Page 8 of Gardening and Gargoyles

Literally, in front of my eyes, a crack appears between the peaceful closed eyes.

I gasp and start muttering about shipping damages—and the cracks keep spreading, like something out of a nightmare. All over his face. All down his arms. Across the chest, and then slowly, almost hesitantly, over the broken wing that’s folded unevenly, the only imperfection on my surprise.

I sneeze again, three times, the last one so hard that I lose my balance and topple backward on my own flip-flops.

When I’m sitting there, staring at my present shattering, I have a ridiculous thought, but it fits.

My perfect romance was just an illusion. Not real. A fantasy. Pretend.

And I’m in a pretend world now. I have to be.

Because my gargoyle shattered into pieces—and there’s something under the stone.

Flesh. Blood. Tattered fabric. Fangs in an open, howling mouth, a tail that lashes, and then the beast falls to his knees, clutching at his side.

Now face-to-face with me.

The howling roar cuts off abruptly and turns to a snarl. Coal black eyes are staring at me in a mixture of rage and something else. Fear? Puzzlement?

I don’t know. All I know is my big romance got trashed today, and my big surprise is probably going to eat me.

“Today sucks a big one.”

Chapter Two: Duncan

“Today sucks a big one.”

I woke up at moonrise. Everything hurt, and yet it was immediately evident there was work to be done. A woman, clearly ravaged by some bandits who had removed most of her clothing and driven her mad with fear, sprawls before me, spouting nonsense in her terror. Her face is stained with tears, and her hands and feet bear traces of earth.

I fear something horrible has happened overnight.

When I look up for the familiar, comforting orb of the moon, I know I am right.

I am in a nightmare.

Castle Mackintosh isgone. There isn’t even any rubble.

There are mountains and pines that were never in our craggy landscape, and the river is missing.

And all of my family—they’re missing, too.

I don’t know what to do about the world that’s clearly going wrong, but I know my duty, especially as one of the youngest, strongest males left to defend my clan and the humans that we’ve allied with. “Don’t cry, my lady. No harm will come to you as long as there is one defender left for Clan Mackintosh. Who did this to you? Where are they, and what has become of the castle? Where are the others?”

The lady looks at me with wide, terrified eyes. “Gargoyle?” she squeaks.

“Aye, gargoyle. Defender and friend of Castle Mackintosh.”

“My boyfriend just bought the castle,” she manages to say, the sounds she makes high and terrified, thin and almost inaudible, even with my ears.

“He’s the new laird?” The world is deeply fuzzy and grainy, as if I were asleep for far more than one day. “The American, with the steel factories?”

The lady blinks up at me and slowly crawls from her rear to her knees. “Oh. Oh, God. What year do you think this is? Where do you think you are?”

Now it is my turn to blink at her, my tone taking on the same careful, puzzled tone she speaks in. “1895, Gilcreedy, south of Inverness.”

“Shit,” she whispers.

“Lady!” I gasp, but I don’t chide her further. She’s obviously had a shock of some kind. “Where doyouthink we are?”