was because he was getting close to a solution to protecting his people, he thought, and for no other reason. Thea Lanning seemed like exactly the person to help him find it. It was practical, not personal.
But he was looking forward very much to working with her.
Thea
Thea would not have been even slightly surprised if the big hot guy (Mace, his name is Mace) didn't come back after she spilled a cup of coffee all over him and basically acted like a total flake. But there he was in her office doorway 45 minutes on the dot after she'd last seen him. He had a cup of coffee in each hand, and he had stripped off his coffee-stained sweater, leaving him in a dark T-shirt that hugged his sculpted muscles.
"Goodness," she said in spite of herself.
Mace smiled. If she was going to be entirely objective, he wasn't actually that handsome, more like craggily rough-cut, like a sculpture hewn out of some rugged stone. But the smile warmed and softened his face, making it less like stone and more inviting. He also had the most brilliant green eyes she'd ever seen, dancing now with a playful sparkle.
"I wasn't sure how you took your coffee, so I compared it to the stain on my shirt until I got the milk content right."
Thea covered her face with her hands. "I am so sorry about that."
"It'll clean," Mace said. "I got most of it out in the washroom. I also brought some sugar packets in case you like it sweet."
Thea shook her head. "Not really much of a sweet tooth, to be honest. Though I do like a little dark chocolate now and then." Somehow that came out sounding like an innuendo. She gestured at the chair in front of her desk and hoped she wasn't blushing as badly as it felt like she was. "Go on, have a seat. I'm sorry, I don't remember what you wanted to see me about."
Mace picked his way through the books to the chair, ducking gracefully to avoid bashing his forehead on the replica longship hanging from the ceiling. He leaned across the book-heaped desk to give her the coffee. His fingers did not quite brush hers, but she felt the warmth of his skin for a brief, pleasant moment.
"I emailed you about the Viking medallion artifact." He settled on the chair, nearly dwarfing it with his bulk. It wasn't that he was that huge; he was just bigger than the people she was used to. Academia did not tend to have a whole lot of really muscular guys, even in Canada.
"Oh! Right!" She turned back to her computer, and impatiently pushed some journals out of the way so she could see the screen. She would have expected that being desk-bound while she avoided fieldwork would have resulted in actually getting some of the clutter cleaned up; instead it seemed to have made it worse. "I remember now. Hrungnir's Heart, right?" She pulled up the email, and squinted at the scans attached to it. They were drawings depicting a circular object with squared-off, runelike markings on it. She really should have her reading glasses for this, but had no idea where in the chaos they might have gotten off to. "That's an amazingly obscure bit of mythology. Do you know who Hrungnir was?"
"A giant in Norse myth," Mace said. "Supposed to have a heart made out of stone."
"He was said to have a heart, head, and shield made of stone," Thea corrected. "Making him incredibly difficult to defeat in battle, of course. The god Thor fought him and shattered his head, killing him. Of what happened to his heart, nothing is said." She turned back to the computer screen. "What is this, exactly? Where did these pictures come from?"
"A very old book belonging to a friend," Mace said easily. "The book, sadly, has been destroyed. All we have are the scans."
"These are just drawings, though. You think it corresponds to a real artifact?"
"I do. I wanted to ask you about possible sites where it might be. I think that it may be in Newfoundland somewhere."
Thea laughed. "No, seriously, what do you actually want?"
"I am serious. I want you to help me find this artifact."
Thea frowned across the desk at him.
"Okay, first of all, archaeology doesn't work like it does in Indiana Jones, you know? It's not about looking at pictures of artifacts in a book and going out and trying to dig them up. If it's archaeological digs of Old Norse ruins in Newfoundland that you're interested in, there's a lot of research going on there all the time. There's a visitor center at L'Anse aux Meadows on the north end of the island. You'll probably want to talk to them or the university in St. John's about it."
Unless they had already dismissed him as a kook, which she was on the verge of doing.
A hot kook, admittedly.
"I know," Mace said calmly, not seeming upset or offended. "I've been to the visitor's center and looked at the artifacts there. What I'm looking for, though, is possible sites for other, previously undiscovered Viking ruins. Likely landing sites, for example."
Thea looked at him in disbelief.
"Yes, and if we found anything like that, it would be a very important scientific discovery that would need to be properly excavated. I'm not going to help you find lost archaeological sites so you can go fortune hunting."
"It's not fortune hunting," Mace said quickly, leaning forward. "If I'm right about what this is, it might be a very old family heirloom."
"A family heirloom? You know the kind of time depth we're talking about here, right? Norse exploration of the Americas was a thousand years ago."
"I know that." He sounded slightly impatient now. "I have done my research. I don't want to steal this item, Dr. Lanning. I want to find it before someone else can. Your fortune hunters are already on the island, trying to find it, and they are bad news. I don't want to take it, I want to save it."
Thea sighed and shook her head. "Sometimes it's a meaningless distinction. A lot of scientifically valuable artifacts have been locked up in private collections by people who want to 'save' them. Even if those artifacts can be recovered to be studied, they're entirely out of context and have been exposed to air and weather for decades. All the invaluable information we could have learned about our own past if we'd been able to dig them up ourselves is lost."
She gazed at him, at the earnestness in his eyes. He didn't look like a kook.
"Who are these oth
er fortune hunters?" she asked.
"A cult," Mace said promptly.
"Are you sure you didn't get all of this out of a fantasy book?"
"I'm serious. I've already had one run-in with them. They're a group who believe that the medallion will give them magic powers."
Thea smiled. "Look, if their artifact-finding abilities are equal to their grip on reality, I doubt if there's anything to worry about. They won't get near it."
"I still don't want them running around on my island." There was a hint of a growl in Mace's voice, and his heavy brows drew together.
He was really serious about this, she realized.
"So call the police. If they're that nuts, you're hardly going to get rid of them by actually finding the thing. You'll just get them after you instead, or else they'll decide it's fake and keep looking for it. The last thing you want to do is encourage them."
"I wish I could tell you why this is so important." Mace rubbed the space between his brows with his fingertips, and then looked up, green eyes bright and intense. "Look, how about this. Give me one evening. Just one. Let me look over a map with you, and talk about the Viking voyages to North America." He smiled that winning smile again. "I'll be a captive audience, and you can talk my ear off and help me find places to look. Then you never have to hear my name again."
"Yeah, until I see in the paper about you getting arrested in Newfoundland with a backpack full of illegally dug-up artifacts."
But she could feel herself weakening. Would it really be so bad? It wasn't like he was going to find anything anyway. There was nothing to find, and even if there was, well-funded research teams had been searching for decades; it wasn't like some rando with a crazy story about Viking artifacts and cults was going to manage something the world's foremost research institutes had been unable to do.
"I'll buy you dinner," Mace said.
Thea's wavering resistance crumbled. "Okay, fine," she said, and his grin lit up incandescently bright. Then she saw the time. "Oh no, I'm going to be late to my own class." She began shoveling papers into her satchel.
"Are you free after?" Mace asked.
"Let's meet this evening. Do you know where Liberty Village is? That's my neighborhood. Meet me there tonight at seven, and you've got my attention for as long as it takes to feed me."
She held out her phone, showing him on a map.
"I know where that is," Mace said. "I used to take classes here, so I explored a bit of the city. It was a long time ago, though."
Thea smiled. He looked about her age—early 40s. "Oh yeah, because you're so old. What department was it? We might even know some of the same people."
"I really doubt it," Mace said. He stood up, taking his cup of coffee with him. "I don't want to keep you from your class. Seven tonight?"
"It's a date," Thea said, and then deeply regretted her choice of words, although she did enjoy watching the muscles flexing in his back and buttocks as he left.
She had completely forgotten about the coffee that he'd brought her. She took a quick sip in between scooping up papers for her class. It was getting cold, but she had to admit that it was really good coffee. And he'd gotten the milk-to-coffee ratio exactly right.
Hot, smart, and thoughtful. Why'd he have to be all of those things and crazy too?
Oh well. At least it would be a fun evening, and then she'd never have to worry about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Crazy again.
Even if she kind of wanted to.
Mace
Having a few free hours before his sort-of-date with Thea, Mace thought about stonewalking home to change clothes, then decided that was ridiculous. There were shops here.
He stashed his stained sweater back in the ravine, to retrieve when he stonewalked back, and bought a new, unstained sweater in one of the stores near campus, this one a deep burgundy. Then he walked, soaking in the ambiance of the city and considering exactly how to approach Thea tonight.
He didn't want to scare her off, and not just because of the search for the medallion. In fact, that was the least of it. He could always find another archaeologist to talk to. But he wanted Thea. He wanted to hear her laugh again, and see the way that her freckled nose wrinkled when she was deep in thought. He couldn't ever remember being this captivated with someone before.
Is it possible she could be my mate?
Unlike most shifters, gargoyles didn't recognize their mates right off. They had to get to know them first. That moment of recognition, that joining of souls, happened when a gargoyle and his mate fell in love, and not before.
Or so he had been told.
He had never thought it was possible for a human woman to be his mate, until he had met Jess, his half-human niece. But he still assumed that there was some gargoyle woman out there for him somewhere. And yet half his life had gone by without meeting her. There weren't many other gargoyles in the world. He had met only a few, and all of them were either happily mated or related to him.
If nothing else, Thea was smart and beautiful and interesting. An evening spent in her company wouldn't be a waste.
And so, on the dot of seven, he was waiting on the street corner she had shown him on her phone. The light was clear and golden in a beautiful north-country summer evening.
He was only vaguely familiar with Liberty Village; it was somewhat outside the part of the city where he and Margery had spent most of their time, which was right around campus and downtown. But he could see why Thea liked it. The neighborhood suited her, energetic and a little bohemian with lots of shops and cafés.
Thea came hurrying up from a subway stop across the street a few minutes late, waving to him. She had a leather satchel slung over her shoulder. As well as the denim shirt-jeans-boots ensemble from earlier, she was wearing a small, flat newsboy-style cap.
"Hi!" she called across the street. The traffic signal changed, and she crossed amid a flurry of mostly young people in going-out-for-the-evening wear that ranged from hipster jeans to summer dresses. "Sorry, the trains were packed. Also, I bet you've already figured out that I tend to be late for things."
"Punctuality is overrated," Mace said. He considered offering to carry her satchel, but she toted it briskly with a confident stride, and he decided she seemed to have it well in hand. "Is there somewhere around here you'd recommend?"
"Depends on what you're in the mood for. Pub food, sushi, shawarma, curry, you name it." She glanced at him and brushed her hair behind her ear. It seemed to be a habit, an oddly charming one. "If you've been on Newfoundland, you probably wouldn't mind getting something different from the usual three restaurants."
"Hey, now. There's a decent variety in St. John's. If you're talking about my hometown, though, three is too generous," Mace said. "There's one restaurant, and that's the Westerly Inn. They make an amazing cobbler, though."
"Oh, you grew up there? Even better. Well, then." She turned around, looking up and down the street. "Since I can't expect you to be cultured, fresh from the bay and all—"
"Hey."
"—there's a hole-in-the-wall pub nearby that I really like. It's usually not too crowded or loud, and the food is fantastic. It's got enough grease that you'll feel right at home."
"Now I can't decide whether I'm being insulted or not."
"You'll have to tell me how insulted you feel with a glass of microbrew in hand and a shepherd's pie in front of you."
She was right; the pub was surprisingly uncrowded for a weeknight, and they were given a booth by the window, looking out on the blue shadows spreading across the street. After they had given their orders, Thea swung her satchel onto the table and opened it.
"I want you to know that I am not responsible for anything you do with this information. I'm only humoring you because I'm curious and I also think there is an approximately zero percent chance that you're going to be able to do anything with it."
"Noted," Mace said.
Thea pulled out a rolled-up map and spread it out on the table. He instantly recognized
the distinctive shape of the island of Newfoundland.
"Where are you from, anyway?" Thea asked.
Mace pointed. "Westerly Cove. Here."
"Wow, that is in the middle of nowhere."
"It's beautiful, though. And it is on the road system, even. By Newfoundland standards, that's practically downtown."
"What's the alternative?" Thea asked, sounding vaguely horrified. "If you didn't have roads, how would you get there?"
"Boats, obviously."
The waitress brought their drinks, two dark ales in pint glasses beaded with water. Mace raised his.
"To old secrets," he said. "And new discoveries."
Thea pursed her lips as if looking for a loophole, and then laughed. It was as delightful a laugh as he remembered from her office. "I guess I can drink to that."
They clicked glasses and sipped.
"That is good," Mace admitted. The ale was full-bodied and rich; he rolled it around on the back of his tongue. "My family is from Scotland originally, so I know good ale. We've been brewing it since—before the turn of the century." He didn't specify which century. "And this is excellent."
"It's one of my favorites. You should also try their seasonal line. They have some excellent Oktoberfest and winter brews when the weather turns."
"If that was a subtle way to fish for whether I'm staying around Toronto until winter, I commend it, but I'm afraid I have urgent business back on Newfoundland."
Thea snorted a small laugh. She set her glass aside and smoothed out the map. "Perhaps you'll be back. Or maybe you won't, after I tell you what you want to know and it comes out to exactly nothing. People have been trying to find lost Viking settlements in the Americas for hundreds of years, and so far, L'Anse aux Meadows is the only one that's been found."
"But there might be others?"
"Of course," she said. "In fact, there almost certainly were. And the first thing you need to know is that if you've only been looking in Newfoundland, you've missed most of your most likely options."