Page 9 of Never Been Gargoyled
“People will be glad to know someone’s moved into the manor,” he said, as I fished out my wallet to pay. “That place has been empty for so long it started growing rumors.”
I grinned. “Let me guess. Haunted?”
“Not officially,” he said, a hint of smile visible behind his protruding tusk teeth. “But some folks say they’ve seen shadows on the roof. Gargoyle sightings, most likely, but you know how it is.”
Actually, I didn’t, but I suspected I was soon going to find out. Gargoyle sightings?
“I like gargoyles,” I said. “I saw the stone one onthe roof, and I can’t wait to view him in daylight. They’re protective. Old magic.”
He nodded. “I believe you’re right.”
I paid and thanked him again.
“Keep an eye out for the welcome committee,” he said as I walked toward the door with my arms full of bags of goodies. “They usually swing by with treats once a new resident’s settled.”
“Good to know. Thanks, Ogram.”
I drove to the supermarket he mentioned on the corner of Melody Road and Sugar Maple Street, and filled my cart with necessities. Paper towels. Spray cleaner. Chocolate and more wine.
Back in my car, I couldn’t resist the call of the bakery goods. I opened the box, tugged out an éclair, and bit into it.
Oh. Oh my.
The chocolate glaze melted from my warm fingers, and the custard inside was rich and silky, the pastry soft but holding together enough to make it messily amazing.
I groaned.
“Good grief,” I muttered between bites. “That orc’s a genius.”
I licked a smear of cream from my thumb, took a cautious sip of tea that was almost too hot, and leaned back in the seat for a long, blissful moment. I loved this town already. Harmony Glen was already starting to feel like home.
I drove back to the estate, parked in the drive, and carried everything inside with multiple determined trips.I set the bags on the kitchen counter and opened a window to let in the fresh air. The house didn’t creak. It sighed, like it was stretching out old bones.
After unloading the perishables and eyeing the box from the bakery before telling myself to wait, I headed toward the front of the house with cleaning supplies in hand.
I stepped out into the hallway beyond the kitchen and slammed into something solid.
Cold.
And growling.
I yipped and reeled backward.
He stood in the hall like he’d been carved there, his wings half-furled, his tail twitching behind him like an irritated cat. His eyes glowed, stone-gray and flecked with gold. His mouth was pulled into a tight snarl, and not the cute kind. Not too cute, that is.
I froze. Mostly because my brain took a full second to catch up.
“Oh,” I said breathlessly, still clutching my tea. “You must be Feydin. The orc baker mentioned you.” I’d put it together after speaking with Ogram and thought Dorvak was joking, that the gargoyle on the roof had a nickname around town but wasn’t real.
This gargoyle was massively real and oddly attractive in a dark gray, stony way.
He growled as if I’d insulted him by existing.
I thrust out my hand. “I’m Dazy. Dazy Osborne. It’s nice to meet you.”
Leaning down, he sniffed my hand, and I hoped he didn’t plan to bite it off.
Tipping his head back, he released a long, throaty snarl. His wings flared out and when his snarl cut off and he glowered down at me, I wasn’t worried about my hand any longer. Now I was concerned he’d bite my head off instead.
