Page 30 of Dance in the Stones

“We secured weeks of work in under three hours. I’d say that’s more than good.”

“Malcolm’s crew would’ve needed days to do half of what we managed.” Redford’s hands worked down Damon’s back, finding more knots and kinks and smoothing them away. “Though I suppose super strength and translocation help.”

“Just a little bit.” Damon turned in his mate’s arms, water cascading between them. “Do you think the castle will hold?”

“I think this isn’t the first storm that castle has seen, but as to what we did, then yeah. I’m fairly sure the foundation’s solid now. The scaffolding’s anchored deep enough to survive this. The tarps...” Redford shrugged. “We did everything we could. The rest is up to the Mother.”

Outside, wind howled against the cottage walls. Lightning flashed, illuminating the bathroom in stark white. Thunder followed immediately, close enough to rattle the windows. But Damon was happy to focus on his mate in the shower, the hot water washing away the cold.

They eventually dragged themselves out, dried off, and dressed in warm clothes. Damon’s hellhound wanted food – he had expended a lot of energy and so had Redford. He pulled ingredients from the fridge while Redford built up the fire until it roared, pushing back the damp chill that tried to creep through the walls.

“How hungry are we talking?” Redford asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway, his eyebrow quirked at the ingredients Damon was laying out.

“Extremely.”

“So I should make pasta for eight people?”

“Better make it enough for ten.”

They cooked together, comfortable in the small kitchen despite the tight quarters. Pasta boiled while Damon grilled steaks - three each - and Redford prepared a salad that was more of an afterthought than an actual side dish. Garlic bread disappeared into the oven, and Damon clicked up a bottle of wine.

By the time they settled at the small table, the storm was in full force. Rain hammered the roof, and wind shook the windows in their frames. But inside the cottage, with food piled high and his mate across from him, Damon had never felt more content.

“Malcolm messaged,” Redford said, checking his phone between bites. “It was a clean break, and he’s got surgery scheduled for tomorrow, but he’s expected to make a full recovery.”

“That’s good news.”

“His wife says he’s already complaining about missing work.” Redford smiled. “Apparently he’s worried we’ll mess up his foundation repairs.”

“We literally reinforced his foundation repairs with magic tonight.”

“I don’t think we should mention that part. Let’s just enjoy our food and then maybe get an early night?” Redford winked and Damon grinned. There were worse ways of spending a night in a storm.

Chapter Twelve

“The east tower is fucked.”

Redford stared at Malcolm’s text message, his coffee halfway to his lips. Outside, morning sunlight streamed through the cottage windows, deceptively cheerful after the storm from two nights before. Inside, his gargoyle stirred uneasily, already sensing something was wrong.

“What is it?” Damon appeared behind him, still rumpled from sleep, his hair sticking up in several directions.

“Malcolm says there’s damage to the east tower.” Redford set his coffee down, his appetite vanishing.

“What’s he even doing there? Didn’t he just have surgery?” Damon grabbed for the coffee Redford had already prepared for him.

“Apparently, he was worrying about it and decided he’d be ‘consulting’ on the repairs until he’s allowed to work himself. All I can think is he’s probably driving his wife nuts. But the tower…” Redford looked up, meeting Damon’s eyes. “Malcolm says it’s bad. We need to get over there.”

They dressed quickly and headed up to the castle. The path was littered with branches and debris, and puddles dotted the muddy ground. As they rounded the corner, Redford’s stomach dropped.

The east tower - the oldest and most historically significant part of Duncarrick Castle according to the stories told in the village - had taken a beating. Large chunks of stone had fallen from the upper levels, scattered across the ground like broken teeth. A massive crack ran down one side, splitting the tower from top to bottom. The scaffolding they’d secured the night of the storm had held, but the tower itself...

“Hades’ garden.” Damon moved closer, tracking the damage. “That’s not good.”

Malcolm waited near the tower base, leaning heavily on crutches despite having surgery the day before. His wife hovered beside him, looking worried.

“You should be resting,” Redford said.

“I couldn’t stay away. I’ve been worried sick. You guys did a good job, but this…” Malcolm gestured at the tower with one crutch. “I’ve called Gordon – he’s the structural engineer we use for the tricky bits. He’ll be here within the hour.”