Page 4

“So, when is the package coming from⁠—”

A loud thump that rattles the windows has me whipping my head to the door. Someone knocks.

“I guess that answers your question,” Father says as he gets up with a groan.

I follow him over. He’s a massive man with a solidly built body and huge shoulders. He used to carry me on those shoulders through town when I was a kid, and I bet he could still do it if I asked. With years of swinging axes, wrestling condemned beasts, and dragging around guillotines, he’s all thick muscle. His hair is getting greyer now, but lately he’s been cutting it short, which makes him look younger, I think.

I adore my dad. He’s the most interesting man I know. His hands and forearms are full of scars from vicious things that bite, claw, and occasionally breathe fire. You can pick one at random and he’ll tell you a fantastical, yet true story about the time he battled a Chimera or put down a mad Shadowling. He’s always had a way with words. I always tell him he should write a book for the library, but he’s not the type to sit down for hours at a time with a parchment and quill.

“Good morning, boys,” he says as he opens the door. It’s the Weatherby twins—our local imp delivery boys—standing in front of a massive wooden crate. “What the hell is that?”

“Ya delivery,” the one on the right says. It’s hard to tell them apart, but I have a trick. Struan has half of his tail missing and Nastru still has the whole thing.

“How am I supposed to fit that in the door?”

“We deliver ta doorsteps,” the one on the left says. “S’up to you ta get it inside.”

“You’re not even going to try?” Father hollers.

They just shrug at the same time. “We got other deliveries.”

“Well, you’re not getting a tip from me,” Father snaps.

I grab the bag of muffins off the counter and toss it to them. “Thanks, guys!”

“Hey,” Father says as they hurry away, dried leaves crunching under their weird little feet. “I was going to eat that.”

“I thought you hated lemain.”

“I lied.”

I grin as he stomps into the shop and grabs a crowbar. “Let’s see what Lord Harshballow sent us.”

I’m still marveling at the size of the wooden crate when he shoves the crowbar into it and starts prying the lid off.

“No way,” he says as he pulls himself up and looks inside.

“What is it?” I ask, my heart pumping.

He just grins at me. “I’ve always wanted one of these.”

“What?”

He gets to work, ripping the crate to pieces with his crowbar as I stand back and watch. The inside is full of packed straw, which is odd since we’re supposed to destroy whatever is inside.

“Look at this,” he says as the final boards fall to the ground. He grabs the straw and yanks it off, revealing a giant stone statue.

“Art?” I ask, tilting my head as I look at it.

He laughs. “Not even close. A gargoyle.”

It’s enormous.

“That thing is alive?” I ask as I walk around it, examining it from a distance. It looks like the stone statues on the fountains in the Market Square.

“It’s alive,” he says, hands on his hips, excitement in his eyes. I never see him get excited for a work challenge anymore. I was beginning to think that he’s seen it all, but I guess he hasn’t seen this.

The beast is in a kneeling position with its chin resting on a giant fist. Two wings are folded along his back, covering it like one of the capes that wizards sometimes wear. I can’t take my eyes off it as I walk around, admiring every inch from the giant horns sprouting out of his thick forehead to the calm, serene face that is surprisingly good looking for a killer beast.

It’s remarkably human-like with thick muscular arms, a barrel of a chest, and powerful legs. Its face has stout human features but I can see the monster in them too—the pointed ears and thick jaw, although his eyes, nose, and lips look very human. He has hair too, although it’s all stone. Everything is stone. Even the long curved tail with the spade-like tip.

I swallow hard when I see his big hands and feet, long claws at the tips. If that thing is alive, it won’t take hardly any effort to slice me and Father into pieces before flying to the other side of the kingdom.

“Why does it look like stone?” I ask, peeking at its lower half.

“He’s petrified himself,” Father says. “They can stay like this for centuries. And it’s a good thing he did. They wouldn’t have been able to bring it in otherwise. He could have easily ripped those Weatherby Twins in half with his bare hands.”

I gasp when I see a long hard rock running along his thigh. Is that…?

I quickly hurry away with my cheeks burning and my pulse racing.

“Amazing,” Father says, slapping the creature’s stone shoulder as he circles it, looking it up and down. “Incredible creature. Rare and majestic. What a treat.”

He looks at me with a wide grin.

“Now, let’s kill it!”