Gabby hadn’t returned to Waverly House after bringing Hugh Dupuis the case of angel blood. She, Nolan, and Rory had arrived on the Daicrypta’s Belgravia doorstep that morning and had made themselves comfortable in Hugh’s study. He had offered them refreshments while he and his assistants—he’d scoffed at calling them disciples the way his father had, as if they were simply followers of a godlike doyen—had accepted one pint of Ingrid’s blood and disappeared into his laboratory to commence work separating the blood and then testing it against the lodestone mixture used in his diffuser nets.
Gabby had paced endless circuits around the study, had sipped tea and nibbled on biscuits and cold sandwiches, and had even taken to inspecting Hugh’s bookshelves—a true testament to how deliriously bored she was. Rory and Nolan had spent the passing hours happily reclined in club chairs before the fire, or actually reading books, when Gabby had only enough interest to look at the cover and title page. Neither of them seemed at all anxious or pressed for time. She supposed they knew to reserve their energy for when it would truly be needed.
The noon hour waxed and waned, and later, when Gabby’s feet and back finally ached enough from pacing the room all day, she collapsed onto the sofa. The leather was fire-warmed and plush, and with the first golden-rum rays of sunset bleeding through the windows, she’d felt her eyes growing heavy. Nolan left his chair to ease himself down beside her. He’d spread a velvety blanket over her lap and Gabby had ignored propriety and relaxed against his side. She must have drifted off, for when she opened her eyes again, it was to darkness. The fire was the only light in the room, and Gabby was snuggling a pillow instead of Nolan.
Disorientated, she sat up and glanced about the study. The hidden door to the laboratory was cracked open, as was the door to the corridor. She was alone, and though a little bit of light spilled from the laboratory, it was quiet enough for the sparks and crackles from the logs in the hearth to sound like pistol shots. As Gabby swung her legs to the floor, she fought the puerile anger that something important had happened and no one had woken her.
She got up and had taken a step toward the laboratory door when a cold gust of wind blew against her ankles. She stopped. It had blown in from the corridor. She changed direction and went to the study door, where the chill increased. Wind licked at her shoulders and the crown of her head as she stepped into the corridor. Craning her neck, she saw that the skylight shaft, which cut through all three stories of Hugh’s home, had been levered open to a smoggy night sky. Air barreled down the shaft and snapped at Gabby’s cheeks and nose. The moonlight was just barely starting to cut through the brume when a pair of wings eclipsed the rectangular opening. Gabby leaped backward as a gargoyle shot down the wide shaft. She deserted her space on the checkered marble floor a heartbeat before a gargoyle like none she’d seen before landed in a crouch in front of her.
A mantle of amber fur covered its wings and body, though the coat wasn’t like anything she’d wish to pet. While Luc’s scales were flat against his body, this gargoyle’s fur stood up and out as spikes. Its arms, legs, and chest were brawny and intimidating, it talons long and hooked, just as any other gargoyle’s would be. Its face was what frightened her. This was no clownish chimpanzee face. This was the face of a vicious, angry ape: round, flaring nostrils; a dark, pronounced brow; and a grimace that exposed a mouthful of broad teeth and canines. This was Carver.
“I’m sorry I laughed at you earlier,” Gabby whispered to the enormous gargoyle, who was still staring down at her. “You’re not a monkey at all, are you?”
She expected him to reverse his shift right there in the corridor—Luc or Marco would have held no reservations about such a bodily display. However, Carver blew air out of his crumpled nostrils and stalked farther down the corridor in his true form, disappearing around a bend in the hallway.
Gabby let out her breath and decided against searching the rest of the dark house for Nolan or Rory. She returned to the study and headed for the papered-over door to the laboratory. She nudged the open door wider and slipped inside.
The room was brightly lit from the many bulbs dangling from the ceiling. Hugh Dupuis and Rory were speaking in hushed tones at the long center table. Neither of them had noticed her quiet entrance. They were occupied with a microscope and were sharing the eyepiece. The position had their ears brushing up against one another. While Rory needed to lean down to peer through the microscope, Hugh needed to use a stepstool.
Gabby parted her mouth to announce herself but stopped when Hugh shifted his head slightly, just enough for him to look sideways at Rory. The demon hunter’s shoulders stiffened, though he didn’t step away from the lens. He didn’t bark at Hugh for holding himself too close. Gabby’s head was still muddled from her nap, from finding herself alone, and then from the sight of Carver’s gargoyle form. This quiet scene with Rory and Hugh was also peculiar. It ended as quickly as a dream upon waking.
Rory noticed Gabby standing behind them and straightened his back. He moved away from the microscope.
“Feeling refreshed, Miss Waverly?” Hugh asked easily.
“Not exactly,” she said, unable to ignore the way Rory was looking over her head instead of at her.