by Sam Cheever
Up to that point, love and basic care had been enough. But soon, he’d need to learn how to ride the wind. He’d need to figure out how to tap a lei line. He’d need to learn so many things.
And I wasn’t equipped to teach him.
With a heavy sigh, I returned to my dinner. After I was done, I’d see what boards I could find in the garage.
I cringed at the thought. The garage was a nightmare of stuff. Some of it useful, some of it little more than clutter, but all of it dangerous.
It was the detritus of my grandmother’s life. Culled from the house over the five years since I’d laid claim to Victoria. Much of it carried a deep reservoir of her considerable magic within its pores. It was stuff I’d never use. But it had been part of her. And I’d been unable to throw it away.
If there were any boards on the property, that was where they’d be.
I might as well get it done. The sooner the door was made impassable, the safer Boyle would be.
Boyle insisted on coming with me to the garage. It was a massive affair, big enough for at least three cars, and was detached because when the house had been built a couple of hundred years earlier, there’d been no such thing as garages.
I suspected it had once been a carriage house.
The little gargoyle clutched a cookie in each hand as he trundled along behind me, and I grimaced at the trail of crumbs he was leaving on the ground behind him. Then I winced as I realized the crumbs wouldn’t be there for long.
Gargoyles scoff at the five-second rule. They roll on the floor laughing over it. There is no outside edge of time that removes the viability of any food that hits the ground. As far as Boyle was concerned, if it was edible when it was handed to him, nothing short of having someone pee on it would remove its viability after it hit the floor.
In fact, I sometimes suspected him of dropping food on purpose as a way of storing it for later. Once, I’d vacuumed up some cake crumbs he’d left along the stairs leading to the second floor. He’d thrown a fit, accusing me of eating them myself.
I’d had trouble calming him down after that one. And I’d vowed never to do it again.
I reached up and flipped the switch, illuminating the carriage house’s only source of light, such as it was. A single bare bulb hung from the high ceiling, naked and covered with dust. It illuminated only the very center of the three-car garage, leaving most of it in shadow.
Good thing I’d brought a flashlight with me.
I stood there a moment, looking over the mess of broken furniture, boxes of clothing, and spellbooks. An enormous table along the outside wall was filled with cloudy glass beakers and stained with the residue of Grams’ spell work.
Beneath the clutter, somewhere, was an old boat of a car. Grams had driven the classic Chevy she’d called old Belle all my life, as far back as I could remember. Belle was baby blue, chrome, and white, and sported actual fins along the back. She was a monster of a car that ran on magic rather than fuel. And she’d been indestructible.
I suddenly wondered if the old car would still run. But even as I had the thought, I realized it was unlikely she would run for me. Unlike Grandma Forester, I wasn’t made of magic.
My grandmother had been a sorceress. Not just any sorceress, but one of the most powerful sorceresses in the known continents. She’d been spectacular, and her name had filled most in the magical universe with fear and respect.
There had been only one other who’d even come close to matching her skill. And I was pretty sure she’d once dated him. They’d never made anything of it, though. I suspected the competition had probably just been too much between them.
Grams had never admitted it, but I strongly suspected that my mother had been the result of that one encounter.
Grams had been the original women’s libber. She’d believed she didn’t need a man to be happy. And, as far as I could tell, she’d been right. At least where she was concerned. Except for bringing my mother into the world, there’d been no other evidence that Grams had even interacted with the male of the species.
My mother had followed in the same tradition, never marrying, and by the time my brother and I had been old enough to ask about our father, our mother was already gone. Grams had been frustratingly tight-lipped about our parents, saying only that we were loved.
That wouldn’t have been nearly enough if we hadn’t had Grams. But she’d showered us with enough love and protection to make up for the loss of two people we’d never known.
“Meow!”
I turned to find a small, black cat trotting into the garage from the pitch-dark night beyond. The cat wound around my ankles and then bumped up against Boyle, giving him a plaintive yowl.
Boyle looked at me. “Can I, Glynnie?”
I nodded. “Don’t go far, though,” I told him. “We don’t know if the man’s out there.”
“Come on, kitty.” Boyle grabbed a large bag of cat food from the cabinet near the door and headed outside with it, dragging the heavy bag along the floor as he went.
I turned back to the mess in front of me, eyeing the piles and stacks to determine where the boards would most likely be. I decided the back corner of the garage looked the most promising, and headed that way.
A dog barked outside and then another. I smiled. Boyle was like an old lady feeding pigeons in the park. He loved to feed the strays. And we’d accumulated quite a few of them along the way. So many, in fact that my kibble bill had tripled over the last few months. I sometimes felt as if I were feeding the entire planet of animals.
Deep down, I knew it wasn’t Boyles’ attentions that had brought the critters to Victoria. They’d been drawn to me. While I didn’t have any inherent magic, I had the capacity to use and enhance the magic I encountered. And, I guessed that ability was a kind of magic of its own. Grams had once told me the source and core of my magic was settled in the animal world. I never really understood what that meant. But critters had always seemed drawn to me. Even when I’d been a baby. Grams had shown me photos of me in my bassinet in the yard, surrounded by a dozen bunnies, squirrels and deer as if they were protecting me.
It seemed only proper that I should feed them since it was my fault they were there.
“Woowoowoo, rowr.”
I whipped around, my heart rate spiking in surprise. I looked over at the enormous black dog and laughed with relief. “You startled me.”
The big dog fixed me with intelligent brown eyes and whined softly in his throat.
I offered him my fingers and he moved closer, stretching his neck to carefully sniff the very tips.
The big dog had shown up in my yard several weeks earlier. At first, I’d thought he was a wolf. He was enormous, with long, long legs and a thick coat that formed a dense ruff over his shoulders. His tail was thick too, and beneath the midnight black of his fur, the undercoat was a soft, pale gray. His head was too wide for a wolf’s. His muzzle too thick, with a silky fringe along his jawline. No. Not a wolf. Maybe some kind of hybrid.
Whatever he was, he seemed to be determined to introduce himself to me.
He'd been standoffish since arriving. Spending much of the day lying in the grass and staring at the house. When I’d gone outside to see him, he’d kept his distance, trotting away from me as I approached to keep a requisite ten feet between us at all times.
Trust was obviously an issue, and I had to wonder why. Had someone hurt him in the past?
I’d been trying to make friends with the big dog, all the while feeling as if he was trying to tell me something. Over the last few days, I’d managed to get close enough to touch.
He was wary. And he was magic. I felt the soft sting of his energy dancing along my skin when I got within several feet of him.
But I had no idea why he was there.
I crouched down and offered him my hand again. “You’re missing out on dinner,” I told him, my voice low and soft. “Don’t you…”
His head shot up and he spun, startling me into taking a st
ep back. Then he gave a deep growl that brought the hairs on the back of my neck to attention.
And took off running for the door.
A beat later, Boyle’s terrified scream tore the air beyond the light.
3
I took off after the dog, my heart banging against my ribs in pure terror. The night was pitch beyond even the dim light from the garage. In the distance, the silvery rectangles of the windows in the house did me little good. I stumbled over tufts of dense grass before remembering I had a flashlight in my hand.
My ears strained for some sign of what was happening as I fumbled with the power switch on the flash, not wanting to slow to mess with it.
Another cry, closer than the last, had me veering toward the house, where the glow from the kitchen window showed the abandoned bag of cat food, brown pebbles spilled in a trailing mound along the grass.
No animals pecked at it. In fact, nothing moved beyond the gracefully loping dog, whose fur had melded into the velvet tapestry of night, unseen except for when it caught an errant strand of weak light.
“Boyle!” I screamed, panic flooding me until I found it hard to breathe. My thumb finally found the power switch, and the flashlight snapped on.
Something leaped into the air in the dim glow. It plowed into me, crashing into my chest and sending me backward, to slam against the ground with an “umph!”.
Arms like leather-covered steel wound around my neck, nearly choking me with their strength.
A soft sob rumbled against my chest.
My heart beating hard enough to make me dizzy, I sucked in a relieved breath and wrapped my arms around Boyle. “Are you okay?”
Growling filled the dense night beyond the house. Snarling and snapping.
I shoved to my feet, still holding the baby against me as I gripped the flash, intending to use it as a weapon.
I moved toward the sound. Instinct told me that the black wolf-dog was fighting a life or death battle, no doubt against whatever had terrified Boyle. I had to help him.
Without stopping to consider what I was doing, I sought the magic, finding a rich source of it nearby and siphoning it away to feed my own reserves. The magic was dark and spicy, unique, yet somehow comfortable to embrace.
And embrace it, I did. I yanked it close, wrapped the metaphysical blanket of my own energy around it and made it mine, assimilating it into my pores and expanding it until it danced against my skin, hungry and eager for release.
It was dangerous pulling magical energy from a source I didn’t know. Terrifying. I had no idea what the magic I’d pulled would do.
Was it benevolent energy? Unlikely.
But it was powerful. And with a baby gargoyle shivering in fear against me, I forced my doubts away and…
I forced the magic into the flashlight, willing it to coalesce and build. The illumination flashed brighter, its light bathing the entire yard and painting the street beyond and even the buildings across from me in stark, white illumination.
What I saw made me step back, my breath trapped in lungs that had ceased to draw air.
Even in the light, it looked like a shadow, with indeterminate lines and frothy edges which filtered away as it moved.
The thing was vaguely man-shaped, with golden, glowing eyes and a huge mouth filled with massive yellow teeth. Its body drifted as it moved, occasionally disappearing, as if perched in the mouth of a vortex that would pull it back at the slightest provocation.
The thing swung something that looked like a scythe, its blade glossy with red blood. And the wolf-dog’s fur was matted with the stuff over one shoulder, its gait hitching when it stepped onto its left front paw.
I watched the dog leap off the ground, faster than a normal dog by several times, and snap at the flowing robes of the apparition, ripping through them despite the fact that they didn’t look substantial enough to grab.
The creature pulled back, most of its wraithlike form sucking into the protective vortex and then surged out again, the scythe making a neat arc on the air that sliced far too close the to dog’s head.
A soft yelp of pain told me the blade had connected.
I growled in rage. Giving Boyle a quick squeeze, I looked down at him. “Hold on, baby.”
He did, nearly breaking my ribs with his supersized grip.
I barely noticed. I’d sent the magic into the flashlight again, my mind forming a far different picture from the first time I’d infused it.
The center of the silvery illumination thickened, coiled, and spread outward, spitting deadly energy like a drill bit that’s been saturated with electricity.
I shoved magic into it and it grew, the coil spinning faster, and the energy becoming so rabid I had to tighten my grip on the metal canister to keep it under control.
“Get back!” I yelled at the dog and, amazingly, he listened. He stepped beyond the light and fell, his energy spent.
Worry thrummed through me. I almost abandoned the fight to check on him. But, if I did, he wouldn’t be safe. Boyle wouldn’t be safe.
Not until the apparition in front of me was gone.
The thing in the vortex refocused its eerie gaze on me. It stilled for a moment, and then lifted a long, bony hand, the skeletal fingers twitching upward in invitation.
I wanted to laugh. Did it think I was stupid?
“Yeah,” I said out loud. “I’m going to take your hand and join you in your traveling nightmare.” I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
The thing dropped its hand, cocking the head I couldn’t see beyond the constantly waving fringe of its hood. Only the glowing eyes and the sharp rows of yellowed teeth were visible. The fiend seemed to be waiting, watching with interest as I moved closer.
My foot stepped off the grass and onto the broken asphalt.
My magic wavered.
If I went any further, I’d be giving up any connection I had to the house—the source of my inherent energy.
That magic wasn’t insignificant. I bit my lip, thinking. Should I risk it?
Boyle loosened his grip on me. “Glynnie?”
I hugged him close, kissed him on the fringe of hair between his ears, and looked into his little face. “I’m going to put you down. I want you to go over by the dog. Stay by him until I’m done. Do you understand?”
Boyle shook his head. “No, Glynnie. That’s bad. Really bad.” He slid a quick, terrified glance toward the vortex. “Don’t go there.”
I hugged him again. “I’ll be fine,” I told him, my voice sounding surprisingly calm. “The dog needs you, honey. He’s hurt. Can you help him?”
The dog would keep the little gargoyle safe. He’d proven he would. And Boyle couldn’t resist being needed.
An angry look puckered the adorable face for a beat. His bottom lip jutted, and he looked belligerent. “No. You need me more.”
The thing in the street shifted slightly and, when I looked up, it had cut the distance between us by half.
All the little hairs on my arms stood at attention. “Boyle, I don’t have time to argue.”
He crossed his arms over his tiny chest.
“Boyle…” I began, and then it was too late.
The thing surged from its protective vortex and slammed into us. I hit the ground and rolled, covering Boyle with my body as the bony fingers dug into my sides, compressing my bones until they began to creak.
I screamed, the sound shrill with terror and pain. Beneath me, Boyle struggled to escape. I could feel his magic building and I panicked. If he did something to annoy the creature trying to pry me off him…
I looked frantically around for the flashlight, finding it nestled in the gutter two feet away from my outstretched fingers.
I’d never get to it in time. Not with an entity from Hell sitting on my back.
A snarl warned me the dog was back. It flew off the ground and landed on the creature riding my back.
The extra weight sank onto me and I collapsed. Just like that, I had a new worry. I was going
to crush Boyle.
But the hound clamped its impressive jaws over the monster’s neck and shook his head, flinging it away as if it weighed nothing.
I didn’t hesitate. I jumped to my feet and grabbed Boyle, giving him a fear-infused shove. “Go into the house. Now!”
To my relief, he listened.
I waited only until I saw him disappear inside and then lunged for the flashlight.
The hound was a wild thing, lunging and ripping and flinging, but it hadn’t made much progress all the same.
And several glossy spots of blood painted its fur.
I lifted the flash and yelled, “Kill!”
The light spun into the coil of deadly magic again, but instead of a finger-thin coil, it had grown to the size of my wrist. And it was angry.
Fueled, no doubt, by my own rage.
I ran toward the monster, watching in horror as its scythe sliced downward, its trajectory ensuring a killing strike.
“No!” I screamed as the dog, presumably in a last-ditch effort to save itself, flew sideways and slammed into the big tree at the center of the yard, going limp as it hit the grass.
I didn’t hesitate.
My hand coming up, I gave a feral scream, the sound warbling on the edge of a growl, and lunged at the wraithlike monster.
4
The sizzling coil of energy speared the thing high on one shoulder. I’d been aiming for the heart…if it even had one…but the monster was the epitome of constant movement, the flowing and shimmering robes confusing the eye and making it hard to pinpoint its exact location.
The coil met little resistance as I pulled it back, and I wondered if there was anything beneath the robes other than foul black energy.
It had certainly felt substantial when it was crushing me into the ground.
I withdrew and rolled back on my heels for a beat, trying to discern a pattern in its movements.
