She froze. Memories of the last day wouldn’t be denied and came crashing down upon her peaceful world. Muscles taunt with tension, she cautiously opened her eyes—to an expanse of dark skin stretched over a defined, muscular chest. A heavy weight slung across her shoulders prevented her from sitting up, and something else with the grace of a two–by–four, held her lower legs imprisoned. Five minutes worth of wiggling, and the gargoyle’s arm was down almost to her waist. Being careful not to shake the bed, she sat up.
The two–by–four turned out to be his tail. There was an eight–foot gargoyle occupying her bed. Tramping down rising panic, she did a quick survey of the bedroom. Her robe lay on the other side of the room, tossed over the back of her reading chair next to the antique oak dresser. With a new goal firmly in her sights, she held the panic at bay a little longer.
After several more minutes of slow cautious wiggling, she was out from under the gargoyle’s wings. A few more deep calming breaths, and she inched off the bed in slow motion. Her bare feet touched the floor. Her new bedmate hadn’t so much as stirred a talon. Fear made her breath shallow and rapid. She bolted for the robe in a mad dash. In under ten seconds flat she had the robe clutched in one hand and she’d reversed course for the door.
She reached the old walnut door, a gate to sanctuary, the way to freedom. But she did not turn the knob. Poised, frozen between moments, unable to decide which way to go.
Whatever was on the other side of the door was just as much the unknown as the big beastie sleeping in her bed. Worse perhaps. The gargoyle had never lied to her, which was more than she could say about her family. For years they had hidden all this from her. Magic. Of all things, magic existed.
She needed answers. Perhaps then the chaos of the last day would order into something resembling a normal life.
Ten feet away, sleeping soundly in her bed, was someone fully capable of answering her questions. All she had to do was confront him.
Determination flowing in her blood, she spun around and faced the bed. The great, lumpy mound under the comforter was still there; the whole mass rising and falling in the slow, relaxed rhythm of sleep. God … how long had she slept next to the big eight–foot monster, with his massive talons that could have torn her apart. She swallowed hard.
Indecision held her rooted in place for several more seconds. Then curiosity and that strange, fierce need to be near him reared its head and overruled wisdom. Instead of running away, she slid one foot ahead of the other until she stood at the end of the bed.
The opportunity was too tempting to resist. After a moment’s consideration about the foolhardiness of what she was about to do, she tugged the comforter off the bed in one slow pull and reached out with shaking fingers.
Her hands collided with solid heat. Keeping her touch light so he wouldn’t wake, she slid her fingertips along warm skin. The deep rise and fall of the chest confirmed he still slept deeply, too exhausted to have heard her get up or to notice the comforter’s lack. He was curled in a fetal position, his tail tucked around him like a cat—the biggest damned cat she’d ever encountered. It was nice studying him while he slept; he seemed less scary that way.
Even curled on his side, his eight–foot frame dwarfed the king–sized bed. One massive wing stretched out behind him while the other blanketed him like a cloak of shadows. His head rested pillowed on his bicep, and one arm still reached out to where she’d been tucked against him. His fingers, with their two–inch claws, were uncurled, relaxed in sleep. If he’d had a nightmare, he could have gutted her. Her eyes travelled the length of him again. While he wasn’t human, he was certainly male. Overprotective guardian non–withstanding, he’d be finding himself different sleeping arrangements very soon.
Without conscious thought, her fingers found his hand and touched the black, curving claws. She really should be running away, she reminded herself. Instead she sat on the edge of the bed and explored the gargoyle.
Oddly, she could deal with the strangeness of the gargoyle better than seeing her family in their new roles. Or seeing a man she’d known all her life turn into a unicorn. Like something out of a fevered dream. Abnormal. Surreal and completely creepy.
That the gargoyle seemed the most normal part of her life didn’t bode well at all.
She stroked his mane for several minutes. Calm returned, followed by clearer thoughts. With a confidence she didn’t know she possessed, she sat on the bed and investigated the spiky ridge of fur between his horns. If she thought she could get away with it, she would have tried to brush his mane for him, but the motion might wake him, and she rather liked watching the gargoyle sleep. She wasn’t sure why or how, but he was a natural part of her existence. Like air and food and water, her gargoyle had transformed into a component she needed to live.
From downstairs, the distant beep of the kitchen timer reached her ears. At the noise, the gargoyle made a huffing sound as he buried his muzzle under the edge of her robe until his entire head vanished beneath a fold of the dark–green fabric. His horns and ears stuck out and she started to laugh.
“No, I stand corrected. You’re not cat–like. You’re more dog–like.” His ears twitched at the sound of her voice, but he still didn’t wake up. Instead, he’d burrowed farther under her and threatened to push her off the side of the bed. “Definitely dog. I don’t suppose I can teach you to fetch breakfast? Oh, well. At least …”
Her next words froze, forgotten on her tongue. Angry voices drifted in her window. She tensed as they came closer. The gargoyle exhaled a grunted exclamation and in one beat of her pounding heart, he was fully awake. His powerful tail snaked out and reached around her shoulders. That heavy, unstoppable weight forced her forward and down until she was sprawled flat on the bed, the gargoyle poised over her. Then he leaped from the bed, tearing sheets and dislodging the top mattress with the strength of his lunge. The sudden jolt rolled her like a limp doll and she was facing the window in time to see him clear the distance in one bound. He landed on all fours, his tail lashing back and forth. He made no noise as he reared up onto two legs and braced his arms on either side of the window while he watched the goings on below. She inched closer to his side. Voices drifted up. Two strangers debated with her uncle.
“What are you hiding? We can smell it from out here.” A man’s voice echoed up from below.
Lillian nudged the gargoyle until he let her look out the window. Below, two men faced off against her uncle. One of them, the older man with the graying hair looked vaguely familiar. It took her a moment to realize why. When Gregory bunched his muscles, preparing to leap down, she put a restraining arm of his shoulder.
“Wait,” she hissed. “I know these people. Please don’t get all fierce on them. They’re friends of the family. The younger one’s name is Robert, and the older man is his grandfather, Jackson.”
Jackson tilted his head to the side, sniffing at the air. “Tell me what you’re hiding. It smells of power and aggression.”
“It’s a long story, but we have a new ally. Vivian will explain everything tonight when she meets with your leaders for the gathering. That’s all I can say for now,” her uncle said.
Robert took a step closer to her uncle. “You’ve got to give us more. We saw … I can’t believe I’m saying this … we saw a unicorn. What has the Coven been up to? Tell us now or the Hunt will appear at your doorstep some night not of your choosing.”
“Is that a threat?” Lillian’s uncle asked, voice sharp with annoyance.
Jackson put a restraining hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “No, not a threat—a warning. One friend to another. We don’t want to see anything happen to you or your family. But whatever the Hunt decides, it’s out of our hands.”
Her uncle’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you. Come, I’ll drive you back to your farm. And yes, you did see a unicorn.”
When the voices died away and the sound of retreating footsteps faded, Lillian turned from the window and pressed her back against the wall. The
gargoyle—Gregory—stood looking down at her, his muzzle pointed in her direction, his expression unreadable. She wondered what the Hunt was—it didn’t sound good. But before she could voice her concerns, there was a disturbance outside in the hall. It came a second time. Closer now, she could make out the sounds—dishes rattling on a tray. Breakfast had come to her.
Gregory advanced on the door with grim interest just as it creaked open. Gran strolled in, then shoved the door shut with her hip. Gran eyed the disheveled bed with one eyebrow raised in question, then looked the gargoyle up and down as she detoured around him. When she passed, she waved the two trays close to his muzzle and continued forward with a knowing smile. The gargoyle padded after her, sniffing at the trays as he came.
“Did you sleep well?” Gran asked. Again the eyebrow rose in question.
“Yes, very well … considering a rather large gargoyle was sharing the bed. Know anything about that?”
Gran graced Lillian with a most innocent look. “Yours is the biggest bed in the house.”
“Ha! I knew it. You said you ordered the wrong size for the resort and didn’t want to pay to ship it back.”
“I couldn’t very well tell you it was for your gargoyle, now could I?”
Lillian huffed and turned to the gargoyle and speared him with a look. “You’re not a dog—you don’t get to sleep in my bed.”
Gregory seemed more interested in what Gran was carrying than in the conversation.
Gran cleared her throat. “Anyways, I image you both must be hungry, so I brought a little something to hold you over until lunch. Eat, and then we’ll talk.”
Lillian was about to tell her to talk now, but the mingled scent of real maple syrup, pancakes and sausages reached her nose. She tracked the trays as avidly as did the gargoyle. Deciding she could multitask, Lillian uncovered the first tray and snatched up one of the sausages. She was taking the first bite when the gargoyle leaned in close and sniffed at her food. “It’s not poisoned.” Too hungry to worry about manners, she ate it with her fingers. “Relax for five minutes.” She waved at the bounty. “Eat.”
He didn’t obey immediately, so she lifted a second finger–length sausage off the tray and held it out to him. One moment he was sniffing at it, then she blinked and it was gone. The only clue he hadn’t used magic to make it vanish was the slight movement as he swallowed. Gran handed him his own plate and motioned for him to eat. The gargoyle didn’t need more prompting, and folded a pancake in half and shoved it in his mouth whole. A second vanished as fast as the first one. Gran smiled and turned back to Lillian.
“I know you have questions. I’ll tell you all I know, and then we’ll see if we can get our new friend to tell us what he knows.” Gran graced the gargoyle with a calculating smile. He stopped eating long enough to bob his head in assent. She turned back to Lillian. “Good. First, no matter what you learn here, I want you to know you are my granddaughter in all ways that matter.”
Gran paused, closing her eyes like she sought a memory she’d buried long ago. “You came to me at a time of great tragedy. It was a January night twelve years ago when I heard Jason’s screams. He was strong and cocky for his age, and very, very sure of himself. I’d never heard him cry out like he did that night.
I had told him and his sister they could go play for a while as a break from unpacking. I should have gone with them … later your mother and I heard the cries for help. We ran. Your mother was faster and reached the lake first. By the time I caught up, she’d managed to rescue your sister from the water. There was no life left in her. Her young and vibrant spirit had already fled. Jason was still trapped on the ice, out of reach. I thought—” Gran broke off, the pain of old memories reflected in her pale face.
Shock descended on Lillian like a blow. She never knew she had an older sister.
Gran cleared her throat. “I thought I was seeing the death of both my grandchildren. Then the darkness shuddered and spat out a hulking shadow, a creature of immense berth and height—your gargoyle. He raced into the freezing water to save my grandson. But even the gargoyle could do nothing for my little Lily.”
Lily. Her dead sister was named Lily. Her lost memories, a sister she didn’t know she had, her mother’s resentment—everything clicked into place. The dead girl who shared her name wasn’t a sister at all. Somehow she’d stepped into the life of a dead girl and made it her own. Horror cramped her belly. Breath came in great desperate gasps. Her eyes burned, but no tears came. The horror was too great.
“My Lily was such a good girl.” Gran continued, too caught up in her memories to realized Lillian’s horror.
Good, Lillian thought. Gran doesn’t need more guilt. Whatever comes of all this, I’ll remain strong for her.
“In a way my little Lily saved her brother. For even after death claimed her, her spirit hovered nearby, and sensing the gargoyle, she sought him out and asked him to aid her family. The gargoyle saved Jason. He …” she paused, swallowing rapidly, like she was having to conquer her grief anew. “The gargoyle granted us another miracle. He gave us one more night with Lily, and made it so we could say goodbye. In return, he had one request. He ran off into the shadowy tree line and retrieved something. When he returned, he had another dark–haired child bundled in his arms—so like my little Lily, I thought it was her at first. Then he laid you in my arms. You were such a small thing for your age, just like Lily. He asked me to guide and protect you like one of my own. Giving my word was no hardship.”
A numb, seeping cold held Lillian in its grasp. Her world was built on a hundred thousand lies. Who am I? She remembered the blood running down her tree, and the sensation of her life force weakening as blood leached from the wounds. What am I?
“You called me Lillian after a dead girl—why? No wonder mother was so cold to me.”
“My daughter–in–law never got over that night. It broke something within her. Don’t blame yourself. Perhaps it’s for the best she’s with Lily now.”
“But why name me after her? Surely it created painful reminders.”
“Pain, yes, but sweet too. It was my way of honoring her for leading the gargoyle to us and saving her brother.” Gran sighed and looked at the gargoyle where he crouched next to the bed. His empty plate lay on the floor next to him. “We were new to this place. No one knew Lily. They wouldn’t know you were not the same girl. So you became Lillian.” She sighed. “I have kept my promise to the gargoyle as best I could, but now there is an enemy beyond my ability to defeat. Yesterday they came here to destroy my coven, and found you here alone. I am sorry. We had no idea they were ready to move on our territory.”
“Who are they?” Lillian asked. “And why don’t I know any of this? Why keep the truth of me?”
“Forgive me for the lie, but the gargoyle told me to say nothing of magic. So I thought it best if you believed you were Lily. Your uncle came up with the idea about losing your memories in a near drowning—a half truth is easier to accept than outright lies. And brain damage explained why you would need to learn our language and details about our world.” Gran paused again, and looked down at her hands. When she looked up, she gave the gargoyle an intense look. “I’m interested to hear the reasons why the gargoyle wanted you to know nothing about magic. That was a curious stipulation.”
Lillian followed her grandmother’s gaze. Gregory balanced on his haunches, one hand braced against his bent knee, muzzle bowed until it touched his chest, eyes focused unseeing on the ground. At the moment, he looked about as talkative as a stone.
“Right. Better luck next time.” A cold sweat broke out along Lillian’s back. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the gargoyle’s reasoning—her gut told her there was more amiss then just bad guys trying to kill her. She returned her attention to Gran. “What do you know about the creatures who attacked me?”
“Not enough. They call themselves the Riven. We don’t know their agenda, but they are a gathering of outcast magic wielders. Before, we speculated they we
re led by vampires. Now after your attack, we know that to be true.”
“Why attack me? Why now?”
Gran broke eye contact and glanced out the window. “This isn’t the first time they’ve made a move against us,” she said, her voice strained. She took two deep breaths and when she spoke again, her voice had smoothed out. “Six years ago we were caught unawares. There had been rumors of a dark underground movement, one which could unbalance our community and expose us to the humans, but no evidence was found to backup our theories. Then the disappearances started. At first we thought a blood feud had broken out between the Clan and the Coven.”
“Wait,” Lillian interrupted. “So the Coven is made up of your people—the witches. But this Clan, who are they?”
“We of the Coven are descendants of the few ancient human bloodlines gifted with magic. The Clan is a mix of the other magical races, many of which were once enemies. But our diverse peoples banded together for one simple reason: survival. The Clan’s numbers were always less than ours, but now they are many, many fewer. While they may not age, the dwindling magic has killed many of them. If they don’t find a way back to the Magic Realm, all the Clan will perish in time.”
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