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He shrugged and his wings moved with him. ‘Then you’ve nothing to be sorry about, my wolfy wench.’
‘Well, I’m still sorry about your loss.’
‘Not everyone is a loss, my bitey pup. Let’s see if this one is.’ His tone was grim, despite the lightness of his words.
‘This way.’ I gestured towards the lawn and led the way out, nudity be damned.
He followed close on my heels, but the other four gargoyles huddled together and moved more slowly. There was reluctance in every line of their bodies; they obviously didn’t want to see what was coming. I couldn’t blame them; you can’t un-see death, and it haunts you in the daylight hours and in the night’s quiet. I still see Lord Samuel and Ace in my dreams – and nightmares.
As we walked, I thought perhaps introductions were in order. ‘I’m Lucy Barrett, Alpha of the Home Counties pack.’
‘I know who you are, lovey, and your wolf bitch, Esme, too.’ His tone wasn’t insulting; bitch is the correct term for a female canine.
‘And you are?’
He slid me an amused glance. ‘I told you before, you’ll have to work harder than that to get my fucking name. But for now, you can call me Bob.’
‘Bob,’ I repeated, a tad bemused. Bob didn’t seem an appropriate name for this foul-mouthed winged creature.
He didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the mangled corpse ahead of us. When I glanced at him, I saw that every line of his grey, lined face spoke of his sorrow. His eyes were anguished. He recognised the corpse.
‘Ah, lad,’ he said softly. ‘What twatting trouble did you get yourself in?’
‘You know him?’
‘Oui. I knew him.Alas poor Yorick, I knew him, a fellow of infinite jest.’
If I’d thought my day had started out strangely with a mangled corpse, it was even weirder hearing a gargoyle quote Shakespeare. ‘I’m sorry. Itisa loss, isn’t it?’
Bob nodded slowly, ‘Yes, lovey, it’s a loss.’
‘What can you tell me about him?’
‘Not a whole lot.’
‘His name? Presumably, it’s not really Yorick.’
‘No more than my name is Bob, but it will do for your purposes.’
I let out a huff of frustration. ‘How am I supposed to find out what’s happened to him if I don’t even know his name?’
‘He’s a gargoyle. Why would you concern yourself with his death?’
‘Hello? Corpse dumped on my lawn? What am I supposed to do – ignore it?’
He looked at me appraisingly. ‘Most would, dove,’ he said finally. ‘This is a gargoyle matter, not a werewolf matter.’
‘I’d say there is some overlap,’ I suggested drily.
His head snapped around sharply and his eyes searched my face for some knowledge that I knew wasn’t there. ‘What?’ I asked dumbly.
He shook his head and didn’t answer. With a tilt of his head, he commanded the other gargoyles to put down the body bag. They opened it up and stretched it out parallel to the body.
Bob slid me a sidelong glance. ‘Here’s your first clue, Lucy Barrett,’ he said. He turned to the body and lifted up his hand. Suddenly the cool air was whipping around us, buffeting my naked body and making me shiver, but I stood firm against it. I kept watching even as my eyes watered.
The body rose from the damp ground, every blood-splattered inch of it. As it lifted, I swear I saw a flash of fur before it transformed again. As it settled into the body bag, the grey of the gargoyle skin disappeared and I saw instead a hint of pale pink. The gargoyle’s body had transformed back to human. Fascinating.
I leaned forward for a better look, but Bob’s gaze stopped me in my tracks.
