“Yes,” he confirms. Good. Being a necromancer is enough without going crazy or hearing talking animals. “But he isn’t a dog.”
“He isn’t?” I look down to the pug. “You aren’t?”
“No, I’m not a dog,” Iggy says primly. “I’m a gargoyle, thank you very much.”
To prove his point, the pug’s body begins to shift. The black fur hardens into solid rock and tiny wings unfurl from his back. One appears slightly bent. The red bow tie stays perfectly in place during the transformation. One horn on his tiny head looks chipped, yet he preens even more in his actual form.
I study the little guy. “Actually, you’re still pretty adorable, just in a different way.” I look at him nervously. “Uh, is it still okay to call you cute?”
Iggy nods nobly. “I’ll allow it.”
“Like I said, ego,” Marlow grumbles. “Going up.” With the warning, he tosses the gargoyle up and the little guy takes off, soaring above our heads. “The glamor is for Iggy to use in human cities. He’s free to be himself here in Concordia, but he’s gottenso used to being fawned over and getting carried everywhere in his pug form that it’s hard to get him to switch back sometimes.”
That’s even more adorable, and I have about a million follow up questions. However, Harper clears his throat and chooses this moment to totally ruin the mood. “Almost time for me to leave.” He checks his watch. “Don’t let anyone in while I’m gone. I’ll text when I’m finished.”
“You’re leaving?” I ask, watching him walk toward the door. “Where are you going?”
“Meeting with Rowan, remember?”
“What?” I forget all about the ‘expert’ and his ‘pug’ and rush toward him. “You’re really going to meet him?”
“He’s my boss and he arranged a meeting. Not going would only make him suspicious,” he reasons, using his no-nonsense cop voice.
“But he’s the bad guy.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he says flatly.
“Oh yeah? Then why don’t we invite Rowan over here for a sleepover? We’ll get a cot, eat popcorn, and watch movies, maybe even play a friendly game of ‘Are You Out of Your Fucking Mind?’“
“Don’t know how to play that one,” he retorts dryly.
“Harper.” I don’t like this one bit. He’s not even listening to me. Then again, it’s hard to force out the words I really want to say: I’m worried about you, you idiot. Would they even make a difference? Harper has his mind made up. Sure enough…
“Rowan’s fishing for information about your untimely demise but won’t want to reveal his personal interests in your case. He has no idea I suspect him. The faster we settle things, the quicker he’ll be on his way.” He opens the door and is already slipping out when he turns back to give me one last look. “I’ll be back soon.”
Then he’s gone. Even if he’s right and Rowan is still going to act like he’s not the bad guy, there has to be another way. Harper’s protecting me. But who’s protecting him?
Fine Line Between Crazy and Genius
Dodger
Ethan Harper’s going to be the death of me. As a necromancer, maybe I can resurrect myself once that infuriating wolf does me in. He’s out there on his own while the rest of us are stuck waiting in the hotel.
“Argh!” The guitar strings squawk off-key as my fingers slip, and I shove the instrument away with a huff.
“Is that tune giving you trouble?” Marlow asks from his sprawled position across most of my bed, leaving me perched on a tiny corner. He doesn’t even seem ashamed of taking up all the room.
“Yeah, something like that,” I mutter.
“Or perhaps it’s not themusicthat’s getting under your skin?”
Bingo. “Nope,” I reply quickly. “It’s definitely the song. And this out-of-tune guitar.”
Definitely anything but Harper and how I’m worried about him.
