Page 57 of A Shade of Myself
“That’s something, I guess.”
“It’s the bare minimum,” Ryann said. “The victim at Davide’s house? Wallace? He was majoring in French and German and delivered pizzas because his partial scholarship didn’t cut it. Learsdon got that poor kid possessed and sent him after Davide to lure you out. I know it in my bones and I want him taken down.” Her eyes flashed. Ryann looked so much like an anime character at the best of times that I expected a spurt of fire to blast out of the top of her head now.
“You’ll find him. How’s Davide?”
“A mess. How are you holding up?”
I shrugged. “As good as I can be knowing James is still on the loose.”
“I could get a Lonestar to watch you. Just in case.”
I considered it, then shook my head. “Thanks, but no. He got what he wanted from me. Now it’s my turn.”
“Call me if you reconsider. Meantime, stay vigilant.” She waved and left.
I leaned against the door frame. Should I be glad that I could eliminate James as my parents’ killer? Frustrated that I hadn’t learned anything about sharks or whispers or what James believed that my parents had started and I would finish?
I’d initially left finding him to the Lonestars because they had more resources, and having done my duty and handed the case over to them, I didn’t want to get in their way, or more importantly, get on their bad side. Especially since Ryann had explicitly warned me against going after him.
The Lonestars wanted Learsdon for murder; I wanted him for answers. That didn’t mean I had to hunt him down like they were. I’d been a librarian; give me access to his home, or possibly workplace depending on what he did, and I might unearth a treasure trove of information without ever stepping on the Lonestars’ toes.
Keeping that in my back pocket for later, I pressed the key to my lips. “Please let Uncle Jake deliver one final gift to me.”
I stepped through the shadows into the Kefitzat Haderech. The warm, dimly lit cave’s scent of fabric softener was particularly eye-watering today. “Morning, sunshine,” I called out over the drone of a vacuum cleaner.
Pyotr, the gargoyle host with the most, was cleaning the chute that dispensed single socks with a long suction hose and didn’t hear me.
I tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped, whacking his head on the vent.
The Russian gargoyle rubbed his stone head, his bug-like eyes and downturned lips more mournful than usual, and turned off the small cannister with his foot. “You sneak like cat.”
A shower of lint rained from the chute onto his head and ears, and he sighed like this indignation was exactly what he expected from the universe.
“Here. Let me help.” I brushed him clean, jerking my chin at the large rock slab that usually contained the lone socks. “You gave them all away? That’s great.”
“Not great. Socks stopped falling. Chute is blocked. No travel until have sock.”
“We both know that’s not true. You just tell people that to get rid of the things.”
“Rules are rules.” The gargoyle hit the power button again, aiming the hose up the chute.
“Can’t you make an exception?” I yelled. “I need to get somewhere quickly.”
Pyotr shoved the hose at me. “Then you clean.”
That’s how I found myself shoved halfway up a laundry chute, courtesy of the gargoyle’s cold hands on my butt, while I wielded the hard plastic wand extension like a hammer to chip through the block of lint.
“This is some kind of special bullshit.” I coughed at the burst of dust that fell into my mouth. “You could have given me a face shield or something. And quit pinching my ass.”
“You think this is good time for me?” He huffed, ramming his shoulder against my butt for more leverage. “I could have been dentist. But no. Make a difference, Petrusha. Mouths are dirty, Petrusha.”
I blinked a drop of sweat out of my eye, chiseling away more of the blockage. “There’s dentist school for gargoyles?”
“School?” He sounded perplexed. “What school? Find bad tooth and pull.”
I shifted, trying to get a better angle, and my flip-flop slid into his mouth. Something wet swiped across my toes and I shrieked, jerking upright. The hose broke through the lint and the entire impediment bounced off my head and Pyotr’s chest, cracking into pieces on the ground like a dry hay bale.
The gargoyle had been knocked askew and he spun with me still sitting in his hands above his head, weaving like a flag in a hurricane. I dropped the cannister hose trying to keep my balance.
