A Dream of Stone & Shadow

by Marjorie M. Liu

  Aggie covered her eyes. Someone knocked on the door behind her.

  “Miss?” asked the flight attendant in a loud voice. “Are you okay in there?”

  “Fine!” Aggie shouted back. “My stomach! It’s bad! Bad!”

  If there was a response, she did not hear one. No one else knocked on the door.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “You’re not human, and you’re not a shape-shifter. What else is there?”

  “Um, a lot, actually.”

  “Charlie.”

  “The technical term is gargoyle. That’s what I am. A gargoyle.”

  Aggie blinked hard. She was going insane. Forget acting crazy; she was already there. “What the hell does that mean? Aren’t gargoyles little stone…watchdogs, or something?”

  “Arf,” Charlie said.

  “Hey.”

  “I guess that explains why my mother always kept me on a leash.”

  Aggie buried her face in her hands. “I hate you.”

  “You don’t even know me. I thought that was the whole point of this.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  Charlie laughed, and the sound curled warm in Aggie’s stomach. He had a nice laugh. It was deep, soft. Sexy.

  He stopped laughing. Aggie’s face burned.

  “Agatha,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”

  She did, but it was painful. She stared up into his dark featureless mask and said, “So you’re a gargoyle. Tell me what that is.”

  He touched her face—a hand made of darkness, resting soft against her cheek. He was warm; radiance poured through her skin. It felt good. Aggie began to relax.

  “Charlie,” she said.

  “Originally we were demon hunters,” he said. “You don’t know about any of that. It’s early history, not quite prehuman, but close. Things were different in the world. Different in a bad way. My kind kept the balance.”

  “But things changed.”

  “Humans came into power. Demons lost their hold on the earth. When that happened, gargoyles had to find a new reason for being. It wasn’t very difficult. There were still things to fight.”

  “And then things changed some more.”

  “Yes,” he whispered. “We became monsters, the hunted. To survive, we were forced to subvert out natures. Gargoyles can shift their shapes in temporary ways. We made ourselves look human, and took up roles in human societies. Quiet professions, mostly. Anything to keep us off the radar.”

  “You did a good job. You’re not much in the legend books.”

  “That’s probably because we wrote them. Many of us become writers and scholars.”

  He still touched her. Aggie did not pull away. It was dangerous to keep this up—she had a future to subvert—but his hand was warm and large, and she said, “You don’t feel like a dream.”

  “Neither do you,” he said. The plane shook—turbulence. The seatbelt light dinged above her head and she glanced left at the mirror. She did not see Charlie’s reflection, which was remarkable, considering just how much room he took up. She felt surrounded by a thundercloud, a shot of night.

  Charlie turned his head to follow her gaze. “Oh. That’s interesting. And no, I’m not even remotely related to a vampire.”

  The plane shook again, more violently this time. Aggie braced herself against the door, the counter. Charlie remained effortlessly still.

  “Maybe you should go back to your seat.”

  “Yeah,” Aggie said, but she did not move. Someone banged on the door.

  “Hey!” shouted a man. “I gotta piss, lady.”

  “He has to piss,” Charlie said. “Best to let him have at it.”

  She wanted to tell him that the man could tinkle in his pants for all she cared, but she kept her mouth shut. Charlie laughed, low in his throat, and when she turned to unlock the lavatory door she felt a pressure at her waist; warmth, sinking through her clothing. Her breath caught.

  “Remember,” he whispered playfully in her ear. “You’ve been ill.”

  Aggie glanced over her shoulder. Charlie’s body had disappeared, but the warmth did not fade. She felt his hands move up her spine—a trail of warmth—and she swallowed hard. She unlocked the door.

  A man stood there, and behind him, the flight attendant, who stared at Aggie with concern. Aggie tried to look sick, and hoped it did not come off as turned-on. Warmth burst around the front of her stomach and sides; Charlie, embracing her from behind. Her entire body felt hot.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I need to sit down.”

  She pushed down the aisle, ignoring the curious gazes of the other first-class passengers. Charlie never let up the pressure; she felt like she was wearing her own ghost—and God, it felt good.

  You need to stop this right now, she thought at him. A moment later, the pressure eased off. Aggie bit back her disappointment. Really, she needed to grow up. This was not any way to conduct an investigation. She was going to rescue an abused child, for Christ’s sake.

  She also realized the trip to the lavatory was a complete waste. She could have just thought that entire conversation from her seat.

  Aggie threw herself down and buckled in, pulled her blanket up to her chin, knocked her seat back, and twisted so she faced the window. She did not want to look at anyone. Sleep. She was going to close her eyes and get some fucking Charlie-free rest.

  “I’m hurt,” he murmured in her ear.

  Go away.

  “We still have to talk about how we’re going to take care of Emma.”

  We need to get the local authorities involved. We have to do this on the up and up.

  “We don’t have time for that. They’ll need probable cause. A warrant. We need to get Emma out first. You corner these two, and they’ll use her as a hostage.”

  And then what? Something needs to be done about the old woman and her son. They’ll just hurt some other kid. If the police help—

  “I could have found some way of going to the local police, but I didn’t. That was a last resort.”

  Are they corrupt?

  “Worse. They think Mrs. Kreer and her son are pillars of society. Churchgoers, fund-raisers, volunteers. Those two do it all. Their reputation is perfect.”

  But they shoot women point-blank in the face so they can make daughters into child porn stars? That doesn’t make sense, Charlie. That’s high-level crime. Psycho, too.

  “True psychopaths are the best pretenders.” He sighed, and warmth crept up Aggie’s shoulder. “Please. At least consider getting her out first. Then call the cops. There won’t be any lack of evidence, Agatha. Their house is one big…perversion.”

  Do you know why they do it? What drives them? Even why they chose Emma?

  “No. I can’t read their thoughts. Their minds are…blocked.”

  “Blocked?” Aggie said out loud, and then settled deeper beneath her blanket. What the hell does that mean?

  “It means that some humans have stronger natural shields than others. It’s unusual, but not unheard of.”

  Yeah, but why them? They’re, uh, not special, are they?

  “You mean, gifted? Nonhuman? It’s an interesting thought, but I don’t think that’s the case in this situation.”

  It would be easier if it was. Emotionally, that is.

  “Because you don’t like to think of human nature being so inherently cruel?” Warmth spread around Aggie’s body, rolling down her arms, lacing through her fingers.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Oh, Agatha,” he whispered. “There is nothing in this world that is born truly evil, and maybe it’s easier to pretend otherwise, to cast some blame and make it easy on ourselves, but that would be wrong. Evil is everywhere, just the same as goodness, and every living creature has the potential for both.”

  And choice is the catalyst?

  “You tell me. You live your life by probabilities, which are not definitive outcomes.”

  The future is a tricky thing, Charlie. You can predict probable outcome
s based on the current nature and leanings of an individual, but if that individual changes in any substantive, or even minor, way, the future is irrevocably altered and the probabilities shift once again.

  “In other words, choice defines us. Every choice, little or big.”

  Good or evil.

  “Or the slippery slopes in-between.” Aggie felt the warm pressure around her body tighten. Her heart beat a little faster. Her ear suddenly felt hot and she sighed. Charlie whispered, “I didn’t see many variations of the two of us.”

  Probable futures are defined by choice, remember?

  “Then I suppose we’ll be saying yes to each other quite often.”

  Aggie said nothing. Despite the bizarre circumstances, being held like this was not at all frightening. It felt good. Which was also strange, unreal, because it had been years since she had felt arms around her, and she had forgotten how nice it was—even if the person doing the holding was invisible and not quite human. Whatever that meant.

  “Are you going to push me away again?” he breathed into her ear.

  Maybe later.

  “Okay,” he said; and Aggie bit back a gasp as his warmth spread through her stomach, pushing up and up. She felt his hands—those invisible ghostly hands that were nothing but heat—ride high on her ribs, tracing her body, skimming the undersides of her breasts. Apparently clothes meant nothing; he could pass right through them.

  “If you want me to, I’ll stop.”

  She almost said yes, her maybe later turning into get away from me now. Asking Charlie to stop touching her was the logical, smart thing to do. She did not know him, she knew she should not want him, and even if she did, Jesus Christ, they were on a plane. Instead, Aggie found herself sinking deeper beneath the blanket. She wondered if anyone was watching, what they thought.

  Charlie said, “They think you’ve got the stomach flu.” And then the heat covered her breasts, and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.

  “Yes or no, Agatha?” His voice was so close it was as though she could hear him inside her head. She wondered briefly if that were not the case, if they weren’t speaking mind to mind.

  I’m sure you know that I haven’t done this for a while, she told him.

  “Hell,” Charlie said. “I can’t even get a date.”

  Aggie smothered a laugh, and just like that, heat began rippling over her skin, pressure easing and deepening, warmth kneading into her body, and she forgot how to speak because one hand moved lower, passing over her stomach, pressing between her legs, burrowing like a thread of fire.

  She tried not to squirm, to cry out, but some sound escaped and her body shifted, and she said, Charlie, and she imagined he said her name but the blood roared loud in her ears and the pressure tightened, spinning her up, throwing her wide, and she remembered her future with eyes closed and mouth open, groaning like every nerve was being tugged and stroked and sucked, and she thought, Yes, I understand now.

  She came hard—the hardest and longest of her life, and her body jerked so violently she thought for sure the people around her must realize, but Charlie said, “No, they don’t. Just relax and enjoy.” And she did.

  Again, and again, and again.

  Making love to a beautiful woman while in a non-corporeal form had its benefits. Namely, the exotic and very public locations one could perform such acts; such as airplanes, bathrooms, the edge of baggage carousels, the lines at rental car stations—and in rental cars themselves. While parked, of course. Charlie had never been much of a ladies’ man—for obvious reasons—but he found himself having an indecent amount of fun giving Agatha surprise orgasms everywhere she went.

  His enjoyment was short-lived, though. Guilt weighed him down. Emma was still locked in darkness.

  And yet, to see the woman beside him, hear the glow of her thoughts, the warmth she reciprocated inside her heart…it was a beautiful thing. And yes, fun.

  “You’re killing me,” Aggie said, gasping as she sat in the driver’s seat of her rented Taurus. “I barely made it out of that airport alive. I thought the security guards were going to arrest me. Or call an ambulance. I almost needed a wheelchair to make it this far.”

  “You did very well hiding your reactions,” Charlie said. “After the fifth or sixth, you just looked…constipated. Maybe a little faint.”

  Aggie shook her head and he felt her embarrassment, her disbelief and wonder. “I can’t believe this. I just had a public orgy with a disembodied gargoyle.”

  “It is one for the books,” Charlie said, feeling rather satisfied with himself. Aggie’s eyes narrowed.

  “You don’t mean that literally, do you?’

  “Of course not. I’m a gentleman.”

  “Right. That explains the complete lack of inhibitions.”

  “And I suppose I was doing it all by myself, completely uninvited?”

  “No,” she said, after a moment that stretched too long for comfort, during which he listened to her mind replay the events of the last several hours. “I suppose not.”

  Her agreement did not make him feel better; he could sense her embarrassment turning into shame, confusion, and he wished very much that she would not feel that way about what had just passed between them.

  “The rules change when you’re invisible,” he told her. And when you’re next to the most beautiful intelligent woman you’ve ever met in your entire life.

  Charlie wanted to tell her that, too, but was afraid of what she would say. He had been taking liberties with her mind; curling deep inside it, trying to better understand her heart and soul. Understand, too, why he was becoming so enamored with her. Everything he saw only made his feelings intensify until all he could feel was an ache in his heart, a burn, like the insides of his chest were swimming through fire.

  Not that there was anything he could do about it. Just take what he could, appreciate what time he had, and hold it dear. Because even if things were different and he truly had a chance of happiness with the woman beside him, one wrong move could end it all. Charlie already knew that he should tread lightly; Aggie had a heart of deep passion, but it scared her, what she felt. When Aggie loved, she loved with all her being, every fiber. But to let go like that, no matter what had just occurred between them—to throw herself on the mercy of a stranger—a strange creature, at that—would require time and patience and the continued example of his good devoted heart.

  Because she had it, his heart. He could not imagine another person he would rather give it to, and this, after a long life spent alone, judging and finding want, always holding himself back from others. Love at first sight; he had thought it a fairy tale.

  Not anymore.

  Stupid. This will never work. You’re locked in a cage half a world away. Your body will never be hers to hold. She will never see you in the flesh, and one day, when the witch grows tired of your dying, she will find some other use for you, and you won’t ever see Agatha again. How dare you fall in love—now, of all times? How dare you want her to love you, knowing what you do? And even if by some miracle you could be together, you are both so different. You aren’t even human. You have no idea if she would love your true face.

  The odds were insurmountable, the risks unimaginable; but looking at Agatha as she started the car, listening to the hum of her thoughts as she settled down to the business of Emma—We are going to save you, kid, just hold on, hold on, hold on—made him want to leap headfirst and challenge it all.

  What a sap, said a little voice. Your brothers would laugh if they could see you now.

  Well, fine. He could live with that.

  “Emma’s in Darrington?” Aggie said, checking the map. “That’s about a couple hours away.”

  “Do you have a plan for getting her out?”

  “Nope,” she said. “Though whatever I do will depend a lot on your ability to do some recon for me. Otherwise, I’ll just have to walk up blind and get myself invited inside. Not impossible, but I prefer knowing what’s waiting for
me.”

  “Equipment, mostly. Cameras, lights. All in the living room.”

  Aggie frowned, backing out of the parking spot. “And no one questions that when they come over? If they’re that respected in the area, they must socialize. Word of any weird goings-on gets around in small communities. Trust me.”

  “Firsthand experience?”

  “Yup. When I was growing up, I couldn’t get away with anything in my neighborhood. I kind of stood out.”

  “In a beautiful way, I suppose,” he said, deciding to be bold.

  Aggie glanced at him, following the direction of his voice. A smile tugged on the corner of her mouth. She liked that. He could hear it in her head. “Only my parents said that while I was growing up. Said it and meant it, that is.”

  “Why did they raise you in that town if it was so prejudiced?”

  “My dad had a niche, and he thought we needed the money. Tough skins, that’s us. He was the only lawyer in that area, and people didn’t have much choice but to come to him for help. And he looked like what people in that area expected, so he didn’t have much trouble with locals. One bit Navajo, and a whole lot of Scottish and French. My mother, on the other hand, was the dark one. Jamaican, Mexican and Irish.” She smiled. “I need to marry someone Asian, and then my children can make the Census Bureau insane.”

  Charlie said nothing. He wondered if humans and gargoyles could make babies together. He wondered, too, if that would be right or fair to the child.

  She wanted to know where he was from. Inside her head, she asked. She asked for much more, but there was only so much he could tell with the time they had. And words, ultimately, were meaningless.

  “I spent my childhood in the country,” he said quietly. “I was born in Maine, close to the border. It was very quiet back then, but—”

  “Back then?” Aggie interrupted. “How old are you?”

  He could see her imagining him as some ancient lumbering creature—replete with all the necessary accessories like white hair, wrinkles, and incontinence—and said, “Stop that. My kind age slower than humans, that’s all. I’m only sixty.”

  “Only sixty?”

  “Closer to thirty of your years, if that makes you feel better.” And he knew immediately that it did.