When a Gargoyle Awakens

by Price, E A

  When A Gargoyle Awakens

  By E A Price

  Copyright ©2015 by Elizabeth Ann Price

  All rights reserved. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Prologue

  The boy, Holling rubbed his hands together. He would have complained about the cold, but his father wouldn’t hesitate to tell him to be quiet, or, depending on his mood, correct him with a swift backhand. Even at fifteen years old, he could feel the spiraling tension in the air, the fear, the doubt, and the anxiety welling. He couldn’t put a name to it, but he knew that the world was holding its collective breath at that moment. Or at least everyone currently amassed in his family’s garden.

  A crane lifted the stone gargoyle into the middle of the circle that had been carefully prepared. The ground had been salted and burned. Holling didn’t know why but his father was adamant that nothing should be growing on the earth.

  The crane jolted, and the statue dropped to the ground with a gut-clenching thud. His father screamed and hauled the crane operator – his brother and Holling's uncle - to the ground, and punched him repeatedly. The boy scrunched his face to stop himself from crying as another man helped his swaying uncle to his feet.

  His uncle sobbed the words ‘I’m sorry’. His father didn’t listen; he was too busy inspecting every inch of the statue. Satisfied that it was still intact, he waved away the apology and told everyone to prepare.

  His mother appeared and she squeezed Holling's shoulder. She wasn't a woman given to displays of affection. She gave birth to allow the family line to continue, but her interest in her son only extended as far as his magical abilities. She held a scroll in her hand and gave him a small, chilly smile. That was her excited face. His father glared at them until his mother stepped away from Holling. She and three other witches stepped forward, standing in a circle around the statue. His father, after a sharp look from his mother bristled and stepped away from the statue. Holling knew the reason why, but he would never say it out loud. His father didn’t possess enough magic required for the ritual; he could be nothing more than a spectator.

  They performed the ritual quickly. Nothing seemed to happen. The quiet enveloped the group, and everyone shifted uneasily. Impatient and angry, his father stepped forward and touched the statue.

  Before he could blink the statue came to life, and its hand gripped his father’s neck. It roared and with a sickening crunch, his father breathed his last.

  His mother screamed at Holling to run, as the creature snarled and attacked her. It took out all the witches with nothing more than a swipe of its claws.

  Screams assaulted his ears as the boy ran as fast as he could, but he couldn’t outrun a gargoyle. It dropped in front of him, spreading its wings. Its red eyes flashed as it extended a claw-tipped hand to him.

  “Hello, youngling.”

  Chapter One I hate antiques. That singular thought limped through Kylie Summer’s brain as she struggled to maneuver another monstrous item – a hideous gilded mirror adorned with fat cherubs – into her rusty, little compact. She yelped, almost dropping the darn thing, as she chipped a nail. I really hate antiques.

  She stowed the thing inside, carefully strapping it in with more care than she had ever afforded anything unlucky enough to take a trip with her, and slammed the car door out of frustration. Hey, she couldn’t risk the mirror – that thing was bought and paid for by Professor Hardcastle, richest, crankiest old bastard ever to grace the fair town of Devil’s Hang. More commonly referred to as Devil’s Wang by the teenage population.

  As her little car sputtered and huffed its way to his palatial house, Kylie made a mental addition to her to do list. Make better life choices.

  Six months ago, she was living in New York, shacking up with her sweet love of her life fiancé, Brian, a shy computer programmer, and working a cushy job as her best friend’s assistant. But then it all went south. After spending hours running errands for her boss/best friend, Lisa, an up and coming fashion designer, she managed to break a heel on her shoe. Returning home early, she caught Lisa and the erstwhile love of her life en flagrante – doggy style on their bed.

  Brian was mortified, but Lisa decided that it was probably a good thing she found out this way. Bitch. Lisa declared that she and Brian were in love and that it was better for all of them if Kylie removed herself from their lives quietly. Meaning she was now homeless as the apartment belonged to Brian. And she was now unemployed as Lisa decided that it would be too awkward to keep her on as her assistant. That was how she found her way to Devil’s Hang.

  Without any savings, having squandered them on down payments for inconsequential things like a wedding chapel, wedding dress, wedding cake – sigh – she was forced to depend on the kindness of relatives. Well, it was either that or take a night shift at her local Shrimpy Burger. A god awful fast food joint that served shrimp and burgers together on the same bun – yeuch. Considering that one of the tasks of that job was colorfully called rodent retrieval, it was a hard pass on that. So it was back to sponging off her obscure and odd relations.

  Being orphaned at age four and with no close relatives or family friends, Kylie was shunted from one obscure relative to the next. She never did get it straight in her head how any of the oddballs she grew up with were ever related to her parents, but she learned, quickly that being ungrateful for a roof over her head wasn’t going to fly. And while living with Byron, a philatelist with an almost crippling fear of thunder, wasn’t exactly fun for a child, she managed. After all, things could always have been worse. She knew that from watching far too many daytime TV shows when she eight. That was the time she lived with the haughty ‘call me Aunt Dottie’ Dorothy. Aunt Dottie never got the hang of sending her to school; she was far too busy for trivial matters like that. So Kylie had spent her year with Aunt Dottie eating food straight from cans and absorbing hundreds of hours of television while Aunt Dottie did whatever she did. Still, again, it could always have been worse.

  So, finding herself homeless, Kylie had prevailed upon her myriad of obscure relations,
and they had leaped to her aid. Undeniably, they were oddballs – every single one – but she couldn’t fault their generosity, even if it was oddly placed. Kylie could never understand it when she was younger. Now, she assumed it was all down to some grudging sense of familial loyalty. But, it was odd. While none of her strange family members had been unkind to her, they had been watchful of her. Never really treating her like a family member. There were no warm hugs or home-baked cookies for Kylie. Instead they all treated her like a – for want of a better word – specimen. She intrigued them; it couldn’t be denied. But it was more like she was to be studied rather than loved. Strange, but there you have it.

  Kylie had always considered her Great Aunt Bea to be one of the least objectionable. Probably because she was more level-headed than the rest. She wasn’t sure if Bea really was her great aunt; that was just what Bea had asked Kylie to call her.

  Bea ran an antique shop in Devil’s Wang, a small but fairly affluent town in Maine surrounded by some truly breathtaking and lush woodland. The clean air was fragrant, the streets were clean and people were friendly – with the only exception of cranky bastard Professor Hardcastle. And it sucked. Every minute in this veritable paradise made Kylie long for the dirt and smog of New York, where people minded their own business and were more likely to yell ‘what you lookin’ at?’ than throw a friendly smile at you. But, through her own stupidity she was stuck there.

  Unluckily, she didn’t have any relatives in New York – probably the reason why she moved there in the first place. So, she was stuck in Devil’s Hang until she got back on her feet. She griped, groused and generally sneered at all the offensive antiques – she liked her furniture new and from a flat pack, thank you very much. But Bea just clucked her tongue and told her to cheer up; she was, after all, in the happiest place on earth. Yes, if Kylie squinted it was just like Disneyworld, except for all the fun rides and sunny weather.

  Still, it could always be worse. Working for Bea was easy. She was flexible with the hours, didn’t expect Kylie actually to know anything about antiques and all she asked was that Kylie smile at the customers and not beat them with a stick. Bea didn’t seem to mind whether Kylie actually made a sale or not – which she rarely did. It was a queer setup; Bea seemed more interested in acquiring new antiques than selling them. True Bea wasn’t exactly able to pay high wages, and was scatterbrained enough to forget to pay them so often that Kylie ended up reminding her. But Bea allowed Kylie to live in the apartment above the shop for free.

  Kylie turned a corner - as slowly as the car would go for fear of damaging the butt ugly mirror. At that moment cyclists were passing her. She told herself to buck up. Things were a little bleak at that moment, but that wasn’t to say that Prince Charming wasn’t just waiting for her to show up. Who knows what’s around the next corner?

  As she turned onto the long, winding and utterly unnecessary driveway up to old Hardcastle’s house, she found out.

  Chapter Two

  Kylie squeaked and slammed on the somewhat hit and miss brakes of her car. The fussy little vehicle responded with an exasperated squeal and came to a halt. Luckily, they hadn’t been travelling at high speeds. No, that would only be possible if she drove it off a cliff.

  However, unused to ever meeting any other cars on the driveway up to Hardcastle’s McMansion, she generally let her attention wander. The old buzzard didn’t own a car, and visitors were greatly discouraged. So to find a Porsche haphazardly blocking the drive was kind of a surprise.

  She checked on her precious cargo - the mirror was fine - and stomped out of the vehicle as best she could without slamming the door too hard. She feared it would damage the mirror, but there was also always an outside chance that too hard a slam would actually break the door off.

  Trying to quell her irritation she stamped over to the Porsche, a gloriously sleek, little vehicle that she was trying not to be impressed by, and rapped on the tinted window. It wound down a couple of inches to reveal a – she couldn't deny it – pretty handsome man. He had slick blonde hair, cool blue eyes that sparkled and no doubt those clean shaven cheeks could produce dimples on demand. He was like a teen heartthrob, except he was probably now in his thirties but had somehow managed to buck the odds and stay pretty. She was never attracted to the pretty boy type. Most likely because they were never attracted to her. In her experience, pretty men got pretty women and so she hadn’t even bothered to try her luck with them. Of course, if the past year had taught her something, it was that homely men got pretty women, too. So what was left for the homely women like her? Probably a dozen cats and knitting. But, even if she knew she had no chance with this guy, her hoo-ha still appeared to be sitting up and winking. Well, that was what no sex for six months would do for you.

  Something that did put a halt to her soppy lust was the fact that he was completely ignoring her while he jabbered into his cell phone.

  “Ahem!” Kylie exclaimed, deliberately.

  He held up a finger as he continued to speak quietly and rapidly. She had an urge to break the offending digit. Instead, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot, her ire rising in degrees the more his finger bobbed up and down as he talked. She didn’t bother to listen to him; she was more focused on her annoyance.

  Finally, he threw the phone on the passenger seat and stepped out of the vehicle, forcing Kylie to take a step backwards. She lost her footing and almost careened into some stinging nettles. Would have done, too, had it not been for some strong hands that clutched her arms and righted her. She found herself staring into the amused and quite gorgeous face of the stranger. And what witty exclamation did she come up with?

  “Shit balls!”

  The stranger barked out a laugh as Kylie turned crimson. “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

  “Not at all,” he replied, smoothly in a cultured, if perhaps a tad snobby, voice. “My fault.” He released her and righted her clothes, allowing his fingers to graze over her breasts. Uh-huh. She rubbed her arms where his fingers had dug into her flesh and fought back the urge to slap his face.

  He looked her up and down, blatantly. He wasn’t horrified by what he saw, but, breast fondling aside, he hardly seemed thrilled. She felt like a prize pig on display. He thrust his hand at her. “Andrew Hardcastle, how do you do?”

  Kylie shook it limply, trying not to wince at his grip. He didn't exactly have a powerful build, but she could tell that he worked out, and he almost seemed pleased by the slight discomfort on her face. “Kylie Summers.”

  Andrew cocked his head on one side, and Kylie wished to god, she had worn something a little more… more… provocative than a loose fitting skirt and a peasant blouse. Teamed with her tasseled purse she looked like a reject from the ‘70’s.

  “Can I help you with something?” he asked, doubtfully.

  “I’m here to deliver something to Professor Hardcastle.”

  He smiled genuinely and her coochie – the traitor – quivered. “My uncle.”

  “Ah.” She fidgeted with one of the tassels on her purse. “So are you driving up to the house or what?”

  Andrew’s cheek ticked, almost imperceptibly. “I’m waiting for the gates to be unlocked.”

  Kylie blinked and noticed that sure enough the ancient, ten-foot high gates were shut. She’d never seen them shut before. Every time she’d ever come here they’d been open, and she’d sailed right on past them. The professor generally didn’t require locked gates to keep people out. It was a matter of pride that his personality and the rumors about him eating children did all the work for him. What would make him lock them now?

  “Oh, have you tried the intercom?” She’d never used it, but it was there so it must be usable.

  “Yes,” he hissed as his smile slipped a little. “My uncle… he seems to be having a little difficulty opening them.”

  Kylie nodded, uncertain about what was happening. Perhaps they were estranged. Perhaps the professor didn’t want to see his nephew. Ooh, perhaps there was som
e deep, dark scandal. The nosy part of Kylie was intrigued, but the tired part of her just wanted to unload the hideous antique mirror and get the hell out. The old guy was not the sharing kind, and that was absolutely fine with Kylie. The professor’s familial life was a complete mystery to her; she had no idea he had any family until this moment. At least she was taking Andrew’s word for it that he was family. She couldn’t believe that any rational person would claim the professor as a family member unless they were forced to.

  “Let’s, ah, try it again,” she said diplomatically.

  Andrew shrugged, and Kylie pushed the button next to the gate, gritting her teeth at the loud, mechanical whine. It was followed by a familiar, crusty voice. “What?!”

  “It’s Kylie Summers, Professor Hardcastle. From The Birds and the Bea’s Antiques,” – she had nothing to do with that name -, “here to deliver…”

  “Yes, yes, yes. Is that wastrel still out there?” demanded the disagreeable voice tinnily over the intercom.

  “Uh…” Kylie glanced back at Andrew, who was scowling fiercely. “I wouldn’t know about that, but your nephew’s here.”

  The professor harrumphed. “Don’t suppose I have a choice,” he muttered as the gates let out a disturbing creak and started swinging open with painstaking slowness.

  Andrew grinned triumphantly and jumped into his Porsche, ready to burn rubber up to the house. Kylie shook her head and stretched before ambling back to her own mean machine. There was no rush; she figured they had another ten minutes before the gate was done. Plus, she thought it might be a good idea to give the uncle and nephew a few moments alone. She had a love/hate relationship with confrontations, but a morbid part of her actually wanted to see it. However, Hardcastle was her aunt’s best customer and actually seemed like a friend to Bea. Embarrassing him wouldn’t help Bea, and Kylie owed her a lot. So instead, she took a leisurely drive up to the house, hoping that the majority of fireworks were over by the time she got there.