“Yes,” Jason moaned.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He sounded weaker. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Gregory deposited the human on the ground next to his unicorn friend. They were both crazy. It might be contagious. Turning, he ran into Lillian. She glanced beyond him to the unicorn, concern drawing her eyebrows together.
“What did you do to him, and why?”
“I did nothing. He stole my blood so he could return to his true form. Did you not know your brother’s friend was a unicorn?”
She mouthed his words, and then shook her head, looking lost. Her skin was paler than before, and he worried shock was setting in. His suspicions were confirmed when she started to shiver. He pulled her closer until her smaller frame was a solid line against his side, and then wrapped a wing around her shoulders. She leaned into his warmth and didn’t look up at her grandmother’s approach.
“Forgive my grandson and his friend, ancient one,” Lillian’s grandmother said. An elegant bow accompanied her formal greeting. “You may call me Vivian, and as you can guess by the evil you’ve already discovered, these have been trying years for everyone. But let there be peace between us, and let us share food and histories. There are dangers which must be explained.”
He didn’t miss how she glanced worriedly at Lillian, but he didn’t question her further. There would be time for inquiries later. For now, he was more concern about Lillian. Her mind felt fragile.
“Lillian needs rest,” he said.
“Of course.” Vivian made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “This way.”
He inclined his head to Vivian in thanks before urging his lady back in the direction of the house. Lillian allowed herself to be herded.
Inside, Gregory followed Lillian as she made her way through the kitchen and on into the living room. There she collapsed into a chair and held a pillow in her lap, her eyes glazing with recent memories. Her grandmother stood next to her and whispered words of comfort. Right now, Vivian was the one Lillian would find safe and familiar, while his presence would only lead to more questions and worry. So he faded, blending into the room around him until he was once again part of the shadows.
Chapter Seven
Distracted by her grandmother, Lillian missed when the gargoyle vanished. She leaned forward in her chair, her fingers biting into the armrests. He’d been standing right in front of her a moment ago and now he was gone. Nothing moved that fast. His magic must cloak him in some way she didn’t understand. A laugh bubbled up. She suppressed it with difficulty. What did she understand? Magic. Gargoyles. Unicorns. Her entire life was a lie.
When her mind threatened rebellion, she took several deep breaths. Calmer, she approached the problem with a rational mind. What was she to do? A gargoyle followed her around like a lost dog. He must have a reason. And she needed to find out his motives. But how? Question after question whirled through her mind, but no reasonable explanations presented themselves.
“You’ve had enough shocks for one day,” Gran whispered in her ear. “Come with me. The gargoyle is right: you need to rest. Everything will seem better after a good night’s sleep. Then I’ll explain everything I know in the morning.”
Lillian nodded at Gran, too tired to think.
Gran ushered her up the stairs, pushing on her shoulders to steer her in the right direction. After a few turns, Lillian found herself in a room. Her grandmother handed her a bit of satin. Lillian blinked. Her favourite indigo chemise. And yes, that was her oversized bed. It had never looked so good. When the door’s click announced her grandmother’s departure, Lillian started shedding clothing as she crossed the floor.
The satin nightgown still a cold presence against her skin, she crawled across the bed and scrambled under the covers. Her eyes were already closed by the time her head hit the pillow. Before sleep claimed her, a worried thought flashed across her mind: where had her gargoyle gone?
* * *
Hearing was the first sense to awaken. A soft, slow whooshing teased the edge of her hearing, rhythmic like the ocean, almost a purr. The soothing noise had a steady thump as its counter beat. Delicious warmth radiated throughout her body. A part of her mind wanted to embrace sleep, but other senses were sharpening. She inhaled a deep breath. Air perfumed with the scents of home baking filled her lungs—her grandmother’s pancakes and sausages, if she was not mistaken. Her stomach growled, waking her further. Still she didn’t open her eyes—there was something dancing at the edge of her consciousness, something she didn’t want to acknowledge or remember. She squeezed her eyes tight and wiggled closer to the heat, determined to recapture the mindless oblivion of sleep. Another scent crawled across her senses and seeped into her mind like a drug, one reminiscent of wild places and the pleasant musky warmth of a purely male being—the scent of gargoyle.
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 was slung across her shoulders, preventing 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. 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.
Keeping her touch light so he wouldn’t wake, she slid her fingertips along warm skin. The deep rise and fall of his 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 curl
ed 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 further 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 through 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 Alan.
“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 greying 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 hand on 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.”
“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 the 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.”
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, and then shoved the door shut with her hip. Gran eyed the disheveled bed with an arched eyebrow, and 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 imagine 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 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. 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 complexion.
Shock descended on Lillian like a blow. She’d never known she’d 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. 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 realize 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.”
The Avatars Series: Books 1-3 Page 6