Page 3 of Fated to the Gargoyle

My savings stretched to a decent apartment, and every inch of it is mine. No roommates, no notes about dishes in the sink. The first night, I lay there staring at the ceiling, listening for footsteps that weren’t coming. Just me and the hum of the refrigerator. It’s lonely if I think about it too long, so I try not to.

If it doesn’t work out, I’ll go home to my parents. That’s what you do in this economy when things don’t pan out. You hold your head down, pack your car, and move back. No shame in that. But God, I don’t want to. I really, really don’t want to. I want this to be the place where I finally stop running and start building.

I keep Shadow Suds in the back of my mind, too. That man is too weird for me to think I’ll be at the diner long term. I give it six months before his paranoia drives me up a wall.

I pull my keys out of my pocket and walk to my car. The air up here is different from LA, cleaner and colder, and it smells like pine trees and wet dirt.

I unlock the door and get in, toss the apron on the passenger seat, and sit there with my hands on the steering wheel, grinning at nothing. First week in a brand-new town and I already have a job and an apartment with my name on the lease.

Andy thinks I’m fated and won’t last. He can keep that little sign taped to his window all he wants. I’ll be back tomorrow at five with my hair up and my game face on, and I’ll show that man what six years of experience looks like.

And if some shifter does walk through the door and claim me? Well. That’s a problem for future Treasure.

2

SOREN

Iland on the roof of Stanley’s Diner hard enough to rattle every joint I have. My claws scrape the weathered shingles before they catch. The flight over open water took everything we had, with nothing but wet crags to sleep on between stretches, and my body aches in places stone shouldn’t ache. Our first night in Shadow Wolf Creek, and we’re already running on fumes.

Sable lands beside me, and my older brother settles onto the roofline like we didn’t just cross an ocean.

Show-off.

I stretch my wings to work the stiffness out. “Three nights. Nothing but salt water and the occasional unfortunate fish.”

“It could be worse, little brother. Remember the migration across the Sahara?”

I grunt. I was finding sand in my joints for months afterward.

Below us, Shadow Wolf Creek spreads out in low warm patches of light, a scatter of buildings tucked into a valley between mountains. The shopping center anchors the human settlement, and this roof has a perfect view of all of it.

I draw a long breath through my nostrils. Pine comes first, sharp and cold, and then the wet soil beneath it. The thick musk of shifters is worked deep into the ground under both. It isn’t a trace or a passing scent, either. This town is saturated with them.

“Evergreen, soil, and shifters,” I say. “Many of them.”

“Just as the rumors suggested.” Sable’s eyes narrow.

My wings pull flat against my back. My parents were shattered by human hammers and chisels. My mother fell with her wings still half-spread, and some of the clan weren’t fully in stone sleep when the attack came. Their screams have never left me. My claws dig into the roof and leave deep gouges.

“We shouldn’t stay long,” I warn him. “You know what happens when we linger.”

“We need rest, Soren. Just a few days.”

He’s right, and I hate it. We are guardians, watchers, protectors. But who protects us when dawn comes and we turn to stone, easy pickings for any human with a grudge and a sledgehammer?

I settle into the crouch with the best view of the parking lot. “One week. Then we move on. We still have clan to find.”

Twelve of us left the old country, and Sable and I are the only pair who stayed together. The rest scattered across continents in search of somewhere that wouldn’t try to destroy them. Maybe they found safety. Maybe their stone bodies sit in pieces in some museum basement, labeled as medieval curiosities.

Sable takes position on the opposite corner of the roof. We’ve played this game for a century.

Then this town starts showing us things I have no name for.

A wolf shifter in his human form holds the hardware store door for an elderly human woman, and she pats his arm on her way through.

“Look at that,” I murmur. My claws curl over the edge of the roof.

Across the street, a bear shifter loads lumber into a truck while he chats with a human man. The bear is massive even in his mostly human shape. The two of them laugh at some private joke and clasp hands before parting. My wings loosen against my back.