Page 24 of The Shade of Things
“Am not stupid.” He lumbered to his feet, carrying the fern over to his table. In this somewhat brighter light, the fern wasn’t just scraggly, it was deep into Charlie Brown Christmas tree territory. One good shake and that poor thing would lose all its fronds.
“I’m sorry,” I said sincerely, following him. “Then why did you have it back there in the dark?”
“To make night.” He tenderly patted the plant and carefully placed it on the table. “I sing lullaby to help it sleep.”
Awww. I impulsively hugged the gargoyle.
“Take sock and go,” he said, squirming free.
“I have a favor to ask.”
His bulbous lips turned down even more, his bulging eyes gazing mournfully at me. “No more demotions.” He bent down to retrieve a small, dented watering can and poured a thin stream into the pot.
“You won’t get in trouble.” Hopefully. “Do you have a list of all the Banim Shovavim currently suffering eternal damnation? Names, locations inside the KH, that type of thing?”
Pyotr tested the soil with his finger. “Like Marauder’s Map?”
I blinked. “How do you know Harry Potter?”
He added more water. “Other Banim Shovavim gives me gifts now.”
“Who?”
Pyotr’s face lit up. “I have two friends. Wait.” He caressed the fern, repositioning the pot in different places on his table. “Three.”
I was the first one to ever give the gargoyle gifts, and now after all the centuries of Pyotr’s service, someone else happened to jump on that bandwagon? I didn’t like it. “Who is this person?” I unclenched my fists. “Have they asked you to do anything in exchange for these presents? Because they should be given freely.”
“Malorie is very nice.” Was he collecting people with M names?
“All right,” I relented. “What about a list?”
He jerked the planter hard enough that a bit of dirt spilled onto the table and scowled at me. “Requisitions require forms.”
I clasped my hands together in begging formation. “Please? It’s very important.”
He rubbed the stone callus he still had from his time in Customer Service. “In triplicate.”
“I will bring you any movie or food you want. Just find out if he’s here. Arlo Gar—”
Pyotr slapped his hand over my mouth, his eyes wide. “Must Not Be Named.”
I wrestled his hand off me. “Is this a thing with all damned Banim Shovavim or just—”
He made a slashing motion across his throat.
“Or just this dude?” I finished lamely. Pyotr was truly terrified.
Suddenly the neon sign lit up, flickering wildly, and a black tar-like substance oozed from the rock walls.
I shrieked and jumped onto Pyotr’s chair. “What the hell is happening? That’s not normal! It’s not, is it, because—” I shrieked at another glob oozing free.
Pyotr was currently crouched under his table, like those school drills with children attempting to survive nuclear attacks using furniture as shelter. “He heard you,” came the gargoyle’s haunted whisper. “Bad. Bad. Bad.”
“The sign? When did the sign get this much power?” I screeched from the chair. The ooze was making its way onto the floor and heading toward us. “Why isn’t Smoky Ghost Face shutting this down?”
“No. Not sign boss. Him.” He backed out from under the table on all fours.
Why did Arl— Why was he powerful enough to eavesdrop and splooge evil goo and most importantly scare the shit out of Pyotr and Neon Sign while Smoky remained MIA?
