Page 47 of The Gargoyle and the Songbird
Ecco’s hand tightens in mine, and I remember her recounting her previous encounter with human police. Their dismissal, their lack of understanding, clearly shook her.
But these officers, used to sinister magical threats, grasp the gravity of the situation immediately.
“Ma’am, can you walk us through what happened?” the troll officer asks as the pixie flies around the room, making notes on a pad.
Ecco nods, her words spilling out in a trembling rush as she describes spotting the stalker.
I chime in, my voice tight as a bowstring. “They were here, in this room. They left behind a unique smell…” I describe it as best I can.
The officers exchange meaningful glances, a silent communication born of years of partnership. Their expressions darken with each detail, the pieces falling into place like tumblers in a lock.
“Definitely sounds like enchantment at work. We’ll need to dust for prints, check for any magical signatures,” the pixie officer muses, her quicksilver eyes scanning the room.
The troll nods, reaching into his pocket. “In the meantime, we have something for you.”
He extends a small device, sleek and black, thrumming with latent energy. A beacon, he explains, to be activated the moment the stalker resurfaces.
“Hit this button, and we’ll be on them faster than a hellhound on a scent,” he promises, the words as solemn as any oath. “You protect your girl, gargoyle. Leave catching the perp to us.”
I accept the beacon with a curt nod, the weight of it heavy in my palm.
Ecco presses closer, her warmth seeping through the chill of my stone skin. I meet the officers’ gazes, a silent vow passing between us. A vow to keep her safe, to bring this twisted soul to justice.
As the police depart, their assurances of swift action ringing in our ears, I tuck Ecco further into the shelter of my body, wrapping a wing around her protectively again.
I will keep her safe. Even if it means shattering every rule, every teaching of my clan. Even if it means unleashing the full, terrifying power of what I am.
For her, I would move mountains.
The walkback to the Moonflower Inn seems like an eternity compressed into a few short blocks. My jaw is clenched so tightly it hurts. I scan our surroundings, my eyes piercing the lengthening shadows with hawklike intensity, searching for any hint of a threat.
Beside me, Ecco moves with a fluid grace, her steps light and quick. But the tension in her shoulders, the tightness around her eyes, betrays the fear she’s trying so hard to conceal.
Internally, I seethe. I’m angry at myself, for not being faster, stronger, more vigilant. For failing her, even for a moment.
And angry ather, too.
At her stubbornness, her insistence on putting herself in harm’s way for the sake of a silly children’s choir. Hadn’t I told her this was too much of a risk? Does she not understand the danger?
But even as the thought crosses my mind, I know the answer. She’s not used to this, to living a life restricted by fear and caution.
To her, I’m an inconvenience, a shadow looming over her bright, vibrant world.
The knowledge stings, a barb lodged beneath my skin.
As we enter our shared suite, the whimsical enchantments—fragrant rose petals drifting fresh from the ceiling each time we walk through the door, the crackling, romantic fire in the hearth—only serve to heighten my agitation.
The jarring contrast between the room’s amorous atmosphere and the tension building between us is almost laughable.
I slam the door shut, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot.
Ecco whirls on me, her eyes flashing with indignation. “Gods, what iswrongwith you? Don’t tell me you’re seriously mad at me right now?”
The accusation in her tone raises my hackles. I take a step forward, my body looming over hers, my voice a low, dangerous growl.
“Yes, Ecco, Iammad! Do you understand now why I was so worried about this choir practice? Why I’ve been working so hard to try to keep you safe?”
My words hang in the air between us, heavy with all the things I’m not saying. The depth of my fear for her, the desperation clawing at my throat.