Thomas’s blue eyes glisten for a moment, then he grins. “I knew there was a reason you looked like shit, brother.”
“You don’t look much better. You have moss in your hair and you reek like rat piss, though I can’t say that’s much different than before,” Gilbert counters.
Thomas brings a clawed hand to his head, brushing out moss and a few wet leaves. “Don’t be jealous. You know how—”
“Enough,” Jacques says, silencing the two immediately. He rounds on me, eyes narrowing. “Who are you?” he practically hisses. The venom in his voice sends a chill down my spine. Behind the anger, I can see his fear. He’s just as clueless as I am, which freaks me out even more.
Someone is supposed to have answers, and it sure isn’t me.
“I already told you. My name is Acelina Bisset. I’m a detective on the city police force. This house belonged to my Great Aunt Mary and I’ve never been inside until today.”
“Detective?”
“I solve crimes. Hunt bad guys. And I always win.” I push my shoulders back, trying to look as dignified as I can in this crushed velvet ’90s slip dress.
“But you’re a woman.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I retort, defenses automatically going up. I fought tooth and nail to get to where I am today in a male-dominated field. “Times have changed. Women are equal to men.” I let out a breath, bringing my defenses down. “A lot has changed over the years.”
“Has fucking changed?” Thomas asks, giving me that same crooked grin. “It’s been so long since I lay with a woman, even before the curse.”
“A thousand years and you’re still thinking with your cock,” Gilbert mutters under his breath, shaking his head.
“That’ll never change.”
“I don’t think fucking has changed. The concept is still the same, right? Though people are more open about their sexuality now,” I start, then shake my head. “So not the point, either.”
A glow comes from the living room, and I turn to see Hasan standing back from a fire. His eyes meet mine in the dark.
“Come,” he beckons. “Warm yourself.”
“Follow me,” I tell the others, and walk to the fire. I sit near the hearth, holding out my ice-cold hands. I give myself a minute to get the heat back into my fingers before drilling the gargoyles again. I rake my long brunette hair over my shoulder, hoping it will dry quickly. Wet hair on my back always makes me cold.
Jacques pulls a blanket off the couch, shaking off the dust. His eyes meet mine again for a fleeting moment as he hands it to me. There’s no denying the longing in his eyes as he again looks upon me as if he knows me.
“Thanks.” I take the blanket and drape it around my shoulders. My eyes go over the four men in front of me. “So you’re gargoyles.”
“Yes,” Jacques answers.
I stand, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “Okay, then. I’m going to go home and never come back. Because this cannot be happening.”
“It is happening.” Jacques steps in front of me, blocking me in against the fireplace. “It’s happening because of you.”
"Back off,” I order, and his body moves back on its own accord. “I already told you, I have no idea what’s going on, and right now…right now I want to go home.”
“Wait,” Jacques calls. “If you woke us, maybe you’re the one.”
“The one?”
“The one to break the curse.”
4
The fire cracks and pops behind me, casting long shadows throughout the grand living room. Wind blows against the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the rain continues to come down in sheets.
“I don’t know a thing about curses,” I say slowly. “Not how to cast one and not how to break one.” There is hope in Thomas’s and Gilbert’s eyes as they gaze upon me. Hasan remains stoic, staring into the fire behind me.
“Are you sure about that?” Jacques’s lips pull back as he speaks, showing off his fangs. He doesn’t believe me, and to be honest, I wouldn’t either if I were him. All evidence points to me being the one to awaken them.
“Yes. I told you, I didn’t do anything to wake you.”
Jacques holds out his hand, eyes falling shut. “I can feel it inside you.”
“Feel what?”
“Magic.”
I shake my head. “Magic isn’t real.”
Thomas gives me a cocky grin. “Neither are gargoyles, right?”
“This is so fucked up,” I mutter, and run my finger along the barrel of my gun, needing to remind myself who I am. Stick to the facts. I’m not crazy.
I’m a detective. A damn good one. I’ve taken on case after case and proved magic is never the culprit because magic is not real.
“What are you holding?” Gilbert asks, eyes going to the M9 in my hand.
“It’s a gun.”
“Gun,” he repeats, saying the word like it’s the first time he’s heard it. “What does it do?”
“Right. You wouldn’t know. It shoots bullets and can kill people.”
“That thing can kill?” he asks incredulously. “It’s so small.”
History has never been my strong suit, but I know the Templars lived their days battling it out with swords, daggers, and bows and arrows. I flick the safety on.
“Don’t underestimate it.”
My phone rings, and the Wonder Woman theme song echoes from the living room. All four gargoyles react as if there were a monster lurking.
“Calm down. It’s just my phone,” I say. “A phone is harmless.”
I stride into the living room for some privacy and pull my phone out of my pocket. There’s only one reason I’d get a call at this hour. I’ve never declined a call from work before. My finger hovers over the red icon on my screen. At the last second, I answer.
“Bisset,” I say into the phone.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” the officer responds. “But we’ve got another body. The ME isn’t here yet, but I think it’s safe to say the cause of death is from loss of blood. And bone.”
“Shit. How many bones this time?”
“All ten fingers and one femur. Body was still warm when it was called in. A couple of storm chasers found it in the bushes.”
“Text me the address. I’m on my way.” I end the call and wait for the address to come through.
“Is everything all right?” Jacques asks, walking into the living room. I wish he’d stop looking at me like he knew me. It’s unnerving, but mostly because I have a weird feeling like I know him too.
Like I know all of the men.
“Actually, no. Things aren’t all right. There was a murder and I need to go investigate.”
“Dressed like that?”
I look down at the stupid dress. “Shit.” I don’t wear dresses. Or skirts. In fact, the only dress I own is a knee-length black wrap, which I purchased solely for funerals. Fortunately, I’ve only worn it a handful of times. “I guess.”
My phone buzzes with a text, and I get directions to the crime scene. It’s only four miles from here.
“You’re leaving?” Thomas’s wings catch on the arched doorframe leading into the living room. He pulls them in closer to his body, making me even more curious. I want to touch them, ask them to spread their wings and let me get a good look. But I can’t. I won’t. Because I’m still not entirely sure this is actually happening.
“Yes. I’ll, uh, I’ll be back. So don’t go plunder a village and eat the local children, okay?”
Jacques’s eyes narrow. “Why would we do that?”
Thomas holds up his hands, wiggling his claws and motioning to his fangs. “She thinks we’re monsters.”
“I’m stereotyping, I know.” I give him a guilty look. “Sorry.”
“What is stereotyping?” Jacques asks.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I mumble. “Look, I have to go.”
“You’ll be back.” Jacques’s dark eyes pierce into mine. He grabs my hand, causing goosebumps to break out along my flesh. “I have your word?”
I swallow my pounding heart. “Yes.”