Page 99 of Cherish

As we walk through town on our way to the Mark, it’s hard not to fall into a weird mix of nostalgia about this place as well as a yearning to stay that I don’t quite understand.

I mean, I love the life Hudson and I are building in San Diego. I love going to school there, and I love the idea of creating a new Gargoyle Court in my hometown. And most of all, I love being with Hudson.

But there’s something about our walk through these streets, this town, that just feels right. Things weren’t perfect when we were here—how could they be, with time dragons stalking us and trying to kill us? And with Souil up to his horrible schemes?

Still, despite all that, it was easier than the life we have now—especially once we’d resigned ourselves to staying here forever.

No responsibilities beyond taking care of ourselves and each other and our very regular jobs.

No life-and-death decisions that affected not just us but all of our people as well.

No fear of making a mistake that would destroy everything we had worked so hard to build.

I don’tdislikebeing the gargoyle queen. How can I, when I get the honor and the responsibility of serving my people? But it’s not something I would have chosen for myself, either. It’s not like fifteen-year-old Grace ever sat on her bed and dreamed about what it would be like to rule someday. Queen definitely wasn’t on my list of dream jobs.

So yeah, as we walk past Hudson’s old school and point out his classroom to our friends, or stop to look in the windows of the boutique where I finally found a job I could do, it’s hard not to think about our life here. Hard not to wish that the life we’re building together now could be as uncomplicated.

Does it suck that no one here remembers me? Yeah, it kind of does. But the more we walk, the more I realize that it’s also kind of freeing. Here, I can be anyone. I can do anything. Back home, I’m too busy trying to balance school, the Circle, and the gargoyle throne to worry about who I am or who I want to be.

“Grace used to work there, too,” Hudson says as we pass the blacksmith shop that I apprenticed at for exactly two days.

“You were a blacksmith?” Heather asks, wide-eyed. “Really?”

“Um, more like someone who was auditioning to be an apprentice to a blacksmith,” I tell her. “It wasn’t really my thing.”

“Really? What was it about standing over a two-thousand-degree fire and molding metal for hours on end that wasn’t your thing?” Flint asks, crossing his arms with a smirk.

I roll my eyes at him before answering, “I’ll have you know that I didn’t mind the fireorthe molding metal. I just happened to suck at it. Like, I really, really blew.”

“She did,” Hudson agrees, then laughs when I elbow him gently in the stomach. “What? You did.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to sound so gleeful when you pointed it out.”

“Sorry. I’ll show more restraint next time I’m documenting one of your failed job attempts,” he promises with a roll of his eyes.

I start to tease him some more, but then we turn the corner at the end of the shopping district and excitement zooms through me. “There it is!” I announce to my friends as I stop to get a better look. “The Mark.”

“Umm, isn’t that just an old warehouse?” Macy asks, staring at the sprawling building in front of us.

“Bite your tongue!” I tell her as I start rushing everyone toward it. “It’s so much more than what it used to be.”

“Which was an old warehouse,” Macy repeats.

“You’re going to regret your snap judgments once we get inside,” I tell her before taking the steps that lead to the front door at a run. “This place is amazing!”

And then I’m pushing open the door and letting my friends into one of the coolest places I’ve ever been.

“It’s a museum?” Jaxon asks, looking at the huge pieces of art hanging on the wall opposite the front door.

“More like a working artist co-op,” I tell him as I lead the way inside. “A ton of artists live and work in here, sharing space and tools as they create some of the most awesome works of art I’ve ever seen.”

“Did you paint here?” Heather asks, another reminder that she knew me in a different life—different from my life here, in Noromar, and my life at Katmere.

“Yes. All the time.” My gaze darts around until I find what I’m looking for. An old purple couch pushed under a window in the corner. The springs were half poking out in places, the cushions ratty as fuck, but Hudson would lay there for hours, reading and watching me paint by the light streaming through the huge windows.

As I take in the collection of art on the adjacent wall, I realize it’s more like a shrine than a display, consisting of about fifty different-size paintings—all featuring the same subject matter. Hudson.

And that’s when I see it. Hanging among the collage of other paintings.

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