Valor (A Greystone Novel)

by Taylor Longford

  Chapter Four

  Eight hundred years! That would have made it the thirteenth century! And if Valor was telling the truth, it meant he'd been knocking around with Vikings and knights and feudal lords who lived in castles…with moats! It meant that he'd been around during the crusades. That was hard to believe…though not much harder than the fact that he was a gargoyle. On the other hand, it helped to explain the messed up mixture of words he used.

  I'd like to think I hid my internal freaking-out from Valor and he didn't notice how rattled I was by his claims. "I've never seen a live gargoyle," I said, taking another deep breath and going for calm nonchalance. "At least not until today. Just stone carvings. But they were definitely all ugly." I knew I was rambling but hoped I sounded reasonably sane.

  "Ah," he said. His mouth turned downward in disgust. "Harpies."

  "H-Harpies?" I echoed. As if gargoyles weren't enough, now I had to deal with the possibility that another mythical beast was entirely real. I shook my head in bewilderment.

  "What you saw were harpies. They're related to gargoyles. Aye, they're ugly."

  "Related to gargoyles?" I repeated inanely, my brain still trying to catch up to my mouth.

  A dark slash of color burned across the high arc of his cheekbones. "Closely related," he admitted though he didn't seem too happy about it.

  "And they're stone creatures that can come to life, like you?"

  He grimaced. "Unfortunately, yes."

  It sounded as if he didn't like harpies very much. I guess that shouldn't have surprised me since I'd never heard anything good about them in any of the old myths I'd read. On the other hand, I didn't think gargoyles were considered to be the embodiment of pure goodness, either.

  "I'm thinking my clothing isn't exactly up to date," he said, changing the subject. He held his hands out from his sides and gave his wool shorts a critical look. "Do you happen to have anything I could wear?"

  Relieved to be discussing something halfway normal, I crooked a finger at him. He followed me into the house and upstairs while Hooligan checked out his food bowl in the mudroom. "This is my brother's bedroom," I explained as I opened a door on the upper level. "He's at school. College." When Valor didn't appear to understand, I added, "University."

  He nodded as if he knew what university meant.

  I opened a drawer, pulled out several pairs of faded jeans and tossed them on the bed. "Those look like they should fit," I offered then added some T-shirts to the pile before leaving the room. "I'll go downstairs and keep my eye out for the delivery van. Come on down when you're ready."

  Down in the living room, I stood at the window and watched the driveway while I waited for Valor to change. I had so many questions for the gargoyle I didn't know where to start. Was he immortal? Could he fly? Did he have any other…super powers besides his ability to change to stone? Was I dreaming or just going mad? And if I was dreaming, would a pinch wake me up or would a kiss be better?

  Personally, I was leaning toward the kiss.

  Seriously, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd suffered some kind of brain damage when the tool chest had fallen on me. But everything else in the world seemed normal. It was just Valor that was…extraordinary. I also wondered about the way he'd acted yesterday and if he'd only been friendly because he wanted to learn more about the crates, which I assumed held more gargoyles. It seemed too much to hope for that he would actually like me or anything like that.

  I heard him on the stairs and turned to watch him come down the steps, his gait loose and confident like some of the best athletes at school. He'd pulled a V-neck T-shirt over his closed wings and a small triangle of smooth, glossy leather showed in the deep plunge of the soft black cotton.

  I'd expected him to wear the shirt underneath his vest then realized that would be impossible unless he cut slits in the back for his wings to fit through. The T-shirt looked good on him, though. The close-fitting gray jeans did nothing to hurt his looks, either. His muscles flexed beneath the burnished skin on his arms as he reached up with his hand to move his hair out of his eyes.

  He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and hooked his thumbs through the belt loops on his jeans, pulling the waistband forward an inch. "My belt wouldn't fit through the loops," he told me as a frown formed between his eyebrows. "So, I have no way to carry my knife."

  "I can probably find you something in my brother's room," I offered. "Will white be okay until we can go shopping?"

  "I'm not particular," he assured me. "I just need a way to carry my blade."

  The thought of his long knife hanging from an old emo belt made me grin as we strolled back through the garage and out into the sunshine. Hooligan followed us and made himself comfortable, sprawled in the middle of the driveway. "So, what does it mean to be a gargoyle?" I asked as if I met mythical creatures every day and I wasn't freaked out in the least. "And how did you end up in that crate?"

  He told me that he and his pack had been trying to outrun a gang of harpies. According to Valor, harpies are way larger than gargoyles, despite the fact that they're female. As night approached, the gargoyles found themselves near the Roman walls at York. They decided to turn to stone so the harpies couldn't harm them. They'd hoped the harpies would eventually give up on waiting for the gargoyles to change back. But instead of giving up, the harpies built a wall around them.

  Gargoyles can change to stone and return to their living form at will, as long as direct sunlight can reach them. They need the extra boost the sun's energy gives them to make the change. The wall blocked the sun's light and they waited for eight hundred years, trapped between the walls, until Greg found them and crated them up.

  "So, you're immortal, then?"

  "No!" he replied. His eyes registered surprise. "What gave you that idea?"

  I sank my teeth into my bottom lip and lowered my gaze to the ground then returned it to his face. "Um. You're at least eight hundred years old and you don't look a day over eighteen."

  He explained that gargoyles don't age when they're in their stone forms. But when they make the change back to their living forms, they age at the same rate as humans. "My brother, Dare, was actually born three years before me," he told me. "But he's spent so much time in his stone form that we're about the same age now."

  "Was your brother trapped between the walls with you?"

  He lifted his chin in a brief nod. "Dare was trapped with me, along with the rest of my pack—my other brother, Havoc, and six of my cousins."

  "You can't…communicate with each other while you're in your stone forms, can you?"

  He shook his head in answer as he looked down the long length of the driveway. "Nay. I haven't spoken to my family in eight hundred years and don't know where they are now. But my brothers were standing closest to me between the walls so I'm hoping they're in the two crates that are supposed to arrive today."

  "Why were you waiting for your family to get here before telling me you were a gargoyle?"

  "I'm sorry for trying to mislead you," he answered with a guarded expression. "But I was hoping I could pass myself off as a human until the rest of the crates made it here. Then we would have all left together, before you knew anything about us."

  "Oh!" I said softly. My eyes widened in realization and my heart pounded dully. He hadn't meant to hang around any longer than necessary. But I should have realized that. I could see how the gargoyles might want to keep their existence a secret, especially in their time. Maybe in my time too.

  "How did I do?" he asked. "Did I make a convincing human?"

  "Well, you fooled me," I pointed out soberly. "Although some of your word choices were a bit…unusual."

  "I was afraid of that," he admitted. "I tried to pick my words carefully."

  I nodded. That explained his reluctance to talk yesterday.

  "Language has changed so much during the last eight hundred years. I was worried I'd use some old word that would give me away, like carriage house instead of garage. And I watc
hed you pretty closely to see how things worked, like your phone and the television and even the refrigerator."

  More disappointing news. I'd thought maybe he was watching me because he was interested in me. "Do you think the other gargoyles will be upset that I know about you and your pack?"

  "They'll just have to deal with it," he said quietly. He returned his gaze to my face and probably saw the concern in my expression. "Don't worry. They won't harm you."

  "Maybe they could just wipe out my memory," I suggested, trying for a light tone. "That would be a lot cleaner than killing me."

  Valor just gazed at me thoughtfully. To be honest, I would have felt a lot better if he'd laughed or at least chuckled at my comment.

  "So, can you fly?" I asked after clearing my throat. "Or are those wings just for show?"

  "We can fly," he replied. A smile lingered on his perfect lips as he glanced up at the sky with an expression of warm longing.

  "You don't have x-ray vision or any other super powers, do you?"

  "No x-ray vision," he answered as his blue eyes glinted with humor. "If I understand what x-ray means and if you're worried about me being able to see through your clothing."

  I rolled my eyes like that was a ridiculous suggestion. "No super powers at all? Because you seemed awfully…strong when you tossed that tool chest across the garage."

  He lifted his shoulders in a dismissive shrug. "I might have used a little more energy than I needed to, but I was in a hurry to get the box off you."

  I sent him a challenging look. None of the guys at school could have thrown the tool chest across the garage.

  "In my time, I was never any stronger than the village blacksmith," he insisted modestly.

  Maybe. But it sounded like he was at least stronger than an average human his age. And that blacksmith back in his time must have been a freakin' ox. "What was it like…back then?"

  He widened his stance and considered the house with its attached garage. "The homes were smaller and not as clean. Your house would be considered a palace in my time."

  "Anything else?" I asked, just to hear him talk. I loved the low, rough tone of his accent.

  "I haven't been here long," he pointed out. "You might have to give me some time to get back to you on that question."

  Fair enough, I thought. Though it didn't sound like he was going to be around long enough for that to happen. "Did my stepfather know about you…being alive?

  Valor shook his head. "When he pulled us from behind the wall, there were no windows in the room so no sunlight touched us—just electric light—and we couldn't change. After that, we went straight into the wooden boxes."

  "Wait a minute," I exclaimed, as something suddenly occurred to me. "Does that mean you could actually see, even though you were solid stone?"

  "We can see when we're in our stone forms as long as we have our eyes open when we make the change."

  Ugh. That meant he had seen me stroke his arm…and his hair, yesterday morning after I opened the crate. Not to mention my impersonation of a windmill. I felt a warm rush of heat crawl up my neck and curl behind my ears. "Can you feel anything when you're in your stone form?" I asked, even more mortified by this possibility and hoping he wouldn't notice the blush on my face. If he did, he'd probably guess what I was thinking.

  "Not a thing," he claimed as he dipped his head and hid his smile. But his amusement shone in his eyes and it was clear that he knew exactly what was worrying me. I just hoped he didn't think I was a total loser.

  "And you can hear when you're a statue," I stated, steering the conversation back to a safer topic. I knew he'd heard me give my name to the driver of the delivery van.

  "Aye. I heard the crash when that box fell on you and I heard your struggles. I knew you were in trouble and wanted to help but I couldn't make the change."

  "You had to wait until the sun shone on you before you could wake up?"

  "Aye," he answered slowly. He stared off into the middle distance as if he was wrestling with a complicated puzzle. "I only needed a single ray to touch any part of my body. But I could see that the sun was never going to reach me. I was stuck in the building's shade."

  I nodded. The crate was too far inside the garage for direct sunlight to reach it. "How did you make the change, then?"

  A ridge formed between his ink-dark eyebrows and he searched my face for a moment before he looked out beyond the driveway and into the forest. "I don't know," he finally admitted.