The Greystone Bundle (Books 1-4)

by Taylor Longford

  "What does he see in her?" Alexa asked in a low sneer that wasn't meant to be heard.

  "Must be something she does in bed," her friend answered with a dark chuckle. "It sure as hell ain't her looks."

  "Yeah, but how good can she be?" Alexa snarked.

  Wondering who they were talking about, I cast another look behind me and saw Alexa's scowl fixed on Mim's back. Her green eyes burned with a jealous fire.

  My arm slid around Mim's shoulders in a protective reflex. I wanted to put my hands over her ears as well and hurry her away but I could tell from the look on her face that she hadn't heard the insults. It was only my gargoyle hearing that had allowed me to eavesdrop on the conversation. "Come on," I said, pulling Mim quickly into the parking lot and away from the poisonous talk.

  "He could do a lot better," I heard Alexa say.

  "What do you mean? He's not that great," her friend grumbled.

  "He's not as hot as the blond one," Alexa admitted after a short pause, evidently referring to one of my cousins. "MacKenzie's been acting like such a snot ever since she got that British boyfriend."

  "MacKenzie Campbell?" he questioned, though he didn't seem particularly interested.

  "Uh-huh. I went over to her house a few weeks ago and she basically kicked me off her property. I'd sure as hell like to know how she ripped my keys out of my hand."

  "Tara said you threw them at her face," her friend grunted.

  "I didn't throw them! They were yanked from my hand. By some…invisible power."

  Her friend didn't have any comeback for that little outburst. I expect he didn't believe her…even though it was true. I'd seen it with my own eyes. MacKenzie had torn the keys from Alexa's hand when she refused to move her car. Of course, Mac was upset at the time. Valor had been kidnapped by that harpy and we were trying to get out of the driveway so we could go find him.

  "I don't know how Campbell did it but when I figure it out, I'm gonna try it out on her. And when I do, I'm gonna to rip off more than her keys," Alexa muttered darkly.

  I didn't know what Alexa had in mind. I just knew she had enough red in her hair to be a threat. If she ever accessed her powers, she could be a problem so I made a mental note to keep my eye on her…and her jerk of a boyfriend.

  "Who's that guy with Alexa?" I muttered when Mim and I reached the front door of her car.

  Mim twisted her head to take a look as she pulled the backpack toward her and dug for her keys in the front pocket. "Ryan Myerson. He's the school's quarterback. He takes martial arts classes here at the rec center although he doesn't exactly need them. He already has a black belt."

  "Martial arts?" I questioned.

  "Taekwondo," she explained then continued when she could see I didn't recognize the word. "Like Karate and Judo."

  I nodded slowly to let her know I understood. "He's not a very nice person," I warned her, wanting to tell her to stay away from him.

  "You're telling me," she answered quietly as she continued her search for her keys. "He beat up a freshman the first week of school. In the high school parking lot. He said the kid scratched his car with his backpack."

  I tucked my chin into my chest and looked down on her. "With his backpack?"

  "It didn't sound right to me, either," Mim muttered. "He broke the freshman's jaw and the poor kid spent a week in the hospital."

  I watched Alexa and Ryan as they drew closer. "Why didn't they kick Ryan out of school?" I asked in a low voice.

  "The school suspended him for two weeks, but it was the beginning of football season. He only missed one game."

  As Alexa and Ryan passed our car, I held my breath. Then let it out when I thought they were safely past. Unfortunately, they were parked a few cars down from Mim. After reaching his truck, Ryan stopped and made a few unkind remarks about Mim's old vehicle…which I had no trouble ignoring. Then he said something about Mim that I couldn't ignore. Or forgive. I turned and locked gazes with the jerkoff.

  I should have let it go. Even though he'd raised his voice so that the other kids in the parking lot could hear him, his ugly remark hadn't reached Mim's ears. I could tell from the innocent, untroubled look in her eyes.

  But I'd heard.

  And he'd meant for me to hear, as well as Mim.

  "You have a problem with that?" he called out to me over the two cars that separated us.

  "I have a problem with that," I confirmed. I left Mim with the backpack and stepped out from between the cars into the open parking lot.

  When Mim realized what was going on, she swung her pack onto her shoulder and hurried after me. "No, Dare," she insisted, her eyes wide with panic as she tugged on the sleeve of my coat. "No. Don't mess with this guy."

  I reclaimed the backpack. "I'll be okay," I assured her quietly. Privately, I figured I could take him. Valor had told MacKenzie that gargoyles weren't any stronger than the local blacksmith back home in York. That isn't quite right. Val got into it with the blacksmith, once. And when my brother was done with him, the smith never laid a hand on his bonded boy again.

  And more recently, those cowboys in Limon hadn't given us too much trouble. So I figure we're at least a wee bit stronger than your average massive human. I pulled Mim close then stepped in front of her to make sure there was plenty of distance between her and the team quarterback.

  Myerson took a few swaggering steps toward me. "What are you gonna do about it?" he grunted.

  I wasn't going to start the fight. Why should I, when I knew he would? I could tell he was dying to show the kids gathering around how tough he was. I figured I'd wait for the fight to come to me.

  "That depends on what you do," I answered. "But if you try to enter my personal space, I'm going to scratch up your face with this backpack." I tightened my left hand around the shoulder strap.

  His hand slashed toward my face and caught me by surprise. I hadn't expected him to be so fast. I've been in a lot of fights but, to be honest, I was used to fighting with a blade. My knife was hanging on my belt but I couldn't use it on this kid. He didn't have a weapon.

  The edge of his palm connected just below my eye like the blunt edge of an axe and I swiftly changed my mind about him being unarmed. Sadly, I still couldn't use my knife. But I was ready for the second blow. I blocked his hand with my open palm and closed my fingers over his fist, removing it from the fight. His eyes registered shock. He was beginning to understand. Although I wasn't as fast as him, I was stronger.

  A lot stronger.

  I was also pissed.

  Almost immediately, he swung his leg up to kick me but I caught his ankle with my free hand and jerked him off his feet. As he crashed toward the ground, I gave his ankle a slight twist. Not enough to break any bones or ruin his football career. Just enough to put him out of commission so he didn't jump back to his feet right away, looking for more. I figured he'd probably limp for a week. Then I dropped Mim's backpack on his face. Just to let him know I wasn't screwing around.

  A stream of ugly curses exploded from his mouth as I leaned down to retrieve the gray canvas pack. "Next time, keep your opinions to yourself," I advised him in a low growl.

  By that time, the rec center's security guy had busted through the crowd that had gathered around us. "Okay, show's over," he announced. "You kids are blocking traffic. Get in your cars and get moving."

  The crowd of teenagers moved away a few steps but not so far that they'd miss any of the small-town parking lot drama.

  "He has a knife," Ryan shouted at the security guard.

  I guess he'd seen my blade when I leaned over to get the backpack. I gave him a dark look I normally reserve for whiners. "I didn't use it," I snarled, making it clear that he was lucky I hadn't.

  "Let's see," the security officer commanded quietly.

  "It's just a box cutter," I murmured and opened my coat so he could see that my blade was still in its sheath.

  The security guy was older and starting to gather some gray behind his ears. I don't know how to
describe him in modern words. In my time, we would have said he looked like a seasoned warrior. Like he'd seen battle. My guess was that he'd fought in one of the recent American wars. He glanced at the blade hanging from the belt on my jeans. "A box cutter, huh? You must run into some pretty mean boxes."

  Before I could come up with a response to that, Mim stepped in to make excuses for me. "I'm sorry, Jim. He's not from around here."

  "I gathered that from his accent," Jim muttered and lifted his unwavering gaze to my face. "Next time you come around here, leave the knife at home. You understand?"

  "Yes, sir. I understand." My gaze followed Ryan as Alexa helped him to his feet and he limped away with his arm around her shoulder. The crowd finally broke up and drifted away toward their vehicles, apparently convinced that all the excitement was over.

  Inside Mim's car, I blew out a breath of relief and pulled the seatbelt over my chest. "He let me off easy," I murmured. "He could have called the police." I didn't mention how crap that could turn out since I had no license or passport or any other kind of identification.

  Mim sent me a wry smile as she turned her head and started backing out of the parking space. "Jim doesn't like Ryan."

  "No?" I asked, though I didn't find it hard to believe. I couldn't imagine who would like Ryan.

  Mim shook her head. "The freshman that Ryan beat up was Jim's son."

  I nodded in response and watched Mim for several moments as she steered out of the parking lot and onto the road. I was content just to watch her, just to be with her.

  "So, why did you do that?" she asked once we were cruising down the county highway.

  "Do what?" I asked absently, taking particular pleasure in watching her lips move.

  "Why did you start that fight with Ryan?"

  I fingered the bruise beneath my eye. "He threw the first punch," I pointed out.

  "You know what I mean," she said in a soft mutter.

  Yes, I knew what she meant. I'd stepped from between the parked cars to confront him. But she didn't hear what that jerk had said about her and I sure as hell wasn't going to tell her. "Can we go to a hardware store instead of the cafe?" I asked abruptly.

  She threw a quick glance in my direction. "You're changing the subject," she stated.

  "And you're very perceptive," I countered. I grinned as I pointed out the window. "I think if you turn left up ahead—"

  "I know where the hardware store is," she growled, the corner of her lips twitching upward.

  "Clever lass," I murmured and watched her mouth curve into a full smile.

  At the hardware store, I picked out a short, thin dagger. I balanced it in my palm and measured its weight, tested its sharpness. "Can you sew this into a pocket on my wings, against the spine?" I asked her quietly. "That way, when I meet you at the rec center…" I let my voice trail away so she could see where I was going.

  "But Jim said—"

  I cut her off. "I'm not going to be without a knife, Mim. It's just not going to happen."

  Her wide eyes filled with concern. "Are you guys still worried about harpies? Do you still think one might have followed you to Pine Grove?"

  I didn't answer. I didn't tell her it wasn't the harpies that worried me, per se. It was what the harpies might do to Mim, if they ever discovered what she meant to me. But I sure as hell wasn't going to walk around without a weapon.

  After we were through at the hardware store, we stopped at Mim's place to collect some scraps of Tyvek. I was hoping to meet her mother but she was out with a new boyfriend. Sadly, that turned out to be my last chance to make a good impression on her mom. And when we did finally meet, it was under pretty much the worst of circumstances.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mim's house is quite a bit smaller than MacKenzie's but there are three bedrooms downstairs in addition to the family room where her sewing machine is set up. A loveseat and chair face the television on the other side of the room. It was a little chilly down there but a small wood stove stood in the corner; it looked like it could help solve that problem.

  While Mim gathered the leftover pieces of Tyvek, I checked out the bedrooms. They were small compared to modern standards but huge compared to what we had back in the thirteenth. I couldn't help but think that if we couldn't live with MacKenzie anymore, living with Mim would be the next best thing. Maybe even better.

  Back upstairs, Mim fetched her little wicker sewing box from her bedroom and went to work on the new sheath for my wings. I sat on a chair in her kitchen while she worked her magic with her needle. I loved being so close to her and wondered if I could convince her that I needed more pockets. I figured I could use a place for a comb. And maybe a toothbrush. Spare change, too. But in the end, I decided she was too smart to fall for any of that.

  "How does that look?" Mim asked. She stepped away from me so that I could flex my wings and check out her work.

  The pocket was sewn into the upper part of my spine, near my left shoulder. I could reach it easily with my right hand whether my wings were opened or closed. I pulled the knife from the brown paper bag on the counter and slipped it into the sheath.

  "That's absolutely bomb," I told her, hoping I got the expression right. Language is always changing and it's hard to keep up with it. I watched her blush, loving what the color did to her face. Stretching my T-shirt back over my head, I followed her as she tucked her wicker box under her arm and headed down the hall to her room.

  I propped my shoulder against her doorjamb while she stashed her sewing kit under her bed. As I checked out the small room with its floral bedspread and lacy curtains, my eye caught on an odd-shaped box standing in the corner. "Is that a guitar?" I asked uncertainly.

  "Yeah," she answered as she reached for the black case and slid it onto the bed.

  Her fingers worked at the brass clasps for a moment before she popped the lid open. Inside, a beautiful golden guitar rested in a nest of dark velvet. The polished wood glistened in the muted light that glowed in through the bedroom window.

  "It's an acoustic," she explained. "It was my father's. I never knew him but sometimes I think he must have been an okay guy, to own something as beautiful as this. But then I wonder, how could he have left it behind?"

  As I gazed down into her face, I wondered how he could have left his daughter behind. But maybe he hadn't known about Mim. "Perhaps he was planning to come back," I suggested gently.

  She laughed softly. "Well, if he was, he's sure taking his time."

  "Can you play?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from Mim's father.

  "I know a few tunes," she answered as she sat down and angled the instrument across her lap. She strummed a few chords in quick succession.

  "Could you teach me to play?" I asked.

  She gave me a suspicious look. "Do you really want to learn or are you just—"

  "Believe me," I insisted as earnestly as I could. "I really want to learn. I've actually been saving my money to buy a guitar."

  Her thumb moved over the strings and rich notes of music vibrated in the small room. "What artists do you like?"

  "Artists?" I echoed. I wasn't sure what she meant but I knew what kind of music I liked. "They're kinda old, but I like the Beatles."

  She lifted her chin, and I thought I caught a glimpse of confidence in her expression for the first time ever. "I know a few Beatles tunes," she claimed.

  I sat down next to her on the bed. "Show me."

  "What's that smile for?" she asked as she checked my face.

  "I just think it's cool that you know how to play," I answered. I didn't tell her that I'd just found another thing to love about her. She played the guitar. She knew who the Beatles were and could even play some of their songs. We were a match made in heaven.

  Mim showed me three chords then taught me a song I could play with them. A whole song with only three chords! My fingertips were stinging by the time we had to leave for the first aid class but it was a good kind of stinging and I was loo
king forward to our next lesson together.

  When Mim steered her car into the rec center's dark parking lot ten minutes later, the rest of the pack was already there, waiting for us at the door. We spilled out of the car and jogged across the lot to meet them.

  "What happened to your eye?" MacKenzie exclaimed as I climbed the steps with Mim's hand in mine.

  I brushed my fingers across the bruise on my cheekbone. "It ran into the blunt edge of Ryan Myerson's hand."

  Mac peered at me over her shoulder while Valor ushered her through the door. "You got into it with Ryan Myerson…and walked away in one piece?"

  "Dare walked away," Mim told them smugly as she led the way through the lobby. "Ryan was limping."

  While I smirked, Valor shot me a grin. "So you know Ryan?" I asked Mac.

  "I know him," she growled.

  "Well, I'd steer clear of him," I advised as we turned left and continued down a wide hallway at Mac's slow, walking-cast pace. "He's…not a very nice person."

  "You won't get any argument from me," MacKenzie agreed. "But how bad is he? Is he as bad as the guy who used to live next door to me?"

  "Nay," I admitted. "Nothing less than a harpy is as bad as that Blocker dude."

  We followed Mim through an open door into a bright classroom with pale yellow walls. Several small desks with attached chairs were arranged in neat rows, much like the ones at MacKenzie's high school. A man in his thirties or forties sat at a larger desk just inside the door. He looked up over the rim of his glasses and welcomed us then invited us to find seats. Since the front desks were already taken, we headed toward the back of the room.

  Most of the women and girls turned to watch us as we filed down the aisles between the desks. That wasn't uncommon, even back home in York. But the attention always made me a little uneasy. I was always afraid maybe a corner of our wings were hanging out, or one of us was showing some barb. But MacKenzie thought it was just our looks that turned the young women's heads. Except for Victor, I found that hard to believe. The rest of us are pretty average-looking, for gargoyles.