Page 27 of Bumpy, the Gargoyle Slayer

But all I care about is how few hours are left to me.

Which can only mean one thing: my fake girlfriend has become real to me. And I don’t know when it happened. Was it when she spilled her glass of champagne down the President’s front, before turning and winking at me, causing me to cover up my laughter with a nasty cough? Was it while she made me sit through nights of decorating and cooking shows on television, where I discovered that yelling at the hosts can release something twisted inside me? Especially when the one guy said, “This recipe is so simple, even a child could make it,” and then proceeded to lay out a fifty-point plan of attack?

Or maybe it was during those hours every night when I gave up on all my good intentions, knocked on our connecting door, and was welcomed between her thighs. Just my tongue, lips, and hands so far, but I swear, making her come is all that’s kept me going.

Not that she hasn’t offered to reciprocate, but I’m aware of our power dynamic. I don’t want to take advantage of her. Besides, curling up around her every night has healed some part of me I didn’t know was bruised. When she’s wrapped close to me, I feel peace.

Merde, I think I love her.

No, I don’t think. I know. And I’m doomed. Not only is she human with a short shelf life, not to mention a different Kind so that the creating of children is forbidden, but I’ve got my life to get back to. The summons might come from the cathedral at any moment. They’re still rebuilding the small pieces, but once they’re done, they’ll surely notice they’re down a few gargoyles. They’ll chat with the angels, who will then point me back to my destiny.

A destiny that isn’t Bunny. That can never be Bunny.

“How’s your world domination plan going?” she asks, huffing as we hike up the mountain behind my home. The leaves have begun to turn. She won’t be here in October when the full breadth of the riotous colors bloom, but at least I can give her the beginning.

That’s all we have. Beginnings. And too soon, an ending.

“Global banking initiative where currency is controlled by each individual user, backed by precious metal reserves so that when the computers go down…”

“If they go down.” She sends me a smile.

“When they go down, people will still have assets upon which they might rely. Even if there’s a run on the vaults, which we’ll set up in each country, gold will be available for those who need tangible lucre. No more fiat currency, and all of it anonymous.”

She stops, and when I come up next to her, she wraps her arm around mine and leans her head into my bicep. “You’re so cute when you’re being all billionairey.”

“I don’t think that’s a word.” But I preen anyway because she thinks I’m cute.

“I like you all gray like this. That makeup you wear flattens your features and makes you look a little detached.”

“I am detached.” But is it normal to feel such delight that I’m half-afraid butterflies will spring from me into flight?

“You’re a pussy cat.” She separates from me and we continue trudging up the small path that my endless walking journeys have made through the forest. Flight is convenient, but before Bunny, I required a lot of marching to ease the tension in my veins. I can’t imagine what I’ll do afterward.

For a while we walk in silence, but when we crest the hill, I take her to the wooden log bench I had installed some feet from the edge of the cliff. “I like to sit here and look out over the valley.” When I sink down, she follows.

“It’s gorgeous.”

It is, but I’m not looking at the fall leaves. I’m looking at her—her flushed cheeks, the slight sheen of perspiration, the way her golden hair glitters in the late-September sunlight.

Suddenly, she turns to me. “What are you going to do after you succeed at world domination?”

“Global currency isn’t… never mind.” I hesitate, but I know her well enough now that I trust her. I might as well tell her what I’m thinking. “I’m waiting to be called back to duty.”

Her blue eyes widen and then shutter. It’s as if she’s pulled curtains over her emotions. “Oh.” She looks back at the beautiful vista spread before us. “France.”

“Yes. Paris.” But when the silence grows between us, I add, “You were right about me being away when the cathedral burned. You were right that I feel guilty for not being destroyed along with some of my family and friends. But none of that matters. I’ve got a destiny to fulfill.” Even if the work will occupy me forever. Even if I can’t imagine just sitting there again, letting pigeons poop on me, watchful from an interior distance. I’ve done so much living since Notre Dame burned. I don’t know how I’m going to manage turning back into stone for decades at a time.

She shuffles her feet. “I’ve got a destiny, too. Which is weird, when you think about it.”

“Why weird?”

Her shoulders ripple. “Just, if I’m being honest, I don’t think I have the personality for slaying, not really.”

“You jumped on that vamp a few weeks ago. Raced right towards danger without a thought in your head. And what about that demon you sent back to Hell yesterday?”

“He really shouldn’t have been shopping at the mall. Did you see the way he looked at those girls?”

“I saw. Good move with the holy water.”