Page 17 of Gardening and Gargoyles

“It’s quite a feast, Lady June,” Duncan murmurs appreciatively when I set a plate in front of him.

“Wait until you see an American Thanksgiving. Okay, dig in.”

Duncan nods, sniffs, and practically inhales his nachos. Watching him eat is even better than watching his delight at the aromas. His good wing keeps flexing, and his tail taps happily against the high barstool without stopping. He devours everything with moans of appreciation.

“My lady! How can it be that one so fair and betrothed to the laird should be so fine a cook?”

“The laird is a real estate developer. He buys old houses and turns them into money-making venues. Places where people stay on vacation, I mean, holiday?” I use a term I hope Duncan will be more familiar with. “You don’t owe him any loyalty, Dunc. You don’t owe me, either. We’re not Clan Mackintosh, and I never owned the castle.” I slug half of my bottle back and give him a sad smile. “I just thought I owned all of Daniel’s heart. Turned out, I owned a half. Maybe a third.” Another groan, and the bottle is finished. “Try your beer.”

“Beer, I know.” Duncan smiles back and takes two sips—and the bottle is empty.

“Geez. Hang on, I’ll get reinforcements,” I head back to the fridge and bring back the remains of the six-pack. “Help yourself.”

Duncan takes two bottles out and opens them both. He places the first one in front of me. “My lady,” he says with a bow.

“I just told you, I’m not a lady. I mean, anatomically, yes. Royalty? No. I’m an underpaid educational support staff worker in Philadelphia. Have you heard of that place? I know it was around at the time you were alive.”

“I have not, but to be fair, gargoyles tend to concern themselves more with local geography, threats, and the survival of our clan.”

“Survival is my middle name.”

“Lady June Survival Russo-Mitchell. Are yousureyou are not royalty? It sounds very regal.”

I snicker. “I mean, I’m good at surviving. It’s a good thing, too, because Daniel let me believe that I... Thatwewere going to have a beautiful life together. The life of my dreams.” I stop and breathe out shakily, before forcing a big smile on my face. “I’ll call Mr. Fenclan after we eat and see if he can come over and talk kilts and gargoyles with you. If he’s an Orc, that is. Couldn’t he be a human?”

“Aye, he could, in which case he might not see me as anything but a big, tall fellow.”

I look at Duncan. Big, tall fellow is right. He must be seven feet tall, and his chest seems like it’s five feet across. That doesn’t count the wings. He has a crown of two horns that frame his brow—kind of like majestic handlebars, but I know that’s gotta be the rudest, most unflattering description I could use. And hair. His hair game is peak. He’s got a long, lustrous night-sky mane that would get him a salon spokesperson contract in seconds. “How could anyone not see you for what you are?” I ask.

“It’s a matter of humans not seeing what disnae feel comfortable in their world. If you don’t believe in magical things, you’ll have a hard time seeing us until you get properly shocked into it.”

“Ah. Like a gargoyle bursting to life directly in front of you in your garden?”

“Aye, that’d do it for most.”

“Well, if Mr. Fenclan is a human, I don’t want you jumping out and giving my temporary landlord a heart attack. I’m not even sure if he’s the kind of guy who’s going to kick me out once he finds out that Danny and I broke up.”

“Have you no’ met him?”

“No. Daniel took care of everything for this summer vacation. Danny took care of a lot of things, not just this rental. He told me it was his job as my boyfriend—to take care of me.” That searing, stabbing pain is suddenly back in my chest.

The pain of one half of your heart snapped clean off. I wonder if there’s something to glue it back together, like Duncan’s missing wing. My mouth keeps moving, words keep coming, softer and sadder with every syllable, letting out the thoughts I tried to banish with sleep. “He spoiled me. Let me feel safe. No one had ever done that for me before, not even my parents. Iknow they tried, but I saw them struggling along, trying to make things better for us kids, and sometimes not quite making it. I thought Danny loved me. I thought that when a person made all your dreams come true, he loved you. Truly loved you.”

“Lady June, I—”

“Excuse me. I’m going to go call Mr. Fenclan before it gets later.” I jump off my seat and rush away before I can embarrass myself further and start crying.

I SIT AT THE CURIOUShigh table in the center of the kitchen, my bulk perched on a small, precarious stool, and feel every protective urge in me roaring after Lady June.

As a protector, as a gargoyle, I know the meaning of safety, of letting your guard down. Of trusting and being trusted. When it’s all ripped away, it’s the greatest betrayal.

Lady June has the heart of a warrior, soldiering on in pain, trying to take care of me, feeding me, educating me about the world I have landed in, and reaching out for aid from this Fenclan fellow, even though it puts her at risk of losing her little haven in the mountains.

She must not know that gargoyles have keen senses of smell and hearing. I can hear her soft, muffled sobs. Smell the bitter saltiness of her tears as she grieves in the privacy of her chambers.

She was wrong when she said I don’t owe her loyalty.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend—and this Daniel person, who buys history to knock it about and turn it into coins to line his purse, is my enemy. And if he wasn’t in my bad books for what Lady June claims he’s doing to our home, then he would be for what he has done to her heart.