Page 1 of Bite of the Gargoyle

Chapter One

I throw the bloodied rabbit carcass onto the table and watch as a few drops of blood fly off the unfortunate thing and soil the cleric’s vest.

The woman sitting at the table (beside the cleric) screams, the cleric’s mouth drops open and the third of their company, a round and blubbery man, glares at me.

“What the bloody ‘ell,” he starts and stands up.

The man, whom I suppose is one of the cleric’s parishioners, is quite fat and even more bald. He may or may not be a husband to the woman. Regardless, he has an inch or two on me in height and more than twenty inches in girth. Currently, his beady little eyes are doing a fine job of revealing his absolute ire. It’s just a matter of seconds before those eyes stray down to my bust. Given the fact that my vest is a tad too tight and the mountains on my chest are a tad too big, I suppose I can’t fault him for his obvious interest. Men—they are forever subject to the wiles of the snake living within their trousers.

“Girl!” the man of the faith bellows as he remains seated, but frowns before turning to face the barkeep, after apparently realizing I’m not about to remove my bleeding dinner from the table before him. For his part, the rabbit appears quite contentedly dead.

“We are supposed to meet someone important!” the woman cries, throwing her hands up, obviously perturbed to find the nearly severed rabbit’s head facing her. It actually appears to be smiling. I imagine it’s the only creature of the male persuasion to ever have smiled at the rather cantankerous woman, given the fact that she is very unimpressive to look at. Except for her chin hairs—those are impressive and plentiful!

“That’s so! Wearemeeting someone important!” the bald fat man says, while insistently nodding. “You can’t just leave that… thatthingon the table!”

“You’re meetingme,” I answer with little interest.

The cleric turns from attempting to wave down the barkeep and faces me again, his bushy eyebrows reaching for the thatched ceiling. He’s one of those people you wouldn’t be able to pick out in a crowd, other than his black and white ecclesiastical getup. Otherwise, his face is an expanse of bland nose, bland mouth, and even blander eyes.

“Meetingyou?” he drawls.

“She’s quite daft,” the woman says under her breath as she shakes her head.

“Yes, you’re meetingme.” I try to conceal my smile but every time this situation repeats itself, I always find it to be humorous, and it repeats itself quite often.

“We most certainly are not!” the bald fat man bellows, agitating all three of his chins.

“We’re meeting a… a Joe…” the cleric starts.

“Delevigne,” I interrupt on a yawn. Because they’re civilized townsfolk, I do cover my mouth.

All three of them pause—clearly, they don’t know how to respond. So, I respond for them. “I could hardly have used my real name, Joanna, because then you never would have hired me.”

“This is an outrage!” the fat man yells.

“Then this girl is… isJo Delevigne?” the woman asks her companions. Clearly, she isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

“Shemost certainly is,” I answer with a smile as I pull the chair out beside her (the one they’d presumably been saving for ‘Joe’) and take a seat, placing my knee-high boots on the table before me. “Jo Delevigne, monster hunter, at your service.” I would have bowed, but I’m now sitting so the moment has passed. I’ll have to add that little theatrical bit next time I introduce myself to my bewildered employers.

“I don’t… I don’t understand how this is possible,” the cleric hiccups and appears to be close to tears.

“She’s a fraud!” the roundest of the three intones.

“Shemost certainly is not,” I answer, sounding affronted. Then I turn to face the barkeep and waving at him, shout across the room, “One ale!” Then I point at the cleric. “On his tab!”

“How can a girl so young and small…” the woman starts, shaking her head again as she takes stock of me.

“It’s simple,” Baldy answers. “She’s a liar.”

At the three words I find most detestable, I drop my feet to the ground, kick my chair out (which shrieks against the wood floors), and jump up as the woman screams again and both men gasp.

“Call me a liar again, Baldo, and you’ll find your socks wedged so far down your throat, you’ll shit them out.”

“He… he didn’t mean it,” the cleric says nervously. He reminds me of the rabbit before I killed it.

I take a breath and smooth my hands down my leather trousers as I try to calm myself. I really don’t like being called a liar. “I’m Joanna Delevigne, otherwise known as Jo Delevigne, and I’ve come to your town because you hired me to rid the forest of the monsters you claim are killing your livestock.”

“Notjustthe livestock,” the woman says as she makes a motion of crossing herself.

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