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JACE
FIVE OF PENTACLES: FEAR KEEPS US ON THE OUTSIDE LOOKING IN.
From Tarot And Other Tall Tales As Told By Lala
Istalk her again tonight.
Curling my tail so it won’t get caught in the gutter, I grip the roof’s edge with my claws. The good part about a human hospital built next to a church? No one notices a real gargoyle among the manmade ones. It makes spying on a woman who works here ridiculously easy.
Keeping humans oblivious to our existence is the only reason I keep to the church instead of flying to the ledge beside her window for a closer look. Even from here, I can make out Rosemarie’s gentle curves beneath her rainbow-colored scrubs.
She’s tall for a human female, and I try to judge where her head might rest against my chest. This incredible woman deserves someone to care for her as much as she cares for others. If she were mine, I would gather her in my arms right now and tell her how strong she is to work the hospice unit for little pay, less respect, and abuse from her coworkers who all expect her to do their work for them.
Rosemarie’s amazing.
With a soft thud, my twin brother Atticus drops to the rooftop alongside of me, and just like that, any fantasy of Rosemarie loving me vanishes.
“Let me guess,” he says. “Our future gargoyle queen stayed late—again.”
“As she always does.”
“She should’ve left hours ago.” His frown lines cut so deeply it makes me wonder if the horns along the ridges of his forehead stab at his skin. Though knowing Atticus, he’d welcome the pain.
No one could accuse my twin of being soft or caring. An asshole, a cold and manipulative bastard, a masochist? I’ve heard him called all of those. Carved from the same slab of stone, fostered by the same father, and destined for the same purpose as a candidate Diviner, my twin and I couldn’t be any more different.
But this time, I agree with the harsh judgment in his tone, and I don’t need to ask who he’s talking about. Instead, I tip my head toward the window of one of the few rooms with the lights still on where Rosemarie keeps watch over a patient. She stands alone at the bedside, her dark hair tied up atop her head. She staffs the hospice wing so her steady presence and the fluorescent glow can mean only one thing. “Someone’s passing over the Bridge of Souls soon.”
Atticus nods. “They’re lucky to have Rosemarie to help them in these final hours.”
“The hospital asks too much of her. I support her work, but the toll it takes? She shouldn’t be putting in countless hours. She finished college a couple of weeks ago, which means she should be having some fun.” We’d missed the daytime graduation ceremony since we turn to stone whenever the sun’s up, but we’d lurked near a couple of the parties with her friends and family—parties where she’d seemed to be faking her joy at moving on from one stage of her life into the next. “Or maybe she should be in bed sleeping like normal humans do at this time of night.”
“She’s dedicated. Unlike some of us.” He shoots a glare my way.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I don’t add how I understand all too well her need to try endlessly to prove herself. Atticus will always see me as the all play, no purpose waste of space half of us.
“We only have one more night until we take her to our realm and keep proper watch over her. I finalized the arrangement with the dealing demon.”
So that’s where he’s been all night. “Filthy dealing demon. He trades people as if their lives were his to sell. What’d you have to do to avoid signing a bargain?” Since gargoyles are forbidden to openly trade with them.
Atticus tucks his wings tighter against his body, a sure sign that he did something awful to win access to our queen. “I did what needed to be done.”
“Because you couldn’t let this go.”
“Because I won’t let you die. Don’t hate me for having my loyalties and priorities in order, brother.”
I don’t hate him. I hate myself for pushing him to whatever terrible trade he’s made.
Awkward unease stretches between us, and I can’t crack a joke or act a fool to fix this. It’s too much. So I wait for him to offer the most strategic way past the discomfort since he always does.
Sirens blare in the distance, screaming louder as they come closer. He scowls in their direction. “I’ll be glad when we’re back in the Borderlands,” he says. “No annoying sirens or gunshots there.”
“Don’t be such a realm snob. Ours isn’t that great.”
“I don’t hate the entire human realm. It simply isn’t safe for her in this part of town. Or the place she shares with too many roommates to count. Her family’s home is barely tolerable. It would’ve been easier to protect our future queen the past few months if she didn’t insist on spending time in places riddled with crime and sickness.”
I don’t roll my eyes at my twin, but it’s a near miss. “She hasn’t had the money to go anywhere better.”
