Secret of the Gargoyles (Gargoyle Guardian Chronicles, #3)

“We had a deal.”


Gus’s companions flinched at the ice in Marcus’s tone, but Gus waved his words aside. “You said you’d return the sled after you went up Reaper’s Ridge. Yet here you are—”

“Yes, here we are,” I said, stepping forward to draw Gus’s attention back to me. My movement played the firelight across the shimmery amethyst scars on the backs of my hands, and the skinny man’s mouth dropped open, freeing his cigar to roll down his chest to his lap. He stared, unaware, for several seconds before leaping to his feet with a curse and patting down the smoldering front of his pants.

Gus’s face had lost some color, but he continued gamely. “So you have some sense after all, girl. How far up Reaper’s did you get before you turned tail?”

“To the top. I really don’t know what all the fuss was about. After we dispersed the storms, it was a pleasant hike and a great view.”

“Dispersed the storms,” he scoffed, but his gaze shifted to look over my shoulder toward Reaper’s Ridge.

Up until yesterday, even from this distance, the wild flares of firestorms and sporadic lightning would have been visible on a clear night like this. Tonight, only the faint outlines of the dark hills against the starry sky defined the mountains, Reaper’s Ridge just one among many shadowy peaks.

“Well, I’ll be . . .” said the heavyset man, standing and squinting in disbelief.

“That’s impossible,” Gus said.

“Maybe for people around here, but not for a girl from Terra Haven.” I couldn’t resist the taunt. “Now, I believe you owe us some money.”

Gus glowered at me, and I could practically see the gears turning behind his cagey eyes. He stood, spat to the side, and clapped his stained brown cowboy hat to his head. “I’ll need to inspect that sled. If it’s damaged . . .”

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.”

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