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“We’re here, listening and watching even if we can’t move. You’re not alone. I promise.” If I could make up for the years she spent in her realm without the connections she needed, I would. I’ll have to settle for making it up to her for the rest of our lives. “You’ll never be alone again.” The first foggy glow of sunlight slips over the Borderlands in the distance. “Come give me a kiss before it’s too late?”
She fits herself against my chest, her soft curves already feeling like home. A sweep of her lips over mine brings the tease and tingle of a taste sweeter than any wine, and she steps away again as if putting distance between herself and the magic that steals us for the day.
It’s better this way.
Safer.
Rays of sunshine pierce the grey, pink, and blue sky to bring pale yellow vibrance licking toward Atticus and me. I keep my gaze locked on Rosemarie, wanting her to be the last vision I choose until the stone lets loose its hold later.
I wait for magic to tingle over my skin, for the heaviness to seize.
Except…nothing happens.
Sunlight flickers over my skin, my first brush with its warmth in my long existence.
“What’s going on?” Rosemarie asks, twisting to look at Atticus.
My brother spreads his claws, moving instead of trapped in stone. Daylight ripples over his skin. His gaze meets mine, and the answer’s a beautiful echo of his earlier explanation.
I know. Where it matters, in the deepest part of myself that I’ve hidden for so long. She made this happen. Our coming together did. “Mating magic.”
25
ROSEMARIE
THE HANGED ONE: SOMETIMES YOU NEED A NEW PERSPECTIVE TO MAKE SENSE OF AN OLD PROBLEM
Two hours after the surprise of the twins not turning to stone, I sit in the great hall with them while the sun’s rays pour through the large window. “When you say staying awake through the day hasn’t happened for a gargoyle before, you mean never?” I can’t keep the excitement out of my voice. Heck, I’m lucky not to be bouncing in place with the enthusiasm bubbling through me.
Huey must feel the same because he hops on his little talons and puffs his feathers into an adorable ruff.
“Never,” Atticus says solemnly. He pours over a book bigger than my bookshelf back home, its pages brown at the edges and smelling of age and mildew. With his failing attempts to research first my spine turning into a living glow stick and now their remaining awake during the day, he’s becoming grumpier with each turn of the page.
“Isn’t it cool?” Jace lounges in the sun, soaking up the warmth like a cat. He has his head in my lap, letting me stroke his hair. I can’t help but study how the light plays over the blue strands since I’ve only seen them at night. The glints of turquoise appear almost neon in the sun, and his white lashes look coated in ice. I touch the pointed tips of his ears, catching my fingers on the soft skin there while my knuckles brush the metal hoops and beads that show off his undefeated status.
“Not never.” Rona’s voice surprises me. The brownie walks in and out of shadows with more grace than I make it through an open door most days.
“When did she get here?” Jace asks, and I shrug.
Atticus seizes upon her words rather than her sudden appearance. “What do you mean?”
“The great queens of your legends,” Rona says. “The ones who ruled with their fated mates and had soul guardians?” She gives a pointed look at Huey who flops against the overstuffed couch as if settling in for a nap. “Their mating magic made all sorts of things possible, including day-walking gargoyles.”
“That’s not in the books.” Atticus furrows his forehead, the rows of horns along the ridges of his brow nearly clicking together.
Rona laughs a dusty sound. “Can’t find everything in your books.”
Jace pushes out of my lap, kissing my knuckles as he moves to face the brownie. “How long ago are we talking about?”
“Before your father’s time,” Rona says. “Before his father’s time even. When the Bridge thrived and thrummed with power. Not like now with your weak imposter queen.”
The twins go rigid, their quiet dissent to her casual pronouncement filling the room. Or is it only me who senses their unease? Rona doesn’t appear fazed, beating the cushions as if those pillows had mortally offended her. Huey snores softly.
I change the subject, uncomfortable with the tension. “You two may not need to sleep,” I tell the twins, “but I do. I’m going upstairs.”
“Take my room,” Atticus says at the same time Jace offers his.
“What about the locked one?” Rona asks. “Will you give her the key to that bedroom?”
