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“I’m the one who dropped them,” I mumbled, not quite addressing the ownership issue.
He studied me. “You don’t look like the same person. Prove your ownership.”
“How? You want me to come back here wearing my slip? I’ve got the same hair.” I pulled off my cap and hoodie, yanking my hair out of the shirt’s neck so it cascaded down around my face and over my shoulders. Not a lot of people had hair my color. My mother certainly didn’t, so somewhere my dad must be red-headed.
“Prove your ownership, not your identity. There was a magical marking left by the person who is the rightful possessor of them. Show me your magic, and I’ll be able to match them.”
For a second I contemplated what I could possibly do to mimic Percival the Terrible’s magic, but it would never work in a million years. “My… friend is the one who had the books, but I was borrowing them. I don’t do that kind of magic, because he’s much more gifted than I am, but I promise, I’m legit.”
He steepled his fingers and studied me with those creepy golden eyes. I had the feeling that he was going to erupt into a werewolf at any moment. “Is that right?”
“So, can I have the books, please?”
He tapped the flier with a finger. “Until Tuesday, so let your friend know where he can get them.”
“I don’t want to bother him after he was kind enough to let me borrow them.”
“Not kind, stupid. He was stupid to let someone like you, someone who runs through Song wearing practically nothing with blood that sings of sweetness and wild magic, have his books. You came close to death three times last night, more since you went to the alley this morning. Did you see her?”
“Her?”
“The vampire? You did, or you wouldn’t smell like that and look like that. She has murdered fifty-two people in the last year. Granted, her targets are usually male, but she would make an exception for someone as foolhardy as you.”
I bristled. “Look, maybe I didn’t make the best choices last night, but it’s hardly your place to insult me. I’m not stupid.”
He smiled, and I saw his fangs. “I am not interested in dealing with the paperwork that comes from having a young girl disappear in my precinct. You mean too much paperwork to me, so it is my place to do anything in my power to wake you up to the fact that you can’t go up against something like me with nothing more than your righteous indignation. At least bring a gun loaded with silver bullets next time, or your mother. No one would touch the healer.”
I winced. “What do you know about my mother?”
“She fed you something this morning that will deter most of Song’s inhabitants, at least those who would eat you. You may leave. Don’t come back without the spell’s originator or I’ll be irritated.”
“What if I came with my mother?”
“Then I would serve her tea and be charming, hoping that she would agree to go on a date with me, but you would not get the books.”
I scowled at him. “You’d try to date my mother? Why?”
“If she came into Song, into the Curse, it would be my duty.”
“That makes no sense.”
He stood up and came around the desk, all rippling muscles beneath his plaid vest and plaid jacket. Wow. So much plaid, and none of it matched. Maybe he was the one cursed, with terrible fashion sense or a plaid addiction. “I am not troubled about being found incomprehensible to a fifteen-year-old.”
“I’m twenty! Whatever. Sure. I’ll just bring him next time, forget how incredibly inconvenient it will be for all of us. You’ll have to see me again, I’ll have to see you again, he’ll have to see both of us, but whatever. At least my mother won’t be here. She’s never coming to Song, so you can keep your dating duties to yourself.”
I muttered and left, beyond frustrated. Also, being told that the vampire who offered information in exchange for your blood has murdered fifty-two people kind of makes you think. How could I get Percival the Vile to come into Song and retrieve the books for me? Could I bribe him, blackmail him, torture him? I could try all those things, actually had in the past, but he never reacted the way I expected. Maybe Rynne could come up with a spell to control his mind, or the vampire could seduce him, lure him down to Song, and then, after he got the books, she could make him number fifty-three. Now that would be a happy ending.
Chapter
Three
Suds and buckets. I was mopping the upstairs halls that night, every one of the dozen classrooms, which meant first I had to stack desks and chairs and then with the mopping. It was fine except that I broke a nail to the quick and bled into the mop water. My blood didn’t do anything interesting or magical, not like dragon blood or gargoyle blood. Did gargoyles have blood? Did they need to breathe? Did they even have any organs? Did they actually eat at all, much less chocolate?
I pulled out my phone and typed a few notes in it. My list was probably too long for just one night. I needed to prioritize my questions. Would he actually come? Was he just a dream? My stomach cramped, either from not having time to eat or out of nerves. It was probably nerves. How could I not be nervous when I had the possibility of seeing a gargoyle for the second time? Maybe I should try to rig a trap so that I could keep him. No, that wouldn’t work. Also, wouldn’t be ethical, but mostly the first.
I finally finished the last room, and was pushing the mop bucket down the hall towards the janitor closet when Mrs. Hanley came marching up the stairs like a woman on a mission, when I was the only person on this floor at this time of night. It was eleven thirty, and I wanted to finish up quickly so I could get home and make some kind of cute dining setting before the gargoyle came. What was his name?
Mrs. Hanley’s scowl was thunderclouds sucking on rotten lemons. “Gabriela, did you clean the library last night?”
