“You’re making this difficult on yourself, witchling,” I say. “Not to mention driving me fucking crazy, and no, that’s not a compliment.”
“By making healthy food choices?” Perched on the countertop next to me in one of Jude’s T-shirts and a pair of sweats about six sizes too big, she sets down the bottle of maple syrup and crinkles her nose. “Not all of us have our immortality to fall back on. I could actuallydiefrom my poor choices.”
“Ah, yes.” I flip the pancakes on the griddle and sigh dramatically. “I was just reading a study about the rampant increase in deaths by maple syrup. Such a travesty.”
“There’s nothing maple about this stuff, Augustine. It’s high fructose corn syrup and caramel coloring with a dash of BPA from the plastic bottle.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Use jelly.”
She picks up the jelly jar and squints at the label. “It’s not even made with real fruit. By the way, I’m vegan. I think I forgot to mention that.”
“I don’t care. I think I forgot to mention that,” I say, ignoring the surge of relief that my scratch-made pancake recipe doesn’t call for eggs.
It’s the night after the wedding—the night after she struck a deal with Drae to help us steal the Codex—and it already feels like she’s been living with us for months. Her scent is everywhere, her presence filling up all the empty spaces of the manor—spaces I never even noticed needed filling.
She’s taking it remarkably well, too, all things considered. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she accused us of kidnapping her. Now, she’s keeping me company in the kitchen and bossing me around like she owns the place, totally comfortable.
I suppose that just speaks to how difficult her life must’ve been at home. With parents like hers, who the fuck needs enemies, right?
Anyway, not that I’d ever say this out loud, because she’s obviously atotalpain in the ass, but… I kind of like having her around. Been a while since I had a reason to cook, even if it means having to sit through her lectures about all the chemicals in our food and the dangers of drinking the water straight from the tap. It’s not that the boys don’t appreciate a good home-cooked meal—they do. It’s just that we’re hardly ever here to enjoy it. We spend most of our time at our offices in Midtown conducting the expensive, underhanded, and often violent business that allows us to do what we do best: keep Manhattan’s oldest and most vulnerable buildings safe from so-called progress.
If the corporate real estate vultures had their way, the entire city would be a few good demolitions away from turning into a giant condo complex. And that wouldnotbode well for the gargoyles entrusted to our care. The ones who can’t speak for themselves.
So yeah, we do what we have to do. Sometimes that means taking a few compromising photos or trading in secrets people would much rather keep buried—my specialty. Sometimes it means making deals and greasing the right palms—Draegan. Rook’s there whenever we need to hack into someone’s computer files, spy on a corporate network, or change a few bank account numbers. And the other times? The times when threats and blackmail aren’t enough? Well. That’s where Jude comes in.
All in all, the work keeps us busy. Sometimes we don’t even make it back here to sleep, and we’re forced to spend the daylight hours on the roof of our office building. Thankfully, we own the whole damn thing.
We own the whole damn block, actually, and a lot of the surrounding blocks too.
All in a good few centuries’ work.
“Where’s Draegan tonight, anyway?” Westlyn asks. “I thought he was my jailer-in-chief.”
“He’s working in the city, which is where I should be, but I’m not. Do you know why? Because I’m babysitting a nosey, vegan, allergic-to-fun, label-reading witch who’s determined to drive me to an early grave.”
“Who’s fault is that? Perhaps you all should be more discerning about who you kidnap. You need a questionnaire or something. Pre-screening, to make sure your victims are the right fit.”
“Great idea! I’ll keep it in mind for our next hostage situation.”
She shrugs, Jude’s too-big shirt slipping down to reveal a bare shoulder. It’s very cute, the whole thing. The whole Westlyn Averypackage, if you will. I’m trying desperately not to notice.
Also trying desperately not to get hard, because it’s a bit more challenging to hide the evidence when I’m in gargoyle form and the only thing I’ve got covering myself is a loincloth.
She’s lucky I even bothered with that, but Drae made me promise to be civilized.
For now.
“What about the other guy?” she wants to know. “Glasses guy. Rook?”
“Glasses Guy Rook is in the Blackmoor library researching your demon.” I point through the sliding glass door at the restored barn across the lawn. “We’ll meet up with him in a bit.”
“And Jude?” she asks, glancing at her fingernails and feigning nonchalance. “Will he be meeting us too?”
“Miss your loverboy already?” I snap. Comes out a bit more irritated than I mean it to.
“He’s the only one who’s been… well, I won’t say nice. None of you arenice. But he’s… I don’t know.” She lowers her gaze, suddenly fascinated with the label on the strawberry container. “These have pesticides, you know. You should really get organic. Immortality aside, we’re talking about quality of life, Augustine.”
“Let me get this straight. The guy making you pancakes from scratch isn’t nice. The guy who saved your life last night isn’t nice. But you’ve got a thing for fuckingJude? He’s the worst of all of us. Byfar.”
