Secret of the Gargoyles (Gargoyle Guardian Chronicles Book 3)

by Rebecca Chastain

  Marcus arched a brow and escorted Gus to the sled. I remained near the fire, enjoying the warmth almost as much as the discomfort of the two men who couldn’t decide if they should stare at my face or my scars.

  “How?” the skinny one worked himself up to ask.

  “Gargoyles. Never underestimate them.”

  They both turned disbelieving eyes on Oliver. He yawned, displaying sharp incisors, and flared his wings so the light danced across them. If the men weren’t impressed, they were fools.

  “Fine,” Gus said as he returned with Marcus. “I’ll give you your money back.”

  “You’ll pay us the full amount you promised,” Marcus said.

  “Do I look like I have that kind of money lying around?” Gus gestured to his threadbare clothing.

  “You’ll find it. Otherwise, I’ll have a word with the captain of the base, and you can kiss any future contracts with the FPD good-bye.”

  Gus sucked on his teeth and glared at Marcus. “Fine. Wait here.” He spun and headed away from the house up a shallow rise toward a long, low barn.

  “You have a tendency of running away,” I said. “Why don’t I keep you company so you don’t lose your way?”

  Gus shot me a nasty glance over his shoulder, but his eyes were a little too wide and ruined his glare. When Marcus gestured for Oliver to accompany me, the young gargoyle leapt to the edge of the fire pit and launched over the heads of the two men in a spectacular display of agility and intimidation. The men cursed and ducked, and the skinny one fell out of his chair. Smothering my laughter, I strode after Gus, stretching my legs to catch up without running. For whatever reason, I made Gus nervous now, and I didn’t want to ruin it by giggling.

  The riot of barks set off by Oliver’s landing confirmed the barn was actually a large-scale kennel, the kind where the individual cages were as large as horse stalls to fit the pony-size cerberi. The concussive woofs and higher-pitched baying rattled my brain in my skull once we were inside the enclosed confines of the barn, and I hunched against the deafening assault. Gus marched up the central aisle, mouthing inaudible curses but doing nothing to quiet the racket. Seeing my discomfort, Oliver loosed a sharp whistle and every cerberus in the building quieted between one breath and the next.

  Gus spun and stared at me. I pretended not to notice.

  “Thank you, Oliver.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, oblivious to Gus’s reaction as he loped along the cage fronts, touching noses with the cerberi as he passed.

  Gus clicked his mouth shut and stuffed his hat tighter to his head. Heavy breathing sounds replaced the silence as dozens of panting muzzles pressed to the slatted fronts of the cages, all sniffing and straining to get closer to us. Fumes of dog breath did nothing for the already musty air, and I took shallow breaths, hoping Gus would be quick.

  The wiry man stomped to the largest cage at the end of the barn, waiting until I was almost at his side before throwing open the door. Three enormous heads burst out of the enclosure, growling in unison, teeth chattering a soft warning. With a height that dwarfed the other cerberi, this one wouldn’t have to stretch to crush my throat in any one of its immense jaws.

  Gus checked my reaction, clearly expecting me to cower in fear. I crossed my arms and affected a bored expression, though if Oliver hadn’t been beside me, his magical enhancement at the ready, I would have been shaking in my boots. Pretending I wasn’t mentally preparing a dense quartz shield to protect Oliver and myself if the cerberus attacked, I raised an eyebrow at Gus in a fair imitation of exasperation.

  “Your oversized dog isn’t going to scare me, Gus. I survived Reaper’s Ridge.”

  “So you say,” he muttered. He barked a one-word command, and the enormous cerberus sat. Two heads continued to glower at me, but the third turned to lick a slimy trail from Gus’s collarbone to his hat. Gus shoved past the head with a grunt, crossing the kennel to unearth a small box from a niche in the floor. The cerberus tracked him with one head, the other two locked on me.

  “You don’t believe me?” I asked, studying the back of my hands. In the soft overhead lights, the amethyst scars appeared to shift of their own accord. I flexed my fingers, remembering how right it had felt to use the baetyl’s power to grow crystal from my thin bones. I hadn’t admitted it to Marcus, or even to myself until that moment, but I found the scars beautiful.

  The cerberus leaned a head close to sniff me, and I extended my hand, forgetting to be afraid. Moist nostrils pressed to the scars, and a soft woof escaped a different throat. When I met the cerberus’s gaze, he whined and lay down, resting all three heads on the floor in front of him. Eyes unfocused, I stared at the cerberus and stretched my shoulders, missing my wings . . .

  Gus turned around with a glare, but his steps faltered at whatever he saw in my expression. I blinked, coming fully back to the moment. The memory of the baetyl faded, and I stifled a yawn. This time my lack of trepidation was unfeigned when I reached over the subdued cerberus for the wad of cash Gus held. Gus hesitated, then smacked the bundle into my palm. He started toward the door of the kennel, but I didn’t move out of his way as I counted the bills.

  “This is only as much as Marcus paid you. The deal was half again as much for returning the sled.”

  “It was in full working order when I gave it to you—”

  “Which is exactly how we’re returning it, but you’re right; I didn’t factor in how much Marcus should charge you for repairing it. He’s an FPD fire elemental, and everyone knows they get a good salary, so if we estimate his hourly rate . . .”

  “Now hang on, there, girl. That’s not what I meant.”

  “But you have a point. So why don’t you hand over the full sum you said you’d pay to get the sled back, plus half of the fee you charged me to take us to Reaper’s Ridge—seeing as how you got us only halfway there—and we’ll call it even.”

  Gus’s jaw muscle worked as his gaze flicked between my bland expression and the scars on my hands; then he spun on a heel to dig through his stash of money again. Oliver undulated up to the cerberus and scratched him behind one of his ears. I stepped back when the three-headed dog tried to get his back foot up to help Oliver out.

  When Gus caught sight of his formerly intimidating cerberus practically rolling belly up for my gargoyle, his mouth pinched so tight I thought he’d crack a tooth. He slapped another stack of bills into my hand, and I took my time counting them, watching Oliver out of the corner of my eye and trying not to smile.

  When I was satisfied Gus hadn’t stiffed us, I stuffed the bills into my back pocket, wincing when I hit bruised flesh, and signaled Oliver that it was time to leave. He reluctantly loped toward the exit.

  “Useless mutt,” Gus growled. The cerberus stood and licked Gus’s face affectionately before he could close the kennel door. A chorus of whines and pants followed us out of the barn.

  Marcus’s gaze sought mine the moment we emerged from the barn, his thunderous scowl softening marginally at the sight of us. Gus’s friends didn’t seem to notice the change in him, and they fidgeted nervously as we approached.

  “I might have to go check out the ridge—see if you’re telling the truth about the storms being gone,” Gus mused as we stepped back into the firelight.

  “Go ahead. But to shut down those storms, the gargoyles and I had to set powerful protection wards. You won’t get close to the top—or to those mine shafts, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Gus had the grace to look embarrassed that I’d seen through him so easily. “If you got up there, I don’t think I’ll have a problem,” he grumbled.

  “Knock yourself out trying,” I said. Memory of the pulsing migraine and menacing presence of the baetyl pursuing us stole the flippancy from my tone, making the words come out hard. I thought I’d ruined my exit, but Gus’s troubled expression said otherwise.

  We paused at the sled to collect our packs, and I handed the cash over to Marcus, expecting him to pocket it. Instead, he
counted out what he’d paid Gus for the sled, then gave the rest of the money back to me. “You earned it.”

  I stuffed it into my bag with a soft sigh of relief. I would be able to pay rent and have some left over, maybe enough to replace the clothes I’d ruined on this trip.

  I shouldered my bag and Marcus picked his up with one hand, letting it dangle rather than slinging it across his injured back. He reached his free hand out to me, and we twined our fingers together. Oliver squeezed between us, bumping our hands with his head. His jaw cracked in a tongue-lolling yawn, and he tilted against me. Marcus caught us both when I staggered under the gargoyle’s weight.

  “Do you mind if I fly ahead? I’m tired.”

  “Go for it. We’ll be right behind you,” I said.

  He trundled a few steps forward, then flapped heavily into the air.

  Marcus and I followed, walking hand in hand down the moonlit street, and I couldn’t help thinking it would have been a lot more romantic if we both weren’t injured and covered in dried sweat, pungent ointment, and half a mountain of dirt. I lifted my shirt and sniffed, grimacing. A bath couldn’t come soon enough.

  “Hang on.” Marcus jerked to a halt, his expression comically troubled. “Did this trip count as a first date?”

  I cocked my head, ruminating out loud. “We did stay overnight in a very exotic location. You even made me dinner. Yeah, I think that counts as a date.”

  “Well, crap. How can I possible top that?”

  “You’ll think of something.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him, rejoicing in the realization that our adventures together were only just beginning.

  Thank you for purchasing Secret of the Gargoyles. If you enjoyed my novel, or even if you didn’t, please leave a review (Amazon). Reviews, good and bad, are crucial for any author’s career, and even a one- or two-line review is an enormous help.

  Special Bonus: Your review will unlock a new gargoyle short story! Once Curse of the Gargoyles reaches 75 reviews and Secret of the Gargoyles reaches 50 reviews, the short story “Lured” will be available for free! If you’d like to see Mika, Marcus, and Oliver in another quick adventure, be sure to leave your review.

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  (Yes, it’s a bribe, but it’s a bribe of love, so that makes it okay, right?)

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  For a list of all Rebecca Chastain’s novels, visit RebeccaChastain.com. In case you’re curious about her humorous internationally bestselling urban fantasy series, here’s a peek:

  A Fistful of Evil

  Madison Fox, Illuminant Enforcer

  Book 1

  Madison Fox just learned that her ability to see souls is more than a sight: It’s a weapon for fighting evil. The only problem is she doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing. On the positive side, her money problems are over, she’s possibly discovered her purpose in life, and her coworker is smoking hot. On the negative side, evil creatures now actively hunt her, and deadly experiences are becoming the norm.

  Tab to the next page to read a sneak peek! Amazon

  Praise for A Fistful of Evil

  “I can’t stress enough how much I enjoyed this book. . . . I would recommend it to all urban fantasy fans, especially ones that don’t mind laughing out loud at times.” (Pure Textuality)

  “A Fistful of Evil is an enjoyable, quick-paced fantasy novel. It’s fun, it’s different and it makes you think.” (Nadaness in Motion)

  Excerpt: A Fistful of Evil

  Madison Fox, Illuminant Enforcer

  Book 1

  1

  Don’t Follow Me: I’m Lost, Too

  The interview was a catastrophe. It started out fine—better than fine. Kyle, the sales manager for the bumper sticker company Illumination Studios met me in the warm confines of a nearby Starbucks, purchased me a grande green tea, and selected a table in the corner, away from the door and the cold blast of November air every customer brought in with them. Soft music, cappuccino-machine clacks and whirs, and the murmur of conversation created a cocoon of privacy.

  I handed Kyle a copy of my résumé, determined to prove myself to be the mandatory employee for the boring junior sales associate position. I wasn’t particularly qualified and I would normally have rather peeled hangnails than perform cold calls—which is what I strongly suspected the position entailed—but four weeks of unemployment, seven failed interviews, and escalating credit card bills proved very strong motivators.

  Strong enough for me to ignore the desperate reason I’d applied for the job in the first place. Never trust your soul-sight, I told myself for the thousandth time. But my imminent eviction trumped mistrust of my bizarre, mutant vision.

  Kyle dropped my résumé to the table without glancing at it. He scrutinized me over the top of his dry cappuccino. Kyle exuded salesman, from his maroon button-up shirt and khaki trousers to his thinning brown hair with its frosted tips. His face was pinched, as if someone had pressed his baby flesh between their hands and pulled, extending his nose and pulling his lips and eyes in tight. He couldn’t have been much older than me, despite the sullen brackets around his mouth and deep grooves between his eyebrows. Maybe his expression fell into disapproving lines naturally.

  “How many years’ experience do you have, Madison?” Kyle asked.

  “Specifically in the bumper sticker business, none, but I believe my time at Catchall Advertising will—”

  “I don’t care about the bumper sticker crap. I care about your experience in the field.”

  My weirdo radar, dulled by the overpowering mix of desperation and determination, flickered to life now.

  “I honed my sales skills while working as a saleswoman at Sundage Cars. My experience there taught me how to connect with people from all walks of life.” Though it hadn’t taught me how to sell a car. In the six months of my employment as a used-car saleswoman, I sold a grand total of zero cars, which is why David Sundage, my cousin-in-law and owner of Sundage Cars, had fired me at the beginning of September. But I wasn’t going to concern Kyle with that minor detail.

  Kyle set his cappuccino down on the table and leaned back in his chair. “How old are you?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure I understand the relevance—”

  “What regions have you worked in before this?”

  Regions? “I’ve worked mainly in Roseville since I—”

  “With who? Not with Brad or Isabel.” Kyle leaned forward, his dark eyes intense.

  Who? I eased my tea to the table and ran my palms down the sides of my black knee-length skirt, telling myself it was only nerves that were making Kyle seem so volatile.

  “Um, most recently with David Sundage,” I said.

  “Where are his headquarters?”

  Headquarters? What is this, the FBI? Hadn’t he bothered to read my résumé?

  “Down Douglas,” I answered, pointing vaguely west toward Douglas Boulevard and the car lot.

  “Before that?”

  “Also in Roseville, at Catchall—”

  “Look, we can both stop playing this game. I don’t care about what jobs you’ve had to take between IE positions.” Kyle deflated into his chair with a gusty sigh. “To be honest, you’re the only qualified person to apply for the job—my job. I’ve been ready to transfer for months now, so I’m not going to make this interview hard on you. I want you to take this job as much as you want it. I just need to make this interview look good so Brad signs my walking papers, okay?”

  I nodded and tried to look like I understood more than the English words he used. I didn’t know what he meant by “IE positions,” and I knew I wasn’t qualified for his sales man
ager position. I wasn’t even qualified to be a junior sales associate, but who was I to argue? Managers probably didn’t have to make cold calls, which automatically made the job more appealing. Plus, a management position would pay better, and I was pretty sure I could fake it until I got caught up on my bills. By then, I could find a more suitable job. Something more Indiana Jones and less Bridget Jones.

  “Okay, let me make this perfectly clear,” Kyle continued. “Which wardens have you worked with?”

  “Wardens?” As in prison?

  Kyle leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. “What’s the largest evil you’ve ever tackled? A wraith? A pissed-off dryad?”

  I cast a quick glance around for a candid camera, noting the nearest exit in case I needed to make a run for it. I’d been nervous on interviews before, but never because of a mentally unstable interviewer. Was that why Kyle had insisted we meet away from the company office? Did he even work for Illumination Studios?

  I eased my hand through the strap of my purse and slid it onto my shoulder, careful not to make any sudden movements that might spook the deranged man. “I don’t think I’m the right person for the job, after all,” I said, and pushed away from the table.

  This is why I never used my soul-sight, never followed its false leads. I shouldn’t have made an exception for this job. To the marrow of my bones, I knew soul-sight was untrustworthy.

  “Hang on, Madison,” Kyle said, grabbing my arm as I started to stand. I froze. “You’re definitely the right person for the job. You’re the first enforcer to walk through that door in nearly two weeks.”

  “I don’t even know what that means. I’m going to save us both some time and leave now.” I tugged to free my arm.

  “Holy crap! You’re a rogue.” Kyle jerked away from me, shaking his hand like I’d given him cooties. Unbalanced, I fell back into my chair.