by Lori Woods
“Yes, let me get Anne for you. Anne is a teacher; she is very well-read, and she specializes in petrifaction,” Coal says. “One moment.” She runs and jumps, grabbing onto the side of the building with her claws and begins to scale the side of the building until she reaches the balcony above us. A few minutes later, a maroon-colored gargoyle comes soaring down and lands beside us.
“Hi!” she says in this adorably perky voice. “I’m Anne. Coal says you need a petrifaction expert? I suppose that would be me.”
She’s so cute. She’s close to my height, which I suppose would make her short for a gargoyle. She’s very slender, and her face seems more humanoid than Coal’s had. She has a little button nose that almost looks like a slight snout, and she has long, flowing purple hair and more freckles than I expected to see on a creature like her. I smile at her. “I’m Suzy, and yes. We’re looking for someone who knows a good bit about petrifaction.” I start describing what is going on in Nightshade, and she seems legitimately concerned. The three of us wind up sitting down on the balcony and talking for several hours about possible motives, types of creatures who turn people to stone, and even means for non-magical creatures to go about turning someone to stone. Turns out, there are a lot of possibilities out there.
Red Sumac is starting to look half asleep after several hours of talking to Anne. The friendly gargoyle smiles in Red Sumac’s direction. “You holding up?” she asks.
“Not really,” she says, yawning.
“Why don’t you fly on home?” I suggest. “I know my way back to Nightshade just fine.”
“I don’t know about you flying around this city by yourself,” Red Sumac says.
Anne smiles. “I’ll guide her to the border when she decides to leave. You really do look exhausted.”
“It has been a long day,” Red Sumac admits. Eventually she relents and we bid each other farewell. I promise to keep her updated before she leaps off the side of the building with her trusty broom.
Once Red Sumac is gone, Anne sighs a bit. “She’s not a fan of gargoyles, is she?” she asks.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I say, feeling a little embarrassed.
“It’s all right,” Anne says. “Most witches are that way. They think they’re better than us.”
I frown. “I don’t think that way.”
“I know. I can tell. I like you,” Anne tells me, smiling brightly. “So, I think we’ve been over all the species that are out there. I just can’t imagine how the two incidences are related, but it sounds like blood was attempted to be taken from both werewolves, even though one was turned to stone and the other was not. So maybe a vampire basilisk is exactly what you’re looking for. It must have wanted to eat, and since it turned your friend Ted to stone, it must have gouged Laura’s eyes out to ensure a meal. My only thing is whether or not Ted saw the vampire basilisk’s reflection. I’d go back to the woods and double-check the area to see if there is a reflective surface. If there is, I think you might have your answer.”
“Thank you so much, Anne. You’ve been very helpful,” I say, standing.
“Might I ask you something, Suzy?”
“Of course,” I say.
“You are just very friendly,” she says. “Not that we have problems with witches or anything, but… well… most witches speak down on us. I know you are from the other side, but our kind have not exactly had luck with humans any more than witches. Why are you so friendly?”
I smile. I haven’t really told anyone yet, but I like Anne. She’s been very amicable, and really sweet. I didn’t want to tell Red Sumac—not yet at least—with the attitude she’s been displaying. My own grandmother seemed pretty hesitant to even tell me about my heritage, so it’s made me anxious about telling anyone. But even though Anne and I have just met, I feel like I can talk to her. “I’m part gargoyle, Anne,” I say proudly. “Although I just recently found out. My father was a gargoyle-warlock hybrid.”
Anne stares blankly at me for a long time. I wonder if she doesn’t approve of that or something? She just keeps staring at me. She suddenly heads over to the ledge, climbing up onto the stone railing. “Follow me, Suzy,” she says. “There’s something I need to show you.” She leaps off the edge, and I grab Broom Hilda, diving off the edge of the clock tower.
Chapter Ten
I follow close behind Anne on Broom Hilda. I’m not really used to flying this slow. Gargoyles, as Red Sumac informed me, glide, so they can only go as fast as the wind currents allow them. Usually when I’m riding on Broom Hilda, I like to test my agility. But I guess it’s nice to take it slow every once in a while. “Where are we going?” I ask Anne shortly after dismounting from the giant clock tower.
“The Save Haven orphanage,” she says, pointing far off toward a large, imposing, Cathedral-style building.
“Why?” I question.
“Just follow me,” she insists. We land just outside of some gates toward the back of the building. From where we are standing, we can look into the orphanage’s courtyard through a rickety chain-link fence where children are playing. “The Falcon Clan runs the orphanage,” she says.
“What clan are you from?” I ask.
“Red Memphis,” she says. “The orphanage is not just for gargoyles—in fact, it’s rare for a gargoyle to find themselves orphaned because clan members will almost always volunteer to take in one of their own. Most of the children here are from Safe Haven: minotaurs, a few werewolves, centaurs… those sorts of creatures.”
I am still confused as to why she would want to bring me to an orphanage. I look into the courtyard, and I do spot one gargoyle. He doesn’t look like most gargoyles. Very humanoid—even more so than Anne. He has wings and pointed ears, but he lacks talons and is very small for a gargoyle, even compared to Anne. His black hair lays flat on his head as he scans the courtyard. “Why didn’t that little boy’s clan take him in?” I ask.
“He was brought to the orphanage when he was an egg,” Anne tells me. “His clan really wasn’t given much of a chance, but you can probably tell by looking at him that he’s a hybrid. Gargoyles are less likely to take in hybrids. Watch him closely.”
I watch the boy. He has this troublesome little smirk on his face. There’s a group of young boys, a small breed of trolls, playing on a swing hanging from a nearby tree. I see the gargoyle child wave his hand and mutter something under his breath. The swing suddenly stops in midair, but the troll boy does not. The troll child goes flying and lands with his face in the dirt. The gargoyle laughs, and all the trolls chase after him in what seems like innocent fun, the swing still frozen in mid swing.
“That boy cast a spell,” I say.
“Exactly,” Anne says. “He’s a warlock hybrid. A very rare mix, I assure you. Just like you. He just happens to look more gargoyle than warlock.”
“What, did you bring me here so that I wouldn’t feel so alone or something?” I ask, confused.
“Suzy, how old are you?” she asks.
“Twenty-five,” I say. “Why?”
“I think that boy is your brother,” she tells me. “Do you know what clan your father came from?”
My jaw drops open. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Your father’s clan—”
“No, I mean, brother? I don’t have a brother,” I say, looking back into the courtyard. I don’t see where the boy went—probably still running from the trolls. “Even if I did, he would be way too young. My parents were killed when I was two.”
“Let’s go speak with the headmistress of the orphanage,” Anne says. “I think she will be able to explain things better than me. Do you know what clan your father’s family was from?”
“No, I don’t,” I say.
“What did he look like?” she asks.
“Um… his teeth were sort of crooked,” I say. “I don’t remember him well. I was just two.”
“What about his skin?” she asks as we walk toward the building’s main entrance. “Did he have a colo
r to his skin?”
“Maybe a little orange,” I say, thinking about the gargoyle boy. He certainly resembled my dad, from what I could remember about him, but what she was suggesting still seemed ludicrous to me.
Anne asks for the headmistress, and soon we are sitting in a formal office. A little wear and tear, but for the most part, this is the nicest room I’ve been in since arriving at Safe Haven. The headmistress is a large purple gargoyle close to Coal’s age; the woman introduces herself as Headmistress Stone. Ironic, I know.
The female gargoyle has her gray hair pulled up in a tight bun on the top of her head. She has a slight snout like Anne, and her eyes are narrow. “Anne, always good to see you,” the old gargoyle says. “Is there a reason for this meeting you’ve called?”
“This is Suzy Maycomber. I think she might be Peter’s sister,” Anne says.
Peter. I raise my eyebrow slightly. My dad’s name was Peter. I can remember that much about him from the dream I had had. The purple gargoyle turns her head in my direction and seems to be sizing me up. “And what do you think, Ms. Maycomber?” she asks.
“The boy that Anne showed me is way too young to be my brother,” I say. “Even if I had a little brother I hadn’t known about, my parents died when I was two. The boy, Peter, looks like he’s only ten.”
“Twelve,” Headmistress Stone says. “And the sister he supposedly has is his twin.”
I almost laugh. “Anne, if Peter has a missing sister who is his twin, how in the world could you possibly think that would be me?”
“You don’t know much about gargoyles, do you?” Headmistress Stone asks.
“Not really,” I say.
“Let me tell you the odd lore that surrounds little Peter, and then you tell me what you think, Ms. Maycomber,” the headmistress says. “Peter came to this orphanage when he was still in an egg. Gargoyles lay eggs, sweetheart; stone eggs.”
Yikes, I think to myself, hoping that’s something I did not inherit from my father’s side of the family. I nod along to let her know I am following.
“However, Peter and his twin sister were born to a witch mother. Witches don’t lay eggs, now do they?”
“No, ma’am,” I say.
“Right. Now, as far as we know, the sister was born healthy. She took after her mother. Peter, on the other hand, inherited his paternal grandmother’s trait. While I’ve never met the boy’s parents, I was told he looks more like a gargoyle than his own father. He was born very sickly; he needed to be incubated in an egg. The rumor is that the parents sought out a Spell Master and had her create an artificial stone egg for him. This is something that has been done before—although not with magic. If an egg is born sickly, it can be kept out of the moonlight for years, giving the child inside time to heal, to prevent it from hatching while it’s sick. I’ve never heard of a child being placed inside of an egg, but I suppose powerful Spell Masters can do miraculous things. Peter’s egg remained tucked away for nearly thirteen years; eleven of those years he spent here at the orphanage because he had been with his family for the first two years of his life before the egg was brought here.”
“So thirteen years…” I start doing math in my head. Thirteen years as an egg, and Peter hatched eleven years ago. Twenty-four. Mathematically, he could potentially be my twin. “Why would you keep his egg out of the moonlight for so long?” I ask.
“We were asked to by the woman who dropped him off here,” Headmistress Stone says. “She said to keep him out of the moonlight until she returned for him.”
“Did she ever return for him?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “But, a little over eleven years ago, the egg hatched. All on its own, in the middle of the day when I was stone. I woke up, and I heard him crying in my broom closet. The best we can guess is that the Spell Master who had created his stone egg must have died and was no longer able to keep the spell alive.”
More math, okay, here we go, Suzy… eleven years ago I would have been thirteen. Ten, almost eleven years after my parents died. My grandmother was fighting Night Shadow at that time… and Night Shadow killed her! I can feel my heart starting to race. “Who brought the egg here to the orphanage?” I ask.
The headmistress stands and crosses the room, heading to a filing cabinet. She locates a file and then returns to her seat, skimming through Peter’s paperwork. “Hmm…a Susana Maycomber.” She looks up at me. “Any relation to you?”
“She’s my grandmother,” I say, and now my blood is starting to boil. “She’s also a Spell Master.”
Anne sits upright. “It sounds like your grandmother created the stone egg to keep her grandson alive. She must have brought him here after your parents were killed. I’ve heard the story of the Maycombers. You were two when they were killed, right?”
“Right,” I say. “My grandmother took me to an orphanage on the other side.”
“And, it seems, she took your brother here,” the headmistress says. “Probably because he would not have been able to blend in on the other side.”
“Why did you name him Peter?” I ask. “You named him, right?”
“No, actually, the woman who… your grandmother… was calling the egg Peter when she dropped it off,” the headmistress explained. “So the name stuck. Suzy, I’m sure this is a lot for you to take in right now, but we have been trying to find Peter’s family for a very long time. Over twenty years, in fact. No one in his clan knew where his egg came from, so they were reluctant to take him in. Frankly, with the way he looks, we couldn’t even be sure what clan he was from.”
“He’s orange,” I say. “Seems like you all could have figured it out pretty easily.”
“True, but that didn’t make his clan any more willing to take in a stranger,” she says. “Normally when a gargoyle is orphaned, he is just given to a couple within the clan who were closest to the child’s parents. Peter was a different story. No one knew where he came from—just that a witch had shown up on the doors of the orphanage one day with an egg and a crazy story about it being a hybrid egg and his twin looking like his witch mother. It was all very strange and confusing.”
I nod, but my ears are ringing. I’ve never had family before. Well, I suppose I have my granny—but she’s trapped in chalice. Peter is here in the flesh, and it’s a strange feeling. But the thing that bothers me the most is that my granny didn’t tell me. “I understand,” I say. “I need to speak to my grandmother. She’s dead, but she’s not dead dead. Her spirit is trapped in a chalice, but we can speak. I need to find out why she kept this a secret from me.”
Anne and Headmistress Stone both nod in mutual understanding. Anne speaks up, though, and asks, “What are you going to do about Peter?”
“I’m not sure,” I say and then offer Anne a reassuring smile. “But believe me, I promise I’m coming back to see him. I’m going to think this over tomorrow, and I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
Anne smiles; I’m under the impression she comes to the orphanage a lot—like she knows Peter personally and is happy for him that they have found a relative of his. I shake each of their hands and thank them several times before I head out. I’m shaking a little bit as I leave. I’m angry—angry at my grandmother. I’ve never really been angry with her since arriving in Nightshade. It’s time I got some answers.
Chapter Eleven
I come bursting towards the library in a state of fury like no other. I’m pretty sure a dark storm cloud has followed me; probably a bit of magic literally seeping off my back from my frustration. When I land, dust and debris scatter around me. Sprout is standing outside, holding some of his gardening tools as usual. “Suzy?” he questions.
“Not now,” I snarl, and he practically jumps out of my way as I dart up the stairs and in through the main entrance.
I had brought my grandmother’s chalice to the library, so I know it’s up in my new office on the second floor. I’m not certain, but I think I levitate up the stairs in my state of delirious anger and confusion. I bump into
Alfie in the hall, and he offers me a half smile and begins to speak. “You left me alone with your crazy cat all night; she kept asking me for unicorn mil…” he cuts himself off upon meeting my gaze and just steps aside.
Eventually I find my little office area and I fling the door open and awaken Snowball, who has been snoozing on my desk. She takes one look at me and the fur stands up on the back of her neck. “Out,” I say, and she scurries off after Alfie. The door slams on its own, or rather, I believe, I unintentionally did it with my power. I snag my grandmother’s chalice and have to stop myself from slamming it down on the desk.
“Okay, Suzy,” I say to myself. “Calm down first.”
I take a few deep breaths before pouring water into the chalice. I hear her breathe in happily before saying, “Suzy! How was your trip to Safe Haven? You stayed out of trouble, right?”
“I have a brother!” I shout.
Silence.
Absolute silence. I sit down in my chair and nimbly fold my hands together, waiting. But she keeps quiet. “Are you serious right now?” I question. “You’re not going to say anything?”
“Did you speak to him?” she asks.
“Not yet,” I say. “He’s in the Safe Haven Orphanage. When I told one of the gargoyles I was interviewing that I was part gargoyle, she immediately took me to the orphanage, and we put two and two together.”
“You’re telling people that you’re part gargoyle?”
“Why not?” I snap. “It’s who I am, right? Why didn’t you tell me I had a brother! What is wrong with you, thinking it was okay to keep that from me?”
She pauses for a moment before speaking. “Suzy, I had no idea your father was part gargoyle when he married your mother. He looked very tame to me. A little odd-looking, but I’m sure you’ve seen all sorts of breeds of witches since coming to this side. I never in my day even heard of a gargoyle-witch hybrid. Witches and gargoyles simply do not mingle—especially not in those days. Your mother had not planned on ever telling me! It was our family’s dirty little secret.”
