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I ventured into the hotel gardens to get some fresh air and clear my head. The garden wasn’t much. We’d mowed a path through the weeds, and set up a picnic table where the view of the city’s sparkling night-lights stretched from east to west. The wards extended to the fringes of the iron fence, but most of the guests preferred to stay inside.

Quiet stars twinkled above, and my breath misted in the cool air.

I thrust my hands into my pockets. It was peaceful outside, so why did I feel as though the sides of a box were closing in around me?

“Would you like some company?”

My heart leaped into my throat. Reynard was just as good at appearing out of the blue as Zee could be. “No, I mean, it’s fine. I was just star-watching.”

“Beautiful.” His silver eyes sparkled in the dark, just like those ice-white stars above us.

“Aren’t they. That’s Ursa Minor—the uh, little spoon—and Ursa Major.”

“The big spoon?” Was Reynard smirking? Probably not. What could he know of little and big spoons?

“Right, and Draco . . .” He was watching my face, not the stars. But as I met his gaze, he looked up.

“Ageless and unchanging,” he said. “Civilizations rise and fall beneath their watch.”

“The things they must have seen but can’t tell a soul.”

“Perhaps they prefer not to interfere, knowing ultimately, it’s pointless. What will be, will be.”

Cheery. “I’ve always liked the stars . . .” I whispered, trailing off. “Whatever happens down here, they’re always up there. It’s reassuring.”

“You have no idea.” Their pale glow lit his face, making it leaner in the dark. “When you’ve lived as many lifetimes as I have, there’s little left that’s familiar. But the stars remain, ever diligent.”

Was it rude to ask how old he was? The way he talked, maybe Zee was right, and a thousand years wasn’t far off.

“You’re curious, Adam?”

“A little,” I admitted.

“I’ve lived long enough to see many stars die.”

If Zee were here he’d have some smart comment about that. I missed his outlook, needed his enthusiasm to keep me moving forward. Hopefully, he’d be back soon.

“You seem solemn this evening.”

“Oh, it’s just . . . have you seen our gargoyle security guard by any chance? His name’s Claymore, and well . . . I’ve sort of lost him.”

“How does one lose a gargoyle?”

Yeah, they were hard to miss. “I don’t know. I’ve looked everywhere. He doesn’t really have family. Nothing on his employment record. It’s . . . odd.”

“Concerning.”

“That too.”

“When was he last seen?”

“The night before opening day.”

“Ah.”

His “ah” said he’d put two and two together, and made five. A missing security guard and a dead guy.

“Did you ever find the murder weapon?” Reynard asked, his thoughts clearly aligning with mine.