guy…mind you, he was
trying to gain entry into the building Grav guarded. Which is a bit of a no-no where gargoyles are
concerned.”
“Gargoyles…guard,” Cal grou nd out, his voice like a landslide. His knuckles cracked as his free
hand snaked out to grab Kenneth around the throat.
“They do indeed.” A little worried about the shade of purple Kenneth had turned, I reached out
to pat Cal’s arm. “You want to ease up o n the death grip, sweetheart? I’d hate for you to get any of his
pulverized flesh under your fingernails.”
He slid me a sideways glance, which was code for his head turning on his neck with the squeal of
rock across more rock to look at me quizzically. I suddenly had an insight into what building Stonehenge
must have been like.
“You want I should…” he paused for a moment. Every paranormal species is different. Vampires
tend toward verbal diarrhea, werewolves are vain, incubus…yeah, that one goes without sa ying.
Gargoyles, though, gargoyles are careful with their words and actions. Mind you, if I lived in a world
where treading on someone’s foot tended to pulverize said appendage, so would I. It saved on the “Is
this your hand? Oh, so sorry. It’s amazing what they can do with restorative surgery these days, isn’t it?”
conversations. Most gargoyles weren’t that garrulous. They picked their words with care and we were
already pushing the upper conversational limit with three sentences.
“You want I should blow him?”
Kenneth passed out.
Trying not to smirk, I patted Cal’s stony forearm again. “I think you mean blow him away, chick.
It’s okay, just go put him in the lobby. The doorman’ll put him in a taxi when he comes around.”
***
It didn’t take Cal long to drop Kenneth off and get back up to my flat. I’d barely emptied half of
what was left in the vodka bottle before he reappeared at the front door. Carefully closing it with a click
behind him, he walked into the main room with the air of a man facing the gallows.
Sitting in one corner of the sofa opposite the door, I looked my fill. In human form, Cal was a
looker. Not so good-looking that bimbos and modeling scouts fell over themselves, but with a body like
a Greek god and a passable face…yeah, I’d do him. Seriously.
“Come in, sit down. Did our little friend wake up at all?”
I kept my voice level and calm. The last thing anyone wants is a skittish gargoyle in their
apartment. Especially when they have a tendency to hulk out and stampede to the nearest exit,
regardless of any furniture in their way. One early job I’d arranged was for an eminent businessman’s
daughter. With previous death threats and kidnap attempts, we’d pulled out all the stops. The family
dog was a were, the butler a vamp and we’d put our newest gargoyle recruit on watch outside the girl’s
bedroom window. The place was locked up six ways to Sunday.
What we hadn’t accounted for was the fact the kid was fascinated by the “stone man”. From
what we gathered after the event, she’d invited (read, ordered, in that way only five-year-old girls can)
him in for a tea party. Unfortunately, the TV had been on in the background and our gargoyle had been
subjected to an episode of Barney the Dinosaur without any of the necessary training. We found him
three blocks away with the kids pink bed frame around his neck. Poor thing is a prison guard now and
won’t go near children.
Cal shook his head and gingerly sat on the edge of the sofa. When it didn’t collapse under him,
he sighed in relief and looked all around the room before finally meeting my gaze. His look was wary, as
though he’d done something wrong.
“Cal. Why were you outside my flat?”
His gaze sidled away as a stripe of red decorated his cheeks. Suspicion welled up inside me. “This
isn’t the first time, either, is it, Cal?”
I took a sip of my drink and let it burn all the way down as I waited for his answer. He studied his
fingernails for a
trying to gain entry into the building Grav guarded. Which is a bit of a no-no where gargoyles are
concerned.”
“Gargoyles…guard,” Cal grou nd out, his voice like a landslide. His knuckles cracked as his free
hand snaked out to grab Kenneth around the throat.
“They do indeed.” A little worried about the shade of purple Kenneth had turned, I reached out
to pat Cal’s arm. “You want to ease up o n the death grip, sweetheart? I’d hate for you to get any of his
pulverized flesh under your fingernails.”
He slid me a sideways glance, which was code for his head turning on his neck with the squeal of
rock across more rock to look at me quizzically. I suddenly had an insight into what building Stonehenge
must have been like.
“You want I should…” he paused for a moment. Every paranormal species is different. Vampires
tend toward verbal diarrhea, werewolves are vain, incubus…yeah, that one goes without sa ying.
Gargoyles, though, gargoyles are careful with their words and actions. Mind you, if I lived in a world
where treading on someone’s foot tended to pulverize said appendage, so would I. It saved on the “Is
this your hand? Oh, so sorry. It’s amazing what they can do with restorative surgery these days, isn’t it?”
conversations. Most gargoyles weren’t that garrulous. They picked their words with care and we were
already pushing the upper conversational limit with three sentences.
“You want I should blow him?”
Kenneth passed out.
Trying not to smirk, I patted Cal’s stony forearm again. “I think you mean blow him away, chick.
It’s okay, just go put him in the lobby. The doorman’ll put him in a taxi when he comes around.”
***
It didn’t take Cal long to drop Kenneth off and get back up to my flat. I’d barely emptied half of
what was left in the vodka bottle before he reappeared at the front door. Carefully closing it with a click
behind him, he walked into the main room with the air of a man facing the gallows.
Sitting in one corner of the sofa opposite the door, I looked my fill. In human form, Cal was a
looker. Not so good-looking that bimbos and modeling scouts fell over themselves, but with a body like
a Greek god and a passable face…yeah, I’d do him. Seriously.
“Come in, sit down. Did our little friend wake up at all?”
I kept my voice level and calm. The last thing anyone wants is a skittish gargoyle in their
apartment. Especially when they have a tendency to hulk out and stampede to the nearest exit,
regardless of any furniture in their way. One early job I’d arranged was for an eminent businessman’s
daughter. With previous death threats and kidnap attempts, we’d pulled out all the stops. The family
dog was a were, the butler a vamp and we’d put our newest gargoyle recruit on watch outside the girl’s
bedroom window. The place was locked up six ways to Sunday.
What we hadn’t accounted for was the fact the kid was fascinated by the “stone man”. From
what we gathered after the event, she’d invited (read, ordered, in that way only five-year-old girls can)
him in for a tea party. Unfortunately, the TV had been on in the background and our gargoyle had been
subjected to an episode of Barney the Dinosaur without any of the necessary training. We found him
three blocks away with the kids pink bed frame around his neck. Poor thing is a prison guard now and
won’t go near children.
Cal shook his head and gingerly sat on the edge of the sofa. When it didn’t collapse under him,
he sighed in relief and looked all around the room before finally meeting my gaze. His look was wary, as
though he’d done something wrong.
“Cal. Why were you outside my flat?”
His gaze sidled away as a stripe of red decorated his cheeks. Suspicion welled up inside me. “This
isn’t the first time, either, is it, Cal?”
I took a sip of my drink and let it burn all the way down as I waited for his answer. He studied his
fingernails for a
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