Page 5 of Stone Temptation

Stupid face!

He nodded. “Interesting. Tasty. I knew my trap would snare me a powerful morsel.”

Oh, dear. Not good. “Tasty?”

His smile could wither flowers. “Yes, son. Yes.”

“Stop calling me son.”

“I’ll be honest with you,” he said, ignoring my demand. “You won’t be seeing the light of day again. You’ll be in my belly. Humans with interesting powers make the tastiest meats.”

My stomach churned. “Fuck it.”

“No swearing, please.”

“What do you mean by tasty meat?”

“Exactly that, son. Human flesh is a fine delicacy. And it’s been so long since I’ve fed. About ten years.” He moved closer to the bars. “Look at me. Look at this weathered face, these hands, these eyes. I’m fading, I’m starving. I’m dying. Would you believe me if I said I was twenty-five?”

A year younger than me? “Is this some sort of joke?”

“No, son. No. I’ve been twenty-five for a hundred and thirty years. Rapidly aging across the last decade.”

Uh-huh. “Are you a monster?” I asked, taking a step back.

“If I were, I wouldn’t be so confident about eating you, would I?”

Painfully true.

Seventy years ago, the motes became more chaotic, adding monster creation to their repertoire and building a whole new species as if plucking them from humanity’s wildest imaginations, drawing upon our nightmares.

The initial round of monsters slaughtered thousands across the globe, coming close to wiping humanity out. That was when our stony guardians stepped in to save us. The magical weavers of the species infused every human with constant protection from the monsters, making us untouchable, sparing us from extinction.

Unable to break our protection, monsters tried to scare or trick their victims into giving it up willingly. Sometimes they even tried a seductive angle but were mostly unsuccessful these days.

George was a different type of monster.

“I’m cursed.” The old man’s face flickered with sadness. “I didn’t ask for this. I may as well be a monster.”

Was I supposed to sympathize?

“But eating you makes me twenty-five again.” He held the gun with both hands, completely unsteady.

“You’re not really twenty-five, though.”

“Jealous?”

“Of what?”

We both shimmered green with gargoyle magic, reminding us we were safe from monsters. But not the human variety.

“Shut up. It’s nap time.”

He fired the gun as I hit the floor. A dart hit Wuthering Heights, not a bullet.

Great. Sleep darts.

The not-so-old man groaned, fumbling the reload. “Stay bloody still!”

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