Page 19 of Gardening and Gargoyles

“I wasn’t, until my ex-boyfriend’s garden statue burst out of its box and almost gave me a heart attack,” I explain.

Duncan stops speaking abruptly, eyes turning to me. “What? Are you well, Lady June?”

“I am very well, and you can just call me June.”

Duncan snorts, glares, and crosses his arms. He doesn’t argue out loud, but his whole body language just said, “Try and stop me.”

“Nay, lass, he’ll not do that. He tells me your man bought his castle and sent him here to guard you.”

“Ah. No, that’s the sanitized ‘wishful thinking’ version of events. My ex cheated on me and had no idea what Duncan was. Can you help him get home? Or at least get him a kilt?”

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll get Genesis here in a heartbeat.”

“Genesis? Like the Bible?” I ask, confused.

“Genesis Davidson, a gargoyle of Clan Davidson, with plenty of clan back home. If any of Clan Mackintosh survived, his mother ought to know. As for the kilt... Farrah, love?”

“Yes, it would be easier that way.” Farrah Fenclan nods, smiles, and starts whispering and weaving her fingers through the air—and Duncan’s kilt weaves itself back together, brighter, sharper, and mercifully more decent.

“H-how?” I whisper, but I already know.

Magic.

“I think Lady June needs to recline. She seems faint,” Duncan says, rushing to my side, picking me up, and cradling me like a sleepy toddler, my legs over his arm, my head on his shoulder as he strides into the house.

Again.What is it with this guy?

It’s not that I don’t appreciate the chivalry and protectiveness—I actually find that super sweet when it’s with a romantic partner, but right now, all it does is remind me that I was fooled into being soft once, and I’ll never let myself be soft again.

LADY JUNE RETIRES TOher chamber with her “laptop,” but Ian and his wife stay, and Genesis and his human bride soon arrive.

That’s right. A gargoyle married to a human.

One hears of such things, of course, but it was never done in my clan, and I doubt my clan chieftains would ever have approved.

The advantage of being gobsmacked is that I have time to be silent and listen.

Pine Ridge is a haven in America for monsters and “paranormal” creatures. Humans can no more see us here than anywhere else, but there are more humans here who’ve hadtheir eyes opened. The town is friendly, they tell me, and people and monsters both have invested in the community, living and working in the heart of it as shopkeepers with little flats and homes, or out in the surrounding mountains and hills.

“You’re welcome to stay. You and your Lady June,” Ian Fenclan offers.

I almost say she is not my lady—but she is. Mine to protect.

“Your clan will be rejoicing at your recovery,” Genesis chimes in, “but things have changed in Scotland, not just for the gargoyles, but for the humans, too. The economy has been rocky, with thousands out of work and refusing to look for jobs. The people in the cities are becoming shiftless and rely on handouts. Very few clans survive strictly by guarding ancestral homes. It’s common to find more of our kind on the islands, the Hebrides, and the Highlands.”

“Aye, landsmen, crofters, farmers, loggers, fishermen—and some do fancy things in the cities and offices. My son-in-law is an accountant,” Ian says proudly. “He used to work for a big airline, but now he does the books and whatnot for the coffee shop, and he’s a free-lance consultant.”

“My cousin runs a dance and music arts center,” Genesis says, rolling his eyes. “I’m a carver myself—stone. After all, I have an endless supply.” He winks, then sighs. “The point is, there’s likely going to be a lot of changes for you, here or back home. If you’ve a mind to go home, we’ll find a way to get you there when your wing is healed enough to fly partway, or we’ll get you on a plane.”

“Airplane,” I repeat the word and think of the vacation commercials I have seen, with the huge white flying machine and the crystal blue waters, and the girls in bibinis? Biknis? Bikinis!

Shocking.

But attractive.

There’s something different about the women in this world, this time. At least the ones I’ve seen, all three of them. I look at Melinda and Farrah, who are chatting away in the kitchen, slicing up muffins and spreading them with butter. They dress differently, act differently, and perhaps they have more warrior spirit, too, like Lady June. If they did not, I cannot imagine them ever marrying outside of their kind. I cannot imagine any of the old lairds’ wives or daughters daring such a scandalous, shocking thing.

I swallow hard, a piece of blueberry muffin (heavenly, light thing) going down along with my sudden guilt.