“Why can’t you just believe in me a little bit?” I burst out, losing the war with my emotions. “Why can’t you give me the slightest benefit of the doubt when it comes to keeping myself safe? You know, I broke that curse. Me. All by myself. And sure, maybe something bad would have happened to me if I’d been home when the vandals hit, but there’s just as good a chance I’d have sent them straight to hell in a handbasket. Same with the gargoyles. I was perfectly capable of getting clear.
“Ever since I met you, you’ve treated me like the village idiot. I can’t think for myself, I can’t protect myself, and I sure as hell can’t be allowed to live my own damned life the way I want. I’m sick and tired of it.”
He looked a little sick at my outburst. Maybe I’d hit a nerve. Good. Now he could be the one feeling stupid and upset. He angled his face away from me and visibly collected himself, keeping his head averted as he replied in a low, tense voice.
“I know you’re powerful. Probably more than either side of your family realizes. I know you’re smart, tenacious, stubborn, brave, and capable. I know it.”
He tapped the side of his head to emphasize it. Then he turned to look at me, and his gaze was so hot, I nearly incinerated on the spot.
“I do know it,” he said softly. “But here—” He knocked his fist against his chest. “Here I’m terrified for you. Jesus, Beck, I’ve had to watch you nearly die. I’ve seen you hooked up to a transfusion in a hospital bed, and I’ve sat by your bed, listening to you breathe and praying you didn’t stop. It doesn’t matter what I know here.” He knuckled his forehead again. “I can’t— If anything happened to you—”
He broke off again. I just stared at him with my mouth hanging open, trying to make sense of his words, but I couldn’t compute them. Not even a little bit.
He reached out, cupping my cheek and brushing my lips butterfly gentle with his thumb. “God damn it. You don’t have to look so surprised. I haven’t exactly made my attraction to you a secret.”
“Attraction,” I parroted. “Sex. That’s all.”
He scowled and his hand yanked back as if scorched. “Is that what you think?” he demanded, sounding as though I’d just called him the worst name on the planet.
Yes. I thought the better of saying it. Instead I went with the big question. “Then what do you want?”
He hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands into his front pockets as if he didn’t trust himself not shake me. “You really want to know? Because I don’t know if you can handle it.”
I recoiled. “Handle it?” Was I some child incapable of the hard truths? He did not just say that. “There’s nothing you can dish out I can’t take, big boy. So why don’t you get over your bad self and just lay it out for me.”
“All right,” he said, jaw thrusting out, blue eyes locked on mine, not letting me look away. “I’m in love with you.”
I blinked, feeling about as shocked as George Clooney finding out he’s pregnant. “Say what now?”
He snorted and rolled his eyes as if I’d just confirmed his low opinion of my ability to deal with his confession. I felt about two inches tall. He stepped closer so I had to look up at him, his eyes lasering into mine with all the intensity of a sun going nova.
“I love you, Beck,” he rasped in that voice you use to tell somebody to fuck off and die. “Maybe I’m too protective. Hell, I am too protective.” He gripped my upper arms, ignoring Ajax’s baleful growl. “Don’t wall me out. Give me a chance. Teach me how to make you happy. I swear on all that’s holy that I will earn your trust.”
I think the feeling in my chest was the kind you get when you’re kicked by a mule. The breath went out of me, and all I could do was stare. He loved me? He loved me?
My head spun as I tried to make sense of my emotions. I was still pissed. But wonder pushed back against it. Wonder and shock and maybe a little panic. Okay, a whole lot of panic. Love? Seriously? The raw fear and hope on his face said that he was deadly serious.
Did I love him? I didn’t even know what it was. Except—I loved the girls. I loved Ajax. And Damon—
“I really like it when you kiss me,” I said, perfectly inanely, giving a great deal of credence to his accusation of stupidity.
He stepped closer so that only a few inches separated us. “I really like kissing you.” One hand came up to stroke the hair from my face. “Don’t go. Don’t walk away.”
“I don’t know if—”
He pressed his fingers to my mouth to block the words. “You don’t have to,” he said. “You never have to.”
Then his lips replaced his fingers. He didn’t hurry as he explored with his tongue. His touch was tender and possessive. His arms slid around me and nestled me against him. My body melded to his. I could feel the thunder of his heart. The smell of him—spicy and earthy—swept over me, spinning me out of control. I slid my arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe, pressing into him.
He made a sound in his throat and deepened the kiss. His touch was seductive, with an edge of desperation that melted any resistance I had, which wasn’t much. I didn’t hold anything back.
I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t doubting or questioning or anything else. All I was doing was feeling. Ripples of heat and desire rolled through me, and want settled heavy in my belly. My breasts ached to be touched and held. The hard plane of his chest only teased them, making them ache more.
He stroked my back as if to be sure I was real, and then his arms crushed me tighter and tighter. I could barely breathe, and I didn’t care. I was lost. My blood throbbed in my veins. I wanted his touch. I craved it. I ached to feel the slide of his skin against mine. I longed to explore his body, slide my tongue along his neck, down the seam of his stomach, along the inside of his thighs.
We might have started stripping clothes off each other except for the loud cough that broke through our delirium.
“I hate to be a wet blanket, but you two do realize this is a public sidewalk, do you not?”
Mason.
I stiffened. Well, as much as limp spaghetti can stiffen. Damon lifted his head.
“Don’t regret it,” he said. His eyes pleaded.
I still couldn’t wrap my head around his declaration of love. It’s not that I didn’t believe it. Or that I did. But more that it had happened. That this was even real.
“I don’t.” And I didn’t. Not the kiss. Not his words. I held them inside like blown glass snowflakes. I wanted to examine them, understand them, cherish them. I wanted to believe that they were real and wouldn’t melt away into nothingness the moment I trusted them.
“It’s getting dark,” Mason prodded.
I twisted my head to look at him. Ben stood smiling broadly at me just behind him. I flushed then realized I was already so overheated that nobody would be able to tell the difference.
“We’ve got to get going,” Mason said, prompting us when we just stood there in a daze.
At his words, I nodded. I started to step away from Damon. He tightened his grip on me and then slowly he loosened his arms. He slid a hand down my arm and threaded his fingers through mine. I stroked Ajax’s head, soothing away his confusion and ire.
“Do you need anything upstairs?” Damon asked, his thumb turning seductive circles on my palm.
“Not that I know of.”
“Then let’s go. The truck’s across the street.”
Mason turned to lead the way. Ben looked uncertain.
“Do you want to come with us?” I asked.
Mason turned to frown at me, but I ignored him. Ben didn’t. He glanced at Mason and then Damon and then back at me.
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Though it isn’t going to be much fun. We’re going to repair gargoyle statues and it involves piecing their giant penises back together, along with everything else that broke off.”
He stared at me as if waiting for the punchline. Another look at Mason and Damon and then back to me. “Statues or the r
eal thing?” he asked.
“Real,” Damon said.
My head jerked up. “What do you mean?”
He sighed. “I mean that your aunt imprisoned real gargoyles and what we’re doing tonight is more like healing than repair.” He hesitated, weighing his words. “In order to completely fix them, we have break the bonds your mother put on them. They’re probably going to be pretty wild with anger. They might be violent.”
“Gargoyles don’t know what a good mood is most of the time anyway,” Ben said. “I’ll help if I’m welcome.”
“You are,” I said and glared first at Mason and then Damon, daring them to contradict me.
Damon just tightened his grip on my hand. Mason grimaced and started for the truck.
Chapter 30
As the eccentric new owner of Aunty Mommy’s house, Mason had sent the staff away for the night. We unloaded the adhesives and quick-drying cement and a dozen other materials, along with buckets and a drill with a stirring rod, scrapers and a broad assortment of tools.
“We have to get the pieces together long enough to cast the spell to let them animate,” Damon explained. “Once we do, they’ll heal on their own, as long as all the pieces are in place.”
I looked at the pile of rubble and the gargoyles. “We have to do this all in one night?”
“Yes,” Mason said. “The moonless night is when gargoyle power is strongest. It will give them the best chance of completely healing.”
“We need help,” I said and called Jen and then Lorraine. Stacey was at work. Both promised to be there as soon as possible.
Damon and Ben set up the bright work lights while Mason used magic to set all the gargoyles upright in a circle around the rubble, including the one that had fallen on my mother.
When I asked what the police would think, he said he’d cleared it with them.
“Just like that? I’m surprised.”
“I can be persuasive.” The look he gave me was inscrutable. I don’t know if he was saying he’d used magic to influence them or if he’d talked them into it. I hoped it wasn’t magic. The idea made me feel slimy.
The whole project was insanely impossible, but I wasn’t going to say it. “If we can’t find all the pieces, can new pieces be made for them?”
“Sure. But not just anybody can make them. Has to be someone with stone magic. They aren’t that easy to find, and most stone practitioners don’t get along with gargoyles,” Mason said. “Better if we can put them together.”
We dug in. It was actually easier at first than I’d expected. We sorted out various parts—wings, claws, ears, tails, snouts, penises, and some balls.
“Are they really this well endowed? And why on earth are they all at full mast?”
Damon gusted a breath. “Yes to the first. Normally their equipment would be tucked up inside. There’s a pouch. The only reason they’d be waving proudly like this is if your aunt forced them.”
“The more I hear about her, the less I like her,” Ben said.
“You have no idea,” Damon replied, flicking a look at me.
Neither of them had any real idea, and I was good with that.
“Why imprison them at all? Just for decoration?”
“It’s a good question,” Mason said grimly. “I wish I knew the answer.”
Lorraine and Jen showed up about a half hour in. After introducing them to Ben and Mason, I explained what we were doing and why. Mason and Damon took on the job of sticking things back together while the rest of us worked on figuring out the puzzle pieces.
“How bad do you think it will be if the wrong pieces end up on a gargoyle? I mean, a piece of penis here, a wrong wingtip there,” Jen said, turning over a chunk of stone in her fingers.
“They aren’t very friendly apparently,” I said. “They already have a reason to be seriously pissed with being imprisoned with boners. I imagine getting the wrong pieces wouldn’t improve their moods.”
“Do you think they can hear us?” Lorraine asked, her face a comical mask of horror.
“No idea,” Ben said. He kept glancing at Jen with a faintly shell-shocked look on his face.
“It’s possible.” Mason used extra-thick mortar to push the nose onto one of the gargoyles. “Gargoyles are a secretive species in general, so we know little about them.”
“But they are sentient?” Lorraine asked, finishing a penis she’d been working on.
“They are.”
Luckily, instead of shattering, most of the creatures had broken into just a few pieces. There were a fair number of smaller chunks that were difficult to fit, but eventually we felt pretty confident that all the right parts had been reattached to the correct gargoyle. The results weren’t pretty. In fact, the statues looked like they’d been attacked by rabid grade-schoolers wielding wet clay, papier-mâché, mud, and a lot of bandages. Damon and Mason had used anything and everything to help fix the pieces on. So long as the reconstruction held until the beasties reanimated, we were golden.
“Glad the ones on the front of the house didn’t fall off,” Jen said, using her forearm to rub the sweat from her face. She glanced at her watch and groaned. “Almost three. I’ve got a client meeting at ten. I’m going to be dragging tomorrow. Today. Whatever.”
“Chocolate-covered espresso beans,” I told her. “Those will perk you up like nothing else.”
“Except a night in bed,” Lorraine said.
“Only if I’m alone,” Jen said airily. “Otherwise it’s a lot of exercise. Very nice exercise.”
Ben blushed.
“We don’t need you to finish if you’d like to go rest,” Mason said.
“Oh, hell no,” Jen said. “I want to be here for the fireworks and to see these guys start moving.”
“Me too,” Lorraine said, grabbing a patio chair and pulling it around to sit.
Ben quickly fetched a chair for Jen and then me. Mason took out a marble cutting board and set it down in the middle of the gargoyle ring.
Using a red felt-tip pen, he drew a series of designs across it. Next he drizzled fine black sand over the lines. They glinted in the light. Damon had come to stand behind me, rubbing my neck and shoulders. I leaned back into him, breathing him in. He practically made my mouth water.
“What’s in the sand?” I asked.
He smoothed his thumbs up my neck, digging in to loosen the muscles. “Gold. The sand is volcanic.”
I wanted to ask more questions, but between exhaustion and the gentle kneading of Damon’s hands, I melted into goo.
When Mason finished the pattern, he took a pouch out of his bag of party tricks. He spilled the contents into his hand. They included a variety of stones. None were polished. He picked each one out carefully and placed it on the cutting board. I couldn’t see any rhyme or reason to any of it. Watching only made me aware of how little I knew about magic. As fascinated as I was by what Mason was doing, I wasn’t sure I wanted to learn.
Once each of the stones was in place, he took out a roll of thin copper wire and started cutting ten-foot lengths of it. Once he had fourteen of them—one for each of the gargoyles—he twisted the ends together. A spark of scarlet magic welded them together.
He then took out a bottle and a clear crystal bowl. He set the bowl in the middle of the board and poured the contents of the bottle into it. The liquid flowed viscous and green. Even from several feet away, I could smell it. Astringent and sweet and something else I didn’t recognize.
He wrapped the end of one wire around a protruding bit of each gargoyle. Once he completed that, he set the welded end that connected them all together in the bowl of liquid.
Mason dug in his pocket and took out a pocket knife. He flicked it open and sliced through the pad of his thumb. Blood welled. He held it over the bowl and dripped fourteen drops into it.
Taking out a handkerchief, he wrapped his thumb, then wiped the blade of his knife clean and pocketed it again.
“It would be best if you all stood back,” he said. �
�Damon, Ben, shield the girls in case the gargoyles become violent. I’d prefer if you only attacked if absolutely necessary. Their anger will be deserved, and they’ve suffered far too long already.”
We retreated twenty or so feet away on the lawn. I called Ajax, who’d spent most of the evening exploring the yard and sleeping. He rose from where he’d sprawled on the grass and trotted to my side.
Damon formed a blue bubble around us. Ben’s magic was also blue, but pale, like a summer’s sky. He made another bubble inside of Damon’s then pushed it out until the two merged. I could feel the current of magic in the air. It lifted the hair on my arms and the back of my neck.
Jen elbowed me in the side and leaned over. “What’s up with you and Damon?” she whispered loud enough for everybody to hear. “You two seem awfully cozy.”
I flushed. Before I could say anything, Damon twisted around.
“I’m in love with her,” he said, folding his arms over his chest as if daring her to challenge him.
I was saved from interrogation by a flash outside the bubble shields. Magic vibrated through the air and ground, sending shivers quaking through me.
“Whoa,” Lorraine said, grabbing Jen to steady herself.
Mason stood with his back to us. The blue of Ben’s and Damon’s shields turned Mason’s scarlet magic purple. He stretched out his hands to either side and tipped his head back to the sky. He was saying something, but I couldn’t make out anything. His hands glowed and all of a sudden, streaks of magic leaped out of the ground, targeting his hands. More and more rose up. The glow of power ran up to his shoulders.
The air around us tightened. It felt like a violent storm was about to burst, yet the night sky was clear, stars glimmering like diamonds. Jen and Lorraine took each of my hands and crowded close. Neither spoke, eyes fixed on the mesmerizing demonstration in front of us. Ajax came to sit between my feet, though he didn’t appear to be all that concerned. He was taking this magic stuff all in stride.
Putting the Fun in Funeral Page 25