Page 22 of Bite of the Gargoyle

“You are,” she says. “And they did.” Then she just looks at me with a placid smile as if we’re discussing the weather.

“Are you going to explain?” I ask, mild annoyance showing in my voice.

“Nope,” she says and carries on with her breakfast as I watch her, wondering all the while whether she’s friend or foe. There are very few people I consider to be friends and I’m fairly sure this woman is firmly in the other camp. “Some things are best left a mystery.”

She downs the last drop of whatever she’s drinking from a little mud-made cup and places it down on the table before flicking it out the window along with the plate. Out of the corner of the window, I watch as a little branch flickers to life and catches the cup in its vine-covered grip. It reminds me of the blight, but this tree moves differently. It’s more graceful, less vicious, and clearly more concerned with cleanliness.

“My ropes reach out to those who need to see this place, who need to seeme, and they grip no one else.”

“Okay,” I say, processing her words and trying to make sense of them. “How does that make me a prophecy?”

“You are the first in a hundred years.”

My mouth falls open a little, even as I start to believe this woman is daft and in leave of her senses. All the same though, “you haven’t had a visitor in a hundred years?” I ask, eyes wide with curiosity.

“No. At least not a welcome one.”

“Then,” I start, but she interrupts by holding up a hand and giving me another smile.

“You can rest easy. The man, orcreature, who pursues you cannot find my little abode.”

“How did you—”

“I know all things.”

I decide not to argue with that because it seems like a waste of time and for all I know, maybe she does know all things. “So why won’t he find me here?”

She shrugs as though the answer is obvious. “Those who have no need to see me, have no sight of my home. Besides, you are the one at the center of the prophecy who—”

“Whatprophecy?” I ask again, irritation showing on my face.

That coy little smile on the witch’s face doesn’t go anywhere. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to explain.” She shifts in her chair to face me. Then she reaches for the seat of my chair and moves it, until we’re squarely facing one another, staring right into each other’s eyes. She places her right hand out with the palm facing up and nods toward it.

“Place your hand in mine,” she says.

Seeing no other way to get answers, I lift my hand and settle it hesitantly over hers.

At first, I don’t see or hear anything, but then, all of a sudden, her spine snaps back, her head lolls to the side and her eyes turn pure black. A horrible moaning noise emerges from her open mouth, like nothing I’ve ever heard before. Completely terrified and deciding now is probably the best time to make a prompt exit, I snap my hand away. But she reaches out and grips my forearm to keep me from moving.

The noise stops. Her head returns to its upright position, and her back straightens until she’s erect in her seat once again.

“It is as I thought,” she says. “I have seen what I needed to see.”

“What did you see?” I ask, a bit breathless as she drops her hold of my arm.

In a strange, ethereal, unreal-sounding voice, she speaks in slow, careful tones. “She has returned in you.”

“What?” I start, shaking my head.

“You are the last hope against him,” she continues, her buggy eyes piercing into mine.

I squint, confused, and start to ask, “Against who…” but then it strikes me. “You mean Derith?” I continue, my heart thumping in my chest. She reaches out and takes my wrist, rotating it so the underside is facing her. Then she traces the scar of the vampire’s bite with her fingers.

“He’s the one who bit me,” I offer, just in case she doesn’t already know. “He killed my family, and I’m going to avenge them. That’s the prophecy, isn’t it?”

The old crone shakes her head. “Not him, child, but another…”

“It has to be him,” I insist.

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