Page 64 of Howl for the Gargoyle

Rafe

I squinted at my backsplash tile, licking my lips and tilting my head. Had I added too much salt, or was it perfect? Did it matter if I wasn't using a measuring spoon anyway? Probably not, because it'd be a guessing game again on Tuesday when I saw Hannah, but I wanted the sauce to be perfect.

I wanted everything to be perfect when it came to my appointments with Hannah.

I would've liked to say that it was because Hannah was still my only client giving me good ratings and singing my praises to MSA, but I knew that wasn't the truth. I wanted my performance with Hannah, the food I cooked for her, the time we spent together, to be perfect because I liked Hannah and she deserved the best. Because she'd made a rule that I got off when we were together. Because she was fun to spend time with, and I could feel the good it did for her to be free and wild and a werewolf.

I paused, spoon held in front of my mouth, wings stretching behind me, and fought off a wild and irrational urge to go flying through Chicago to find Hannah at that exact moment and—

My phone chimed, and I dropped the spoon down to the stovetop to pull it from my pocket. A calendar alert, which meant either bookings or…

Cancellations.

I sighed and swiped, already prepared to lose my latest gorgon client. We'd had fun. She'd been fairly nice, and when I'd set up new rules with MSA she hadn't fussed, but I knew the difference now between the chemistry that was natural and the appointments that required my performance. Hannah was—

I blinked at the screen.

Hannah was my cancellation. Cancellations, plural. I'd only had two more appointments left with her before her tour, and I knew she wouldn't be able to book during those months obviously, but she'd…she'd cut the others. She'd cut Tuesday. That was less than a week away, and I was making sauce.

My body was suddenly made of lead, and I could've sworn I was dropping down through one floor after another of the building, right down to the ground. At least my stomach was.

Fuck. I'd lost Hannah.

I had told her she was my favorite client, which was true, and she'd teased back, but I hadn't thought… This couldn't be right. I knew Hannah enjoyed our time together. I'd made sure of it, damnit!

Or had I messed up? Maybe I'd gotten too selfish. Maybe she'd wanted more than what we had, rougher or rowdier, more chasing and scratching and…

And I would've given her that if she'd wanted it. She could've pulled my wings and thrown me down a hill and scratched me till I bled, and I still would've begged to be inside of her.

I clicked the stovetop off, red sauce bubbling in the pan, and pulled up my email. There was nothing from MSA, although they'd pass along Hannah's exit interview within the next day or so. And it would offer insight, but it wouldn't let me change Hannah's mind.

I wanted a drink, but the only place with any that actually made me feel anything was Nightlight, and I absolutely did not want to run into Elias or Khell, so that ruled that out.

The other option was flight. Which sounded good. It sounded better than standing in front of my stove, staring at something I'd been cooking for my latest client who'd canceled on me. My favorite client.

Hannah.

"I quit," I said, glaring at the bubbling sauce.

I pulled my phone back out of my pocket and pulled up emails. With Hannah's cancellation, I had three weeks before another appointment. With Hannah's cancellation, I wasn't even going to make ends meet with what I had left. It was over. It was time to move on. At least I had Grandpops's imp genes to make that exciting.

Except I wasn't excited. I was miserable.

My two-week's notice to MSA was as dismal as my apparent performance to their clients, but then that wouldn't make me much of a loss. I sent all three sentences off to Astraeya and crossed to my living room, opening my largest window and tossing myself out.

A bit dramatic, but my wings were ready, catching the air and cutting through, sending me soaring toward the lake. It'd been a while since I'd gone for a good flight. I was overdue.

I should've curled my wings and turned back the way I'd come the second I saw the lights in the apartment. It was the first time there'd been any sign of life there during one of my visits, and the view of the lamps glittering through hammered glass was more beautiful than I'd expected. I wasn’t Elias, but the glow drew me in closer when I should've turned away.

Raucous music thumped inside of the beautiful gothic stone of the Chicago Tribune Tower, and a mass of bodies writhed through the warped glass. There was a party going on, voices blurring together, laughter cracking through the dull harmony. It was bitterly cold out tonight so the high-rise balcony was deserted, and I found myself a shadowy perch at the top of one of the ornate archways. If anyone looked out, they would assume I was a feature of the building, rather than stony flesh and blood.

I couldn't make out features through the pebbled texture of the glass windows, but there was enough detail to surprise me. The music blaring was rock, old classics leading directly into new hits, a strange collection of songs and a playlist no one in the crowded room seemed to pay much attention to. Jewelry glittered on the throats of men and women, bodies stacked together on furniture, and a thin haze of smoke floated up above heads to swirl around lamps.

Not the crowd I'd expected to find in the ritzy reputation of the tower. Still, the room looked warm, cheerful, and celebratory. Not my mood at all.

I shifted, preparing to leap and take flight again, when a balcony door cracked open. I paused, curious at first, and then stunned as a tall, slim figure stepped through, shrouded in a massive black coat.

"Hannah." I greeted her on instinct, but Chicago's wind whipped the word away from my lips and sent it into the city rather than to her ear.

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