by Tamsin Ley
“I will return to the garden and allow you to sleep.”
She put a hand on his forearm, hating to let him leave. “I can’t wait until you can sleep in here with me without anyone wondering where you’ve gone.”
The air seemed to heat, and he took a step to bring their bodies together. He looked down into her face, emerald eyes glinting. “I am not used to social interactions. Humans say goodbye with a kiss, do they not?”
She swallowed, all traces of sleepiness leaving her. “They also say hello that way.”
He gave her a wicked grin and pulled her onto the bed.
Winston York the Third was going to be the hero. The statue was definitely a gargoyle, based on the now-missing statue and the outline of a man with wings he’d seen entering the house earlier. Now it appeared the woman who owned the house was engaged in a sexual relationship with the creature—at least, that would be his guess based on the noises coming from inside the house. The Syndicate had always suspected some gargoyles maintained human minions to help hide them in plain sight, but the discovery of a breeding pair would seal his career.
He peeked around the tumbled brick wall he’d been lurking behind. His supervisor had told him to maintain his distance, and although this wasn’t the best hiding spot, it was out of the gargoyle’s line of sight. He was certain the woman was unaware of his scrutiny; she was too caught up in her perverted love interest to notice York.
He glanced toward the heavy clouds, wondering when the rain would start. Why was Headquarters taking so long to send backup? He dialed his cell phone, glad his position here had coverage, and relayed what he’d just witnessed.
His supervisor let out a long sigh. “You were told not to approach the subject.”
“I haven’t alerted them to my presence,” he said. Not since the first day I discovered the gargoyle. But Headquarters already knew about that. York lifted his binoculars again, trying to see through the house’s front window. “I’m simply keeping an eye on things to be sure we don’t lose this opportunity. I need a team behind me.”
“Keep your distance. An agent will be there in the morning and you can go back to your vacation.”
“This is my case,” York said. No way was he going to hand over something as juicy as this to someone else.
“You’re an analyst, York. Not trained for the field.”
“Perhaps not. But I know more about this than anyone.” He’d done his research, kissing up to that red-headed old lady and spending hours of his vacation poring over historic mining ledgers. The gargoyle had arrived with the Martin family in the late eighteen-hundreds. He’d need to go back east to ferret out the trail. “There are things even you can’t dig up on the Internet.”
A short pause, then a sigh. “You can stay and work with the agent. But you hang back and let him do his job. Understood?”
“Understood.” He grinned into the darkness. As long as he got credit, he was happy to allow a field agent to handle the guns. But the gargoyle was his.
The next morning, Mae helped Angie pretend to load Sten into the bed of the pickup and together they drove through town, gathering a lot of stares as they went. At the one and only stop light, Angie spotted Mrs. Hendricks a block away. The head of the Historical Society would be the most put out by the sale of the gargoyle, so Angie wanted to make sure there was no question about what had happened to it. “Turn down here. I want to make sure Mrs. Hendricks sees.”
Mae nodded and did a slow turn, pulling up beside the matronly woman. Angie rolled down the window. “Hey, Mrs. Hendricks!”
“What on Earth are you doing with that statue?” Mrs. Hendricks gaped at the bed of the pickup where Sten was tangled in a net of tie-downs.
“Someone offered to buy him. I have enough money to fix the window now.”
“But that statue has been here as long as the house!” The matron put a hand to her throat. “You can’t sell it.”
Angie feigned concern. “I thought you’d be happy the house was getting fixed. The gargoyle never really fit in, anyway.”
“Dear, the tourists love to see your garden as much as your house. That gargoyle, as you call it, is an important attraction.”
“Too late now.” Angie shrugged and made a regretful face. “They already paid.”
Mrs. Hendricks pursed her lips and shook her head. “Was it Winston York? He came into the museum asking a lot of questions about the statue. I can talk to him about returning it. He seems like a sensible man.”
“No, it was another buyer I’d been talking to before him.” Angie smiled, but it felt plastic. “We’d better go before it gets too late. We have a long drive ahead of us.”
“Where are you taking it?” Mrs. Hendricks’s voice grew muffled as Angie rolled up the window.
“Drive,” she muttered through a clenched smile, and Mae put the truck into gear.
As they rolled out of town, Angie let out a long sigh and prayed Mrs. Hendricks let the matter go instead of trying to track down the non-existent buyer. They drove into Bozeman, stopping at a couple of trucking companies to get quotes about shipping the statue, just to leave a trail in case Mrs. Hendricks pursued it. Then they headed south out of town. On an empty back road, they stopped to drop Sten off. The plan was for him to fly home under cover of darkness.
Angie and Mae loosened the tie-downs, and as soon as the last one was free, Sten broke from his pose, shrugging off the straps and leaping from the truck bed, gripping the blanket they’d used as padding around his waist. “That was a most uncomfortable form of transportation.” He scraped up some dry dirt from beside the road and scrubbed his face with it. “The insects here do not leave a pleasant residue when they are crushed.”
Angie cringed. She hadn’t even considered insects when she’d helped tie Sten in. “Sorry! I should’ve turned you around so at least you weren’t face-first.” She grabbed the roll of paper towels Mae kept in the truck and dampened several with her water bottle before moving in to help him wipe off. “I didn’t even think about it.”
Mae leaned against her truck, arms crossed, and shook her head. “I still can’t get over the fact that you’re not really a statue. How long can you hold still like that?”
“In my duramna?” Sten leaned into Angie’s touch as she scrubbed at a spot on his temple. “Centuries.”
Mae made a choked noise. “How old are you?”
“I lost count after a thousand.”
“Years?” Mae looked like she might faint. “Holy fuck.”
Angie folded the paper towel and wiped at his ear. She’d never really considered that he was exponentially older than she was. What would happen when she grew old and died?
Sten’s wings came around her, creating a cocoon of privacy as he lowered his head to kiss her. Still clutching the damp paper towel against his chest, she relaxed into his embrace. He loved her now, and that was all that mattered. How his embrace could feel like home, she had no idea, but it gave her the same satisfaction she felt in her garden. “I brought you a pair of pants if you want them.”
The mention of pants seemed to heighten the awareness between them, and he hardened against her hip. “I will not be able to wear them and maintain my disguise. But I will take them for later.”
Mae’s voice carried past the muffling effect of his wings. “If you’re stone, how do those wings work?”
In a rush of air, he spread them wide, but kept one arm around Angie, holding her in front of him. He grinned down at her, then without warning, leapt upward. Angie sucked in a breath, fingers scrabbling against his hard chest to find a hand-hold as her feet left the ground.
“Jesus!” Mae shouted.
He carried her up and over to the opposite side of the vehicle with ease. As he set her on her feet once more, Angie threw her head back and laughed. She’d only half-believed him when he said he could fly. Now she wanted to soar through the clouds in his arms.
He looked down into her face. “I have missed flying.”
&nbs
p; “I can see why!”
Mae gripped the edge of the truck bed, staring over it with an open mouth. “Okay, you’ve proved your point. I guess you’ll be fine getting back to Angie’s place on your own. Just keep above the radar. Or below it. Or whatever. Don’t get shot down.”
“I appreciate your concern. I will avoid populated areas,” Sten reassured her.
Angie wrapped both arms around his waist. “I want to fly with you.”
“No way,” Mae said. “You know Mrs Hendricks is going to be knocking on your door as soon as my truck rolls back into town.”
Angie scowled. Mae was right. And it wouldn’t be fair to leave her friend to answer questions. “Fine.” She squeezed his waist tighter. “But promise me we’ll fly together soon.”
“That would please me.”
“All right, love birds. I have other things on my to-do list today, so we need to hit the road.”
An emptiness settled into Angie’s gut. She wasn’t ready to part from Sten. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Do not worry for me. I have done this many times before.”
With a lingering kiss, she pulled away and retrieved his pants before climbing into the truck. Sten moved away from the road, his skin shifting color as he hunkered down and created a shell with his wings. At a casual glance, he looked like any other boulder.
“Think he’ll be okay there until nightfall?” Angie asked.
Mae stared out the window. “According to him, he’d be okay there for a hundred years.” She started the truck and pulled away. “He might not be able to pass as human, but he sure makes a great addition to the rock garden.”
Angie watched out the back window until she could no longer tell him apart from the surrounding stones.
10
Angie puttered around the house, cleaning, watering the garden, waiting for Sten’s return. He wouldn’t be able to take to the air until after dark, and she could hardly wait to have him back. For good. Who would’ve guessed her perfect match would literally be in her own front yard? Around sunset, she went upstairs and took a long bath, shaved, and dressed in her sexiest lingerie. She had no idea if Sten would appreciate it or not, but it made her feel good.
Standing at her window, she gazed down on her garden, feeling nostalgic about her missing gargoyle, but also already considering what she could plant there now. She’d always wanted to grow fruit trees, and some of the new dwarf cultivars might look great in place of the statue. Knowing she might have a few hours of waiting, she lay down across the bed to read one of her gardening magazines.
Around nine the doorbell rang. She frowned and glanced toward the window. Flashing police lights glittered through the leaded panes. Oh, crap. She shot to her feet. What could possibly drag the sheriff out at this time of night?
Grabbing her robe, she threw it over her lingerie and headed downstairs. At the door, Sheriff Rollands stood outside holding a piece of paper. His gaze flitted over Angie’s robe. “Evening, Angie.”
“It’s a little later than evening, Sheriff.” She eyed the uniformed deputy and a stranger in a dark suit standing behind the sheriff. “How can I help you?”
“I’m afraid I have to bring you in for questioning.” He held out the paper. “This here’s a search warrant. That blood on your floor’s been linked to a dead man.”
Angie felt the color drain from her face. A dead man? But Sten wasn’t even human. “Impossible.”
“Come along and we’ll try to get this cleared up.”
She took a step backward, heart yammering against her ribs. “No, I—I can’t.”
Sheriff Rollands handed the paper to the deputy behind him before reaching for the handcuffs at his belt. “Just cooperate. I don’t like this any more than you do.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“The handcuffs are just protocol. We’ll get them off of you at the station.”
Something about this felt really wrong, but she knew the sheriff; he’d get through this with as little effort as possible. She gestured to her short, terry-cloth bathrobe. “Can I at least get dressed?”
The man in the suit spoke. “Afraid not. Search warrant says you are not to remove anything from the premises.”
“I’m in my freakin’ bath robe!”
“Sorry, Angie.” The sheriff’s mouth was a tight line. “They’ve got a warrant.”
“Who is they?” She scowled at the man in the suit.
“FBI.” The man flashed some credentials she barely had time to glance at before the sheriff was cuffing her hands behind her back.
This had to be a mix-up. Sten’s blood wasn’t human, so she’d just keep to her story about the bear, and everything would be fine. She allowed the sheriff to guide her down the porch steps past the FBI guy, who watched her with calculating eyes that made her want to squirm. What if they were here because they’d discovered the blood was alien? Her stomach flipped.
At the sheriff’s Bronco, she hesitated, eyes on the night sky. Where was Sten? What would he do if he came back to find her missing? Or worse, strange people in her house? The sheriff prodded her to duck her head and get inside.
Knowing resisting would only lead to more trouble, she tried to meet his eyes. Maybe he could be reasoned with. He’d been super easy to convince about the bear. But he shut the door firmly behind her, avoiding her gaze, and climbed into the driver’s seat. Angie focused on breathing and watched the house’s lights flick on one after another. Strangers were pawing through all her precious things.
She leaned forward as Rollands started the engine. “Don’t I have the right to be present while they search? I have delicate stuff in there.”
“Warrant gives them the right to search without your interference. They won’t hurt your stuff.” He pulled away, heading down the hill toward the highway.
“What about my rights?” Nobody even knew where she was going. “Can I make a phone call?”
“This is a federal case now. You’ll have to wait until we reach the station.”
As they sped away from New Turnbull toward the county sheriff’s office, her heartbeat seemed to be trying to out-race the Bronco.
Sten pumped his wings, speeding through the night at full speed. His muscles burned, unused to flight after so many years, but it felt good to have the wind against his face and air under his wings again. Avoiding the lights over the small pockets of civilization, he reached the mostly-abandoned town of Old Turnbull, flying over the burned-out buildings and husks of brickwork marking places that had once bustled with miners and their families. He hadn’t seen the community from the air since before the wildfire in the first half of last century had destroyed most of the buildings. Angie’s was the only house in the old town still occupied, and the warm glow of lights behind the leaded glass windows on the first floor beckoned him like a signal fire called shipwrecked men to the beach.
Two unfamiliar cars sat parked in the street near the house, and he slowed. One had law enforcement lights on its roof, but they were dark. The other was a nondescript dark van.
Pulse pounding, he fought the instinct to fold his wings and dive toward the house. Had the intruder returned while he was gone? He couldn’t approach without being seen. He should have known the break-in was no random thing. He’d let his guard down, and now Angie might be in serious trouble.
He circled for over an hour, yet still whoever was inside showed no signs of leaving. Then a ping at his temple alerted him that his sigil was receiving a message. Lar, now? Did it have anything to do with these people inside Angie’s house? How many were there? The bare, rocky mountainside offered no cover other than what Angie grew in her garden, so he couldn’t land anywhere near enough to see inside. He dropped altitude, listening intently for any indication of what was going on, and continued circling. What was happening?
Eventually, two men exited. A man in a deputy uniform said, “See you back at the station, then.” He got into his vehicle and pulled away.
The other man turn
ed his pale face toward the sky, and Sten swerved toward the mountainside, trying to hide his outline against the solid mass of land rather than stars. After a brief scan, the man pulled out a flashlight and directed the beam across the flowers where Sten had stood for so many decades. Sten barely dared beat his wings. A cell phone rang, and the man’s voice floated through the silent darkness as he moved to the van. “No sign of him.” The man continued speaking as he got into the van and drove away.
Was that everyone? Was Angie still inside? Sten dove for the house, landing lightly near the back door to the kitchen. “Angie!” Passing open kitchen cupboards, he charged through the empty dining room to the parlor. The air was full of the residual scent of other people, the floor Angie’d swept once more littered with broken figurines and papers. “Angie?”
He reached the top of the stairs in three huge steps and hurried to her bedroom. All was still and quiet. Her bedcovers had been tossed aside and drawers hung open. Even the pictures that had decorated her walls hung askew. The other Earthians’ scent was everywhere. Lar, they’d taken her.
His sigil pinged him again. He wanted to scream at it to leave him alone. Finding Angie was his main concern. He spun the post open and retrieved the sigil, thrusting it into his pocket. If he hurried, he might be able to catch up to one of the vehicles.
He was downstairs again in moments and took to the air, scouring the roads for the deputy’s vehicle or the van. They were long gone. He ground his teeth, frustrated that he hadn’t chosen to pursue the vehicles. Of course they wouldn’t leave Angie behind.
He had to track down those men, now. The deputy leaving the house had mentioned the police station, but Sten had no idea where that was. Plus, it wasn’t as if he could march in there and take Angie. He needed help.
Turning back to New Turnbull, Sten scoured the streets for Mae’s familiar truck, finally locating it in the driveway of one of the homes. She would know what to do. He swept in next to her vehicle and crouched in the shadows, listening in case someone had spotted him. The proximity of so many Earthians made his stony hide itch, but no one seemed to have noticed him. He crept onto Mae’s covered porch and tried the door. Locked. Glancing over his shoulder for onlookers, he rang the bell, then rang it again for good measure.