Page 7 of Let Go My Gargoyle
“Penelope. Is she a gargoyle? I’ve always assumed as much.”
Shaking his head, he said, “She’s a witch. You couldn’t tell?”
She lifted one shoulder and buried her nose in her drink. “I don’t get out much.”
He returned to his chair and leaned forward, holding his glass between his knees. “Why not?”
She hesitated. “Waking up and discovering you’re suddenly responsible for an infant tends to make you shy away from society.”
Griffin hadn’t expected that. He would have thought she’d turn to her colony to help her figure out what to do.
Abruptly, she stood. “Listen, I need to get to bed. She gets up at six, which leaves me with about three hours of sleep, if I can lay my head on my pillow in the next fifteen minutes.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to join her, except he knew damn well she’d say no, and with good reason. He stood and took both empty glasses into the kitchen and placed them in the sink. When he returned, he nodded and said, “Good night, Sofia.”
And then he left, even made a show of ambling down the sidewalk, knowing she was likely watching out the window. At the end of the block, he turned the corner, then clamped his teeth onto the straps of his duffle and summoned the magic. He directed his body not to turn to stone but to the leathery, winged creature that would allow him to fly across the lawns until he dropped with an almost soundless thud into her backyard.
Quiet as a cat, he stalked around the outside of the house until he figured out which window belonged to the sleeping child, and then he shifted into his stone form and stood watch, as gargoyles had for century upon century.
Good thing gargoyles needed little sleep, because the babe did indeed wake at 6:00 a.m.
As soon as he heard the first snuffle and yawn, the soft sound of blankets being kicked away, he shifted into human form, snagged his bag, and used his magic to unlock the kitchen door and slip inside.
He waylaid the child as she was about to head into Sofia’s bedroom. She looked up at him, unblinking blue eyes gone wide. Her red hair was tousled, her nightgown wrinkled, and she clutched a stuffed purple dragon in her arm.
Cute.
He lifted a finger to his lips and then motioned for her to walk down the hallway, away from the bedrooms.
She shook her head.
“We don’t want to wake your, er…” What did she call Sofia? He had no idea.
“You aren’t supposed to be in my house,” the little girl said.
“Do you know who I am?” Was that even possible? She’d been three months old when he left her here.
She shook her head again. “That’s why you aren’t supposed to be here.”
“It’s okay. I’m your, er, Sofia’s friend.”
“Sofia is my mommy.”
Okay, one question answered. “And I’m your mommy’s friend.”
She shook her head yet again. “Mommy doesn’t have friends.”
Well, that was an interesting tidbit. Sofia had implied the same last night. Why was she so antisocial? Although, in truth, that would likely aid in his quest to protect her. Especially since he had no idea what he was protecting her from, and something told him she didn’t either.
He tried a different tactic. “Have you ever used your magic, Penelope?”
Her eyes widened. “How do you know my name?”
“I told you, I’m your mommy’s friend. And if you have the ability to use your magic, you can use it on me to see if I’m a good guy or a bad guy.”
“I can do that?” She’d gone from hostile to mildly curious. He just needed to get her away from that door before they woke Sofia. The poor woman had looked exhausted last night, and he was pretty certain that dragons needed more than three hours of sleep at a time.
He stretched out his arm. “Touch your fingers to mine and close your eyes. Tell me what you feel.”
