Page 32 of Guarded By the Gargoyle

“I still don’t like her going off alone.” She sighed and shook her head. “I feel responsible for her—her grandfather was a friend of mine and from what she’s told me, she definitely needs protection. She’s got an abusive ex, a Mob boss, and a Hell Hound all after her at the same time!”

“I didn’t know she had so many threats against her.” I felt my concern growing as Goody Albright listed the many dangers my Mistress was facing. I shouldn’t have let her go alone. But it was almost impossible for me to go against the wishes of my key-holder—especially if she gave me a direct order.

“Yes, she really should have taken you with her.” Goody Albright shook her head. “Such a stubborn girl!”

“I believe she’s simply frightened of me because I’m male,” I said quietly. “I know from what little she told me that her former husband was cruel to her and abused her. It will take time for me to prove to her I would never hurt her and that I only wish to keep her safe.”

“Time is what shedoesn’thave.”

Goody Albright shook her head again and I couldn’t help thinking that she was probably right.

I just hoped that my Mistress called for me soon—I wanted desperately to be by her side so I could shield her from any impending danger.

But for now, all I could do was wait and listen for her voice.

14

WILLOW

The sun was up and the back door of my shop was still wide open when I stepped out of the magical doorway I had drawn to get me from Hidden Hollow back to The French Quarter. I approached the dark opening warily, knowing that anyone or anything could have found their way in while I was gone. New Orleans isn’t exactly the safest city in the world.

I hesitated in the doorway to my shop. Should I give Kael a call and ask him to come in with me? But how did I even call him? Did I just shout his name or what? Maybe I should have asked before going off and leaving him in Hidden Hollow. Should I?—?

Just at that moment, Miss Sassy came out of the door. She meowed loudly at me and then began purring and rubbing against my legs.

My fear lessened considerably. If there was some kind of threat waiting for me inside the shop, my cat would have been much more on edge. She’s extremely perceptive about people, which was one reason I never should have trusted Carlo—Miss Sassy hated him right from the start.

“Okay, all right—I know I missed feeding you breakfast,” I said, reaching down to stroke her soft calico fur. She twined around my legs once more and then looked up and said,

“Mmmmmrow?”which translated from cat language meant, “Well? Are you coming in to feed me?”

“Yes, I’m coming,” I told her. “Here, I don’t want you tripping me.”

I scooped her into my arms and carried her with me as I stepped into the shop.

At first, everything seemed okay. I didn’t see anyone and nothing looked out of place. It wasn’t until I had opened a can of wet food and put it out for Miss Sassy that I heard a sound coming from the front of the shop.

The sound froze me in place. It was a kind of snuffling, crackling sound and I had no idea what—or who—could be making it. I suddenly wished that I had bought that taser I’d been thinking about getting for self defense.

Keeping low and creeping quietly, I peeked out into the front of my shop.

There, sitting on the floor with his legs splayed out, was an old man in a ragged gray coat. He was eating his way through the display of pralines and candied pecans, which accounted for the snuffling and crackling sounds. There were plastic wrappers scattered all around him.

My heart—which had been beating triple time—began to slow. I knew who the intruder was and he was harmless.

“Mr. Joe?” I called, stepping out from behind the counter. Mr. Joe was a homeless man who hung around the street corner near my shop. I gave him spare change sometimes when he asked.

“Huh?” He jerked his head up and stared at me with dull blue eyes. “What’chu want?” he demanded. There were bits of pecan in his dirty gray beard.

“I want for you to stop eating up all my inventory,” I told him. Leaning down, I got a hand under his arm. He smelled strongly of urine and I grimaced as I lifted. “Come on now—you know better than this, Mr. Joe. There’s a mission that will give you all the food you want just down the way.”

“They always make me listen to preachin’ to get any damn food. I hate preachin’!” he grumbled but he seemed willing to be lifted to his feet. I shook my head at the mess he’d made of the praline display, but things could have been so much worse—I really couldn’t complain.

And then things got worse.

I had ushered him to the front door of the shop and was in the act of pushing him gently but firmly back outside when he twisted suddenly, shaking loose of my grip.

“Hey—what…?” I began, but I never got any further.

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