by Anton Strout
I watched as Stanis walked back to the gargoyle who had brought Caleb to us.
“Just because they don’t want trouble doesn’t mean they haven’t brought it,” I said.
I walked toward them, helping Caleb along as I went, happy to have him by my side despite the madness of the past few minutes.
“What is it you want from us?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I only know that Stanis told me to seek him out. I guess I—we—want answers.”
“We can provide those,” I said. “As best we can, anyway.”
“You’ve got an actual alchemist as your service,” Marshall added, jerking his thumb toward Caleb.
“No,” Caleb said, clapping Marshall on the shoulder. “You’ve got two.”
Marshall blushed. “I’m still learning what I can,” he said. “More of an apprentice, really.”
“But if we can help, we will,” added Rory.
“Thank you,” the gargoyle said, then looked back to me. “I do not mean to take advantage of your kindness.”
“You’re not,” I admitted, softening to the creature’s sincerity. “We’re just not used to being around creatures of your kind without their trying to tear us to shreds.”
The gargoyle’s face registered shock, one of its hands flying to its mouth in surprise. The gesture looked almost comical on it as it exclaimed, “Oh my!”
“I will help as I can,” I said.
Stanis cleared his throat, and my friends and I turned to him.
“Forgive me,” he said, “your help is welcome, but I fear this may require the finesse of one more learned in the ways of the grotesque, the way of the gargoyle.”
It both pained me and gave me great pride to see the creature my great-great-grandfather had first taught to speak so earnestly offering to help.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Stanis bowed his head to me. “These are . . . for lack of a better expression, my people.”
“There are others out there,” the female gargoyle said. “Beyond the ones who have chosen to follow me here. Others who do not wish well toward us or humankind. We have already fallen victim to some of them.”
“We can help,” I said.
“No,” Stanis said.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“I will deal with them,” Stanis said. He looked out over the assembly on our roof. “And I will teach you how to deal with them as well.”
He turned to me. “Do you mind?” he asked.
The very fact that he was asking brought an unexpected joy to me. I shook my head. How could I say no to that most human level of concern for my feelings in this?
“Come,” he said to the crowd. “I have much to tell you about the family whom you have to thank for your existence.” Stanis shot up into the air over the roof, hovering high above as he waited for the others to take flight, leaving the four humans standing there.
The night skies over Manhattan would be forever changed. So, too, it seemed, was my relationship to Stanis. Whether either would prove for the better or worse remained to be seen, but as I stood there among my friends and Caleb, one thing was both clear and bittersweet.
Stanis no longer belonged to just me.
About the Author
ANTON STROUT was born in the Berkshire Hills mere miles from writing heavyweights Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville. He currently lives outside New York City in the haunted corn maze that is New Jersey (where nothing paranormal ever really happens, he assures you).
His writing has appeared in several DAW anthologies—some of which feature Simon Canderous tie-in stories—including: The Dimension Next Door, Spells of the City, and Zombie Raccoons & Killer Bunnies.
In his scant spare time, he is an always writer, sometimes actor, sometimes musician, occasional RPGer, and the world’s most casual and controller-smashing video gamer. He now works in the exciting world of publishing, and yes, it is as glamorous as it sounds.
He is currently hard at work on his next book and can be found lurking the darkened hallways of www.antonstrout.com.
