Only this one’s worse, because I’m pretty sure it wasn’t some random, no-name demon stalking my dreams.
It was Zorakkov.
Rubbing the chill and the last vestiges of his touch from my arms, I sit up in Auggie’s bed, the room slowly coming into focus.
Outside, the moon shines bright—I slept longer than I meant to. Lucinda and Huxley are perched on the windowsill, quietly keeping watch.
“Good morning, my loves. Or rather, good evening.” I give them each a few strokes between their wings. “Were you two here the whole time I slept?”
Huxley shivers with pleasure, and Lucinda playfully nips my thumb.
“Thank you. I appreciate the company.”
Feeling a bit better, I stretch and get out of bed, wrapping myself up in a sheet and checking out the bedroom. I didn’t pay much attention to the decor when Auggie first carried me in here after our library adventures last night, and between the threesome and intense conversation that followed, the walls were no more than photo-covered background noise.
But now, I check out the pictures in earnest.
They’re everywhere—framed black and white shots in a variety of sizes from wallets to posters, mostly hung on the walls, some displayed on the dressers. Every single image was shot at night, all featuring the same subject matter.
Gargoyles.
There are only a few of the guys themselves—one of Rook bent over a book in the library, his brow creased in concentration. Draegan pouring a drink at the bar in the study, glaring at the camera as if he’s one second from smashing it. Jude showing off a carved white rose that was probably made out of a femur.
But most of his collection showcases the stone variety of gargoyle. I recognize a lot of the buildings as famous locations from around the city, while others are completely new to me. There are several from the Blackmoor Cathedral as well—the same ones I wished upon the night of my wedding.
“Don’t keep me in suspense, witchling,” Auggie’s deep voice rumbles from behind me, and I turn toward him, a smile stretching across my face. “What do you think of my work?”
“You shot all of these yourself?”
“Guilty.”
“They’re amazing! Seriously, Auggie. They should be in a magazine.”
“Some of them are.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Not the ones of the guys, of course. But the architectural ones. Every few decades, the human obsession with gargoyles and grotesques kicks up again, and there’s a call for them in architectural and travel magazines. I try to submit them when I can.”
“Do they pay you?”
“Yes—I put it all back into our restoration projects. The way I see it, these guys deserve it more than I do. I’m just the guy behind the camera, but they’re…” He trails off, a hint of sadness in his eyes as he reaches past me to straighten one of the frames—a shot of a gargoyle with his wings outstretched, perched on the cornice of a building as if he’s about to leap off and swoop down on the unsuspecting pedestrians below. “Anyway, it’s a good opportunity for me to share my love of photography with humans without actually having to talk to any of them.”
“Are all these gargoyles entrusted to your care?”
“Every single one.”
I scan the room, trying to get a sense of how many there are. Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. I don’t even know if he’s photographed all of them.
But then I notice something else.
“They’re all male,” I say. “Unless this is one of those things where the females look identical to the males. Like dwarves?”
He smiles, but it’s not a happy one—his dimple barely makes an appearance. His eyes mist, and then he lowers them, shaking his head. “There aren’t any female gargoyles,” he says softly. “Not real ones, anyway. There never were.”
“What? But—”
“So.” He looks up at me and takes my hands, his smile firmly back in place. Still no dimple, but it’s clear whatever’s going on in his head, he doesn’t want to share it. “How are you feeling? Did you sleep okay?”
