He spun on his heel and bustled away.
“Is fussiness another trait of gargoyles?” Aurora asked with a straight face.
Tristan felt his smile grow. “Careful there, Madam Alpha’s Daughter. People might catch on that you have a sense of humor hidden away in that straitlaced personality.”
Her lips quirked, and she looked away. Maybe she didn’t mind teasing after all.
But Jessie hadn’t been paying attention to their banter. “Who’s trying to hire this person?” she asked on a release of breath, studying the paper Naomi had delivered. “If given half the chance, he’d rob Ivy House blind…”
TWO
Niamh
Her Christmas present from Nessa and Sebastian, a basket of rocks the perfect size and shape for throwing at people, sat on Niamh’s lap. She slowly rocked, sitting on her porch and enjoying the day. With fewer Dicks and Janes living in the area now, and it being winter, the street was blessedly free of gawking tourists intent on getting a gander at Niamh’s neighbor, the hulking form of Ivy House.
Unfortunately, that cursed golem trapped in Betty’s basement down the street was making an awful racket. Let the poor wee bugger out once in a while, why didn’t she? It could use the Ivy House wood to run around in, chasing or being chased by the basajaunak. Give that animated clay some exercise.
The door to Ivy House opened, and a large shape filled the frame—Tristan, taking a break from shadowing Jessie. That great lummox wasn’t filling the late Nathanial’s old role at all. When Tristan predicted she’d tilt left, she went right. He had one helluva flight plan, and he was an exceptional leader for those stubborn-arse gargoyles, but he just couldn’tanticipateJessie.On a regular basis, she blew his organization all to hell. It was funny to watch him try to control his frustration with himself.
Niamh had to hand it to him, though—he hadn’t given up, and he hadn’t slacked off. He continually tried to evolve, to change himself to fit what Jessie needed. It was commendable. Niamh hadn’t thought he had it in him to try.
Oh, aye, he’d say it was because he was too stubborn to give up, or he hated to fail, or he didn’t want to prove Niamh right that he was too narcissistic for the post, but she’d got his number at this stage. She knew how he ticked. All of those things certainly played a role, but his underlying desire to succeed was because he wanted to help Jessie, plain and simple. He loved her like they all did. He wanted to be an asset to her, to protect her, and to help her achieve greatness. Because of her rarity and her past, she was a misfit in gargoyle culture, as was he. He saw himself in her struggles. He saw her as family, and with each passing day, he was thawing in his mistrust of people in general. He was starting to let Jessie in, and by extension, all of them. Thatoulgargoyle-monster had a heart cloaked in shadows, and it was beating in time to the Ivy House team. As well it should.
It was time he got a wee shove in the right direction, so it was. He’d proven himself. There definitely wasn’t anyone as strong and cunning in the air, and it was time for him to finally find his place on their team.
Tristan’s gaze zipped directly to her, as though she were his target. He carried a to-go coffee cup as he crossed the grass, heading in her direction. He wasn’t a guy who cared about the etiquette of taking the walkway and saving the lawn. Not that she blamed him.
Based on his speed and direct gait, he meant business.
She didn’t slow in her rocking as she slipped her hand into the basket. Great throwing rocks, these. Sebastian and Nessa had got it right. After she threw them, she often went andcollected them anew. It was better than scouting for others. Work smarter, not harder.
Tristan stepped off the curb and kept coming. She waited until he closed the distance before she gripped a rock, turned in her chair, and let it fly. Her aim was true, but the power of the throw wasn’t great. Standing would’ve helped, but surprise would win the day.
He flinched when the rock was nearly to him, and his hand darted up, but he was too late. It hit him square on the chest, nearly at his throat. He jerked backward before catching himself and stopped.
Most people would’ve rubbed the offending spot, but Niamh knew he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He stared at her menacingly, his arms flared, his wings fluttering dangerously.
She started chuckling while reaching for another rock, an idle threat. He’d react too quickly for her to hit him a second time, and then she’d have to retrieve another rock. Best to bluff this time around.
He picked up the offending rock while taking something out of his jeans pocket. He kept it concealed in his big hand, disappearing the rock into his fist as well. His free hand dipped into the inside of his stylish bomber jacket and grabbed something out of a pocket. After he started walking again, he fiddled with whatever he’d retrieved before lobbing the whole lot back to her.
“What in the…” She snatched it out of the air.
One of Edgar’s worst doily efforts was wrapped around her rock and secured with tape.
“Ye’ve lost the plot now, boy,” she said as Tristan walked into her yard and stalled at the bottom step of her porch. “It’s bad enough that Edgar makes these things, but now ye walk around with them?”
He smirked. “I figured handing these out as gifts would darken everyone’s day.”
“Is this ye crying out for help, then?” She held up the concoction. “Ye haven’t got to lead battles or torture mages, so ye go around with these horrible excuses for arts and crafts?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Or maybe I’m a giving sort of person.”
“Giving sort of person, me arse,” she grumbled. “C’mere, what of yer latest efforts to find the mages?”
That knocked him down a peg. He sighed and leaned against the banister, looking out at the bright street in the crisp late morning. “I’m still coming up empty. I enjoy playing in the shadows?—”
“Clearly,” she muttered, unwrapping the rock and slipping it back into her basket.
