Gargoyle's Mate

by Nia K. Foxx

  Chapter Two

  Fatima stared down at her cell phone as it displayed the duration of her last call. Thirty-three minutes and fourteen seconds flashed back at her. Thirty-three minutes and fourteen seconds was all it had taken for her life to be properly turned upside down.

  The day started off great. Her six o’clock wakeup call actually came at six, the hotel’s gym was virtually empty leaving her a choice of equipment for her morning regiment; she’d somehow missed Gordy at breakfast and lunch, plus there was no sign of Mr. De LaCrazy. All in all it was turning out to be a banner day. She was looking forward to an afternoon seminar on ‘The Anthropology of Folklore,’ taught by a female professor who she strongly admired, when her cell buzzed. The familiar name of the Dean of Anthropology, her boss, flashed on the screen.

  “Dr. Hansen,” she had answered, a little surprised to be hearing from him. “Did the university burn down?” she quipped

  He chuckled. She liked her boss, an older man in his late fifties who looked more like a friendly old grandpa than the dean of two social science departments.

  “No, but I was just made aware of a potentially substantial donation to the university with a large stipend to be allotted to Anthro.”

  “Wonderful,” she answered, but waited to hear how it related to his phone call to her.

  “Apparently, a donation in the amount of two million dollars has been pledged.”

  “Wow,” was the most intelligible thing she could think to say.

  “Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” he replied. She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “So what did we do to earn this endowment?”

  “Not we, you.”

  She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “Me, but… I don’t understand.”

  “Let me start at the beginning. There is a foundation, the Council of Preservation, who seem to be very interested in your research on gargoyle folklore.”

  “Oh, no,” Fatima groaned. “Listen, I ran into a whack job yesterday that approached me about something similar. He’s obviously a few cards short of a full deck.”

  “Well, when you have the kind of financial backing he does it changes one’s title from whack job to eccentric.”

  “You mean he could be legit?” She couldn’t suppress the disbelief lacing her voice.

  “I can assure you the C.O.P is very much a legitimate organization with a strong international presence.”

  “Please tell me Lorn De LaRue is not a member?”

  Dr. Hansen chuckled. “He is not only a member, but happens to be the president.”

  “Great!” Fucking great. “So what does he want?” she asked, hoping he’d only tried to sell his cockamamie story to her.

  “You or more precisely that beautiful brain of yours.”

  “Hansen, he thinks gargoyles really exist,” she accused in a whisper.

  “Then you will just have to prove him wrong.”

  “How do you prove a given?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but you’ll have several months to work on it, assuming you take the project.” He paused.

  “You mean I have a choice?” she asked hopefully.

  “Well…in life there are always choices…and consequences.”

  Fatima didn’t really need a billboard to see the writing on the wall. “What about my classes? I can’t just drop everything.”

  The famous Hansen humor returned. “Why not? Indiana Jones did it all the time.”

  “Yeah, and you see what kind of trouble he got into.” She tried to sound light although she felt slightly queasy. “So when are these sacred documents supposed to arrive?”

  “They won’t. You’ll be going to them.”

  What!

  “And where exactly might I be going?”

  He did his infamous impression of Bob Barker. “My dear, you’re taking an all-expense paid trip to France.”

  ***

  Fatima tried again to focus on what Dr. Leslie Hoffman was saying but her mind just couldn’t wrap itself around the subject matter.

  According to Dr. Hansen she would be leaving the day after she returned from her Michigan conference.

  “There you are,” Gordy whispered as he slid into the empty seat next to her.

  She nodded her acknowledgement, feigning interest in the topic of the ongoing lecture.

  “About last night.” He leaned in close and Fatima could feel his hot breath warming her ear.

  “Not now,” she returned his hushed tones.

  Gordy was silent for several moments before continuing. “Who was the man you were talking to yesterday?”

  “What?” She barely registered what he said.

  “The freakishly tall Neanderthal you were so cozy with after you dismissed me.” His tone was accusatory.

  She sighed. “His name is Lorn De LaRue,” she provided, wondering if she should inform him it probably wouldn’t do to insult a potential benefactor. She stopped herself preferring not to broach the topic with Gordy and risk a discussion on a subject still too unbelievable for her to accept.

  “Lorn.” He said the name as if it left a bitter taste on his tongue.

  She chose to ignore his reaction. There were more important things to worry about like how the hell she was going to get out of this mess without the university losing their donation and she her job.

  ***

  “Fatima.” The slightly familiar voice called softly as Lorn seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Her heart flipped at the seductive caress of his tone. They were on a break, which Fatima needed even if it was to be short lived. Gordy was driving her crazy with all his questions and attempts at conversation.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she turned to face the man who’d instantly climbed to number one on her shit list. He was impeccably dressed in all black, sporting a fitted mock turtleneck which clung hungrily to his corded muscles. Like before, his long dark hair was pulled into a plaited ponytail and hung down his back.

  “We must talk,” he continued in his deep accented voice.

  “You’re absolutely right,” she agreed, resisting the urge to give him a piece of her mind in front of everyone milling about during the recess.

  “Fatima,” Gordy urgently called as he rushed toward them. “Where are you going?” he asked all the while eyeballing Lorn.

  Is it really any of your business? She thought, but instead introduced the men.

  “Lorn, this is Dr. Gordon Singleton. Gordy, Lorn De LaRue.”

  Gordy mumbled a barely audible hello while Lorn merely nodded.

  “Are you going somewhere?” Gordy asked again.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Fatima promised, before turning to leave the crowded conference area.

  Lorn followed as she led them through the hotel lobby and outside. She didn’t stop until she found a quiet alcove to properly put him straight.

  “You had no right calling the university. Do you realize how much you’ll be disrupting my life? I have classes, not to mention my own research, my friends, and what about my plants?”

  “Is this Gordy fellow one of your friends?”

  For several seconds she just blinked at him. Obviously the imposition he would be putting on her life meant nothing. Her temper flared at the inconsideration but she quickly took hold of it.

  “He’s a colleague and of course a friend too, not that it’s any of your concern.” She sounded breathless as she began to touch the spot below her collarbone. “Our university is very excited over your generous gift, but I’m sure there are others who could better meet your needs.”

  The look he gave her seemed to say he strongly doubted her suggestion.

  “And I still have connections at the CDC if you feel you really want a cellular biologist.”

  “No. I want you.” The finality in his response sent a shiver down her spine.

  She was sure he meant to follow the statement with ‘to do the research’.

  “And if I refuse?”

&nbs
p; He cocked his head. “We both know rejection is not an option.”

  Why did she get the feeling they were not talking about research any longer?

  “I have arranged for your passport to be updated,” he stated. “My assistant will meet you at the courtesy desk at five thirty with the necessary paperwork and a camera for your photo.”

  “You can’t just --” She cut off her own protest. Most people couldn’t update a passport in the manner he suggested, but the rules were certainly very different for someone who could hand over two million dollars for a fool’s errand.

  “Afterward we’ll have dinner,” he continued.

  “I don’t think so. You may be blackmailing me into participating in this ridiculous wild goose chase but I draw the line there.”

  Lorn regarded her silently before continuing as if she hadn’t spoken.

  “There’s still much we need to discuss, unless of course you’d rather forgo the remainder of today’s seminars and meet now?”

  She hated to admit it, but what he said made perfect sense. She was scheduled for another lecture in an hour and a panel discussion soon after, if they were going to meet it would have to be later.

  “Until tonight,” he finished as she quietly acquiesced.

  ***

  Gordy ambushed her as soon as she re-entered the hall leading to the various conference rooms. “Okay, now will you tell me what the hell is going on?”

  She sighed. “You’re probably going to hear about it when we get home. Mr. De LaRue represents a foundation interested in pursuing more extensive gargoyle research.”

  “Gargoyle research?”

  “As in the possible existence of actual gargoyles.”

  “You’re kidding me?”

  “I wish I were.” She exhaled deeply. “Apparently they would like me to head this effort.”

  “You can’t honestly be serious about accepting the job. You’ll be committing career suicide.” He was incredulous, his normally pale face taking on a pink hue.

  “I don’t have much choice. The university will receive a hefty donation for my participation.”

  He frowned. “Why haven’t I heard anything about this?”

  “Mr. De LaRue approached me yesterday, and when I refused he went over my head. I got the call from Hansen after lunch.”

  “Surely there’s something else you can do to get out of this?”

  “I wish there were,” she muttered, remembering Lorn’s too perfect form. “I wish there were.”

  ***

  Fatima handed the silent man, who’d identified himself earlier as Mike, the last of the signed paperwork before nervously glancing at her watch.

  He slid the items in a manila folder.

  “Your passport will be waiting for you at the terminal when you depart for your international flight.” He smiled warmly, his blue eyes twinkling.

  Maybe if she prayed hard enough it would get lost somewhere in transit.

  “I’ll be taking you to meet Mr. De LaRue for dinner now, if you’re ready,” he continued, giving the dress pants and earth-toned blouse she’d changed into a brief once over.

  This is as good as it gets, she thought at the man’s quick perusal, wondering what Lorn had told him about the nature of their meeting.

  “I’m ready if you are.”

  Fatima followed behind Mike, speculating how he’d come to work for Lorn De LaRue. His accent appeared American, maybe Midwestern. He was tall, just above six feet, and well formed. He didn’t compare to Lorn, but definitely wasn’t shabby by anyone’s standards. He dressed much in the same fashion of most style-conscious twenty-something-year olds, in light colored flared bottom jeans and a snug button up black top sporting the first two and last button undone. For all intents he could have just as easily been a model. She hazarded a guess at what his hair looked like underneath the black knit cap he wore tugged down over his ears. Probably one of those forty-dollar unkempt looks so popular among hip white guys, she speculated.

  She followed him outside to a waiting silver colored luxury sedan which sat unbothered at the hotel’s main entrance.

  Of course. Fatima rolled her eyes heavenward. If her own beat up compact sat there unattended for more than two seconds she would be making arrangements to pick it up at the local impound. She chalked it up as one more reason to dislike Lorn De LaRue.

  Fatima sat in the rear of the vehicle trying to avoid getting too comfortable in the plush seats. The city scenery faded as they left Ann Arbor’s border, giving way to a tree lined rural setting. She watched in awe admiring the lush fall colors bursting vibrantly from trees. The beauty of seasonal change was definitely something lacking in California.

  After several miles of quiet contemplation the car slowed its way down a private paved road. Fatima’s heart began to pound erratically when she realized they weren’t pulling up to a quaint country restaurant but a home or rather a Tudor style mini-mansion made of red brick. It was beautifully adorned with overgrown ivy which gave it an aged appeal. Mike came around, to help her out of the back seat and lead her through the home’s large foyer into a sitting room.

  “Mr. De LaRue will be with you shortly.” He smiled and she felt a sense of calm overtake her. Alone, she allowed her eyes to take in the eclectic ensemble of old world furniture. She wasn’t surprised to see the room done in dark woods and deep colors; it suited Lorn.

  “Your ride was enjoyable?” The rich timbre that could only belong to one man reached her just as Lorn entered the room. His sudden appearance caused her to start. Why hadn’t she heard him approaching on the hardwood floors?

  “Yes, thank you,” she added as an afterthought.

  “Dinner will be ready shortly. In the meantime can I get you something?” He indicated the bar in one corner.

  “No, I’m fine,” she answered, drinking in every inch of his enormous height. He’d changed into khaki colored slacks and a cream mock turtleneck. His normally bound hair hung loosely past his shoulders, which only accentuated his Viking-esque attributes.

  The throbbing had begun again, but Fatima was becoming so accustomed to the sensation it hardly registered with her now.

  “When you said dinner I thought you meant at a restaurant,” she said, trying not to stare at his firm backside as he made his way to the mini-bar.

  “Is that what I said?” he asked, pouring amber liquid into a snifter.

  “Well no, I just assumed.”

  He took a sip from his drink. “I hope being alone with me doesn’t make you uncomfortable. After all, we’ll be working very closely together and sharing many meals at my home.”

  Why did his words sound like a warning?

  He took a long swallow, emptying the glass in one gulp. Fatima found her gaze drawn to his throat as he drained the contents.

  “I live in a very remote town, so the opportunity to dine out will be limited. Our being alone together is something you’ll need to quickly come to terms with.” He seemed to study her face for her reaction.

  “I assure you, Mr. De LaRue, I am quite capable of handling the research without your supervision,” she began. “I’ll take the utmost care with your documents and whatever else is given to me to analyze.”

  “I don’t doubt it; however I think once again you have misunderstood. My purpose isn’t to supervise but to work with you, under you if you will. It has always been my intention to be very hands-on,” he answered without annoyance.

  She squirmed at the imagery his words conjured up. Had he intended them to sound so suggestive?

  “While I’m sure you’re perfectly capable at everything you do, anthropological research is scientific and requires skillsets developed from formal education or hands on experience, preferably a combination of both,” she replied hotly. How dare he assume he could just barge in on her area of expertise as if it were as simple as reading the morning paper? Granted the items were his, but if she was to maintain any merit in an already laughable endeavor he would need to respect her c
raft.

  “What is it you assume I do?” he asked, ignoring her diatribe, finally making his way to an unoccupied chair opposite her own.

  “What?” Her brows furrowed at the question.

  “You make having wealth sound like a crime. So what exactly is it you think I do?”

  “I don’t know, and personally I don’t care --”

  “I’m an engineer by education but my passion is anthropology and archeology. I have funded and been a part of many archeological digs. My primary concern on any venture is the preservation of our discoveries. I don’t believe every find should be displayed in a museum, nor do I condone grave robbing. I am a purist if you will.”

  Fatima felt immediately ashamed. “I…I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “Now you do.”

  Before she could offer up the apology on the tip of her tongue, a young woman shyly entered the room, her eyes darting between the two. Quietly she announced dinner, waiting until Lorn nodded a dismissive acknowledgement in her direction before leaving.

  They sat opposite each other in the formal dining table and Fatima found herself greedily enjoying the first course, a smothered fish and some type of exotic vegetables she’d never tasted.

  “Why is your foundation so interested in proving the existence of gargoyles?” she asked.

  “Why not? Gargoyles have just as much right as any other species to have their history validated and chronicled.”

  His answer would seem logical if they were discussing an extinct creature like the Tasmanian tiger, or zebra horses but this was in a realm of its own. Still she had to admit a level of curiosity about the so called records he claimed to own.

  “I am intrigued to see the items you’ve collected.”