Page 23 of Petrified

Lev glances at the growing stack of books and sighs. “I knew this answer was going to involve more reading.”

We stay at the table another half hour, but the older records don’t give us the kind of weakness any of us would prefer. The subtype can apparently hold the stone defense for hours, sometimes longer around natural formations, and older gargoyles become better at blending as they age. Medusa finds one account describing a hunter sitting within arm’s reach of a hidden gargoyle for nearly an hour without recognizing it, which Lev makes her stop reading aloud halfway through because he claims the story is becoming personally offensive.

By the time the last book closes, I can feel the room has changed anyway. We came in looking for an explanation for why the gargoyle kept disappearing. Now the photographs in front of us don’t look like failed searches anymore. They look like places where we were standing almost exactly where we needed to be and then walked away.

Lev picks up the quarry photo one more time. “Next time I catch him, nobody runs ahead unless I say so. Nobody starts circling buildings. Nobody decides they saw movement twenty yards away and drags the rest of us after it.”

Lev’s gaze lands on me at the end of that, and I lift a brow. “Why are you looking at me?”

“Because I know you.”

Amand makes a quiet sound beside me, and I don’t need to look over to know he’s trying not to smile. Lev points at him too. “And you’re not exempt just because you’re currently better behaved.”

“I wasn’t asking to be.”

“That is why you’re my favorite for the next thirty seconds.”

Medusa closes the final book and gathers the loose photographs into a neater pile. “So you know what he is, and you know what you’ve been doing wrong. The next question is whether knowing he’s there will be enough for you to actually spot him.”

Lev looks at the limestone wall in the photograph, his expression settling into something quieter than irritation. “Probably not the first time.”

That answer surprises me enough that I study him more closely.

Lev notices and scowls. “Don’t look at me like that. I can admit when something’s difficult.”

“I’ve rarely seen evidence.”

“Fuck off.”

There he is. I lean back in my chair while Lev lays the photograph flat between us. “What do you do if you still can’t see him?”

Lev keeps his fingertips against the edge of the picture for a moment. “Stay there long enough to figure out what the stone is doing wrong.”

Amand looks at him. “That could take time.”

“I know.” Lev rubs his hands over his face. “Apparently this asshole has managed to find the one investigative technique I hate more than reading.”

Medusa’s mouth twitches. “Patience?”

“Don’t say disgusting things in your own home.”

I laugh, and Lev looks over at me before his gaze drops briefly to my chest. The check is fast enough that he probably thinks I don’t notice it.

I do.

He catches me catching him and immediately scowls harder. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Good.”

Amand starts gathering the case files while Medusa carries the older books back toward the cabinet. Lev remains seated for another few seconds, looking at the photograph as if he can force himself to see what he missed the first time.

Then he taps the point where the trail ended.

“I’ve been doing this backward,” he says, looking up at the three of us. “Next time he stops, so do I.”

For the first time since Medusa walked into Essence with a missing snake and a gargoyle problem, it feels like we aren’t simply trying to catch up anymore.