Page 33 of Dance in the Stones

“True, even on those days when staying in bed with you is tempting, too.” Redford stroked down Damon’s face. “Thank you,” he added, then sighed as his phone buzzed.

“It’s Gordon’s report. That was fast.” Redford skimmed through it, noting every dire warning and the strong argument for demolition. Tapping with his thumbs, he composed a careful response, thanking Gordon for his thoroughness and requesting time to consider all options before making a final decision.

“Malcolm’s going to ask questions,” Damon said.

“I’ll tell him I’m consulting with preservation specialists, looking into grants, and exploring every avenue before I give up on the tower.” All of which was technically true, just not in the way Malcolm would assume. “He’ll understand. He’s been restoring historic buildings long enough to know how hard these decisions are.”

They walked back toward the cottage, Redford’s mind already cataloging what he’d need for the foundation work. There were specialized mortars, steel reinforcement pins, and replacement stones that matched the original granite.

He would also need to speak to other gargoyles – Redford had spent decades in offices of glass and steel, and would need to go back to his roots. But his gargoyle had good instincts, and there were plenty of written records his kind had kept for hundreds of years about stone construction and maintaining places just like the one he was trying to save.

“So, when do we start?” Damon asked as they reached the cottage.

Redford looked back at the tower, silhouetted against the bright sky. “Tonight, after dark, when no one can see what we’re doing.”

“You’re making a good argument for having an afternoon nap, mate of mine, but…” Damon held up his hand as Redford reached for him. “I know what you’re like. Let’s make some lists, empty that brain of yours onto some paper first, and then we’ll see what else comes up. What do you say?”

“You have the best ideas.” And Redford would definitely be making sure Damon knew how grateful he was…after he’d made some notes and had another coffee.

Chapter Thirteen

“Do you feel that?”

Redford paused mid-step on the tower’s spiral staircase, one hand pressed against the cold stone. “What am I feeling for?”

“It’s magic, and it’s not yours.” Damon ran his palm across the granite blocks. Unlike most paranormals, hellhounds weren’t affected by magic – they couldn’t be cursed, hexed, or spelled - but they could sense it. And right now, his hound was definitely sensing stuff. “There’s something woven through these stones, and it feels like it’s been there for a long time.”

They’d waited until well past midnight to begin their work, when even the most curious villager or occasional tourist who might pass by would be asleep. The crack Gordon had pointed out looked even more ominous in the darkness.

Redford placed both hands against the wall. After a long moment, he sucked in a breath. “Stone and sky, you’re right.” He moved along the wall, touching different blocks. “It’s faint, definitely degraded by time and weather, but it’s there. I think it’s protective wards, but if that’s what it is, they’re very old.”

“How old are you thinking?”

“Centuries?” Redford’s fingers traced invisible patterns. “Whoever cast these had serious power because the magic itself has soaked into the stone.”

Damon’s hound prowled beneath his skin, more curious than upset by it. “Is that why the tower hasn’t collapsed completely? Do you think the wards have been holding it together?”

“I think that’s part of it. The physical structure of the tower is still unsound, but yes, these wards have been buying more time.” Redford met his eyes. “Which means someone who wasn’t me or any of my kin, most likely, thought this tower was worth protecting.”

Their climb up the stairs took longer now as they were both actively searching for traces of the ancient magic. Damon found it easiest to detect where the stone had cracked or crumbled. It was as if the wards had concentrated their remaining strength on the weakest points.

“Here.” Redford stopped on the third-floor landing. “Can you sense this? It seems the magic’s stronger here.”

Damon pressed his hand against the wall where Redford indicated. The area looked the same as the rest of the tower, but it didn’t feel the same. It took a moment, but then Damon worked out why.

“There’s a void behind this wall,” Damon said. “It’s only a small one, maybe three feet by three feet, but it’s definitely there.”

“A hidden chamber?” Redford ran his hands across the blocks. “I can’t find a mechanism for it. There’re no loose stones or hidden latches anywhere.”

“Because you’re not meant to find it the normal way.” Damon stepped back, studying the wall. “Whoever built this knew that some of us could translocate.”

Redford’s eyebrows rose. “You think it’s only accessible by translocation?”

“I’m about to find out.” Damon focused on the void he could sense, visualizing the space beyond the stone. Translocation required a clear destination, somewhere he could picture or had seen before was easiest. It was always more difficult, jumping blind into an unknown space, but his hound was keen. “Be back in a minute.”

Damon materialized in pitch darkness, immediately conscious of the stale air. Creating a small ball of light, he looked around.

Size-wise, the room was what he’d expected, and it appeared to be carved directly into the tower walls. Symbols covered every surface - protective runes, warding sigils, and other marks Damon didn’t immediately recognize. A wooden shelf hung on one wall, and on it sat a leather-bound journal, a bundle of letters tied with faded ribbon, and what looked like a logbook.