Interview With a Gargoyle (22 page)

Percival nodded slowly. “Fine, then. I’ll be telling this tale in the village at dawn and leaving out no details.” He turned to leave, and she followed him a few hasty steps, then clamped her hands on his sleeve.

“My lord, I
can’t
. But I may know who can. I can take you to him.”

“Him? A
man
practices this sorcery?”

“He both practices and teaches it, sir.”

“Teaches? An abomination.” Percival sighed to himself. Evil, perhaps, but necessary in this case. “Lead the way, child.”

“Are you sure? He’s very powerful, and he will exact a price for any help he gives you.”

Percival laughed, and the sound echoed in the darkness. “I’m prepared to pay any price, girl. Any price a man can name.”

Melodie’s stomach churned as she paced back and forth in Blake’s living room. “Are you sure this is going to work?” she asked for the third time.

Her impertinent question drew a long-suffering sigh from Calypso, who had just finished scattering a handful of crushed cypress needles on the floor around Blake’s granite feet.

“I thought you said it was a bad idea to mess with the ancient magick.”

“This curse is old, not ancient,” Cal explained with forced patience. “And I’m not ‘messing’ with it. I’m just laying something over it. This new spell won’t break the curse, but for now it should transform DeWitt back to his human form. Best-case scenario, it’s permanent. He’ll still be technically cursed, but he’ll be human twenty-four/seven. Worst case, he’ll be human for the rest of the day, then the spell will wear off.”

Mel shivered. Ever since she’d called Cal at sunrise, moments after Blake’s transformation, she’d been in a state of semi-panic. Daylight made her feel almost like herself again, just normal enough to remember how good and how bad all that unbridled Cabochon power had made her feel last night. She didn’t want to hide behind Calypso’s ward spell again, but she had no idea if she could survive another night with the gem controlling her actions and her thoughts.

“Won’t it be cruel to give him just one day?” Mel stared over Cal’s shoulder at Blake’s transformed face. She’d do anything to see him restored to human form permanently, but how could she look him in the eye and tell him he might have only one day of freedom?

“Mel, it’s more than he’s expecting. And if it proves to be temporary, I can always cast it again tomorrow.”

“And the next day? And the next? What if you have to do it every day forever?”

“I won’t have to. The Witches’ Council will come up with something. I promise.”

Mel hadn’t asked about her own end of the problem. She was afraid Cal might tell her the Witches’ Council didn’t have any options for getting the Cabochon out of her, and she didn’t want to hear that right now. All she cared about at the moment was helping Blake. “All right. Let’s go, then. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Calypso held up a small bottle of orange liquid, the transformation potion she’d just cooked up in Blake’s kitchen. “Stand back, out of the splash zone.”

Mel eyed her. “Splash zone?”

“And close your eyes. There may be flying glass.”

Mel backed up, and Cal took a position a few feet away from Blake’s left side. She couldn’t stand directly in front of him because he was so close to the cellar door, and his stone body weighed far too much for the two of them to budge him even an inch.

After a deep breath, Cal recited the Latin incantation on a long exhale, and when she finished, she threw the small vial at Blake. It hit his outstretched arm and bounced off unscathed, landing amid the smattering of fragrant needles at his feet.

Mel gaped. “Was that supposed to happen?”

Cal huffed. “Sorry. I didn’t throw it hard enough.” She retrieved the potion bottle and backed up. This time she wound up for the pitch. Mel clenched her eyes shut and held her breath. The bottle shattered with a musical tinkle, and something began to sizzle.

Mel opened her eyes and rushed over to Blake. The potion bubbled on his stone sleeve, hissing and smoking like acid. “Oh, God, Cal. Is
that
supposed to happen?”

Calypso waved a hand. “Shh. Hold on, give it a minute.”

“What if it burns him?”

“It won’t. Look.” In one small spot on Blake’s arm, shiny black leather shone through the stone. The spot spread up and down his sleeve to his hand, his shoulder, his chest. As they watched, granite became flesh—rough, gray flesh.

Mel’s momentary elation turned to horror when Blake began to move. He turned his head slowly, stiff and obviously disoriented. Sunlight streaming through his living room windows cast her shadow on the rug in front of her, and his gaze fell to the dark shape stretching toward him.

“Melodie?”

“Blake…it’s…”

A smile spread across his frightening visage, and his pointed ears twitched. “Oh my God. Daylight.”

“Blake—”

He rushed across the room in two gargantuan strides and caught Mel up in a bear hug that left only enough room in her lungs to squeal for help. He twirled her around once and plopped her back onto her feet, grinning through his upcurved fangs. “I owe you my life, lass. Everything!” He cupped her face and loomed in for a kiss. Mel stiffened, and that’s when he realized something wasn’t quite right.

Slowly he pulled his clawed hand away from her face. He flexed his thick fingers, then patted his head, his ears, his chest.

“You owe
her
? I’m the one with the spells, mister.” Cal’s complaint drew his attention, and his whole, muscle-bound upper body turned in her direction.

“
You
did this?”

Mel grabbed his arm. “Blake, we tried. Cal tried to turn you human.”

His hooded eyes swept over Melodie; then he turned back to glare at the witch.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know this would happen. Maybe the spell wasn’t strong enough to transform you all the way back.”

Blake stood still so long Mel began to wonder if he’d turned back to stone. Only the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest told her he was still breathing.

Finally, he sighed. “Will I stay this way even after sunset?”

The knot in Mel’s stomach tightened, and the sudden pain made her wince.

Cal offered a delicate shrug. “I don’t know.”

“By then I’m sure Cal will come up with another spell. Right? Calypso?
Right
?” Mel brushed her hand over Blake’s jaw.

He jerked away from her touch. “Don’t.”

“Blake, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. It’s all right.” He walked away from Mel and moved toward the window. Parting the sheer curtains with one claw, he peered out into the midmorning sunlight.

Mel stepped back toward Calypso. Her heart ached so badly for Blake that the crushing weight of it in her chest left her barely able to breathe. She grabbed Cal’s elbow and propelled the witch into the kitchen.

“This is terrible. Can you reverse it?” Her demon half, evident in her harsh whisper, threatened to emerge.

“I could try, but I might just make it worse.” Cal nodded toward Blake, and Mel turned to watch him. With one oversize hand splayed against the warm glass, he surveyed the outside world. His new prison might have been larger and brighter, but it was still a prison.

“Oh, Cal, please help him.”

“I will. I’ll come up with something.”

“Please.” Mel touched her forehead to Calypso’s, and the witch gave her a quick hug.

“Will you stay with him while I go do some more research?”

Mel nodded. “I told him I wouldn’t leave him.”

“Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Cal hurried out the door, and Mel returned to the living room. She joined Blake at the window, and together they watched Calypso drive off.

“Thank you,” he said after another stretch of awkward silence. His voice was thick, gravelly.

“For what? I didn’t do anything except call Calypso for help, and now you’re…like this.”

“It’s all right. Really. It’s better than before. I was alone then. Just me and Percival. I live his life in my dreams, and no man was more alone than he was.”

“But you still can’t go outside.”

He lifted one hand and rested it on her shoulder. Though the weight of it tested her strength, this time she didn’t flinch away from his touch. He squeezed her shoulder, and she patted his hand. Despite her own exhaustion, she remained there with him at the window for the rest of the morning, watching the world go by.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Even though Blake could move around now in his gargoyle form, he still weighed nearly as much as when his body was made of stone. When he finally stepped away from the living room window and sat , the couch creaked.

Melodie raised a brow at him, and he shrugged. “I’ve got to sit somewhere.”

“Are you hungry? Why don’t I made you something—”

“I’m not. And I don’t think a kitchen chair would hold me anyway.”

“I can bring you something here.”

“No. I’m fine.” He wasn’t, but what could he say? He’d longed to see the sun again, and now he had. Maybe he should be content with that. He sighed. “If you’re—”

“No. I’m not either.” She seemed to flutter around the room, obviously unsure of what to do with a living gargoyle.

He wondered how he must look to her. He’d run his fingers over his fangs, pointy ears and hairless head several times and still couldn’t quite believe it. His lower jaw felt huge, and his bulbous forehead shaded his eyes. Somewhere, snaking down one leg of his jeans, there seemed to be a tail, but he didn’t have the stomach to excuse himself to another room to check.

“I can bring you your laptop, if you’d like to work.” She sounded hopeful, as if she could take his mind off his new predicament.

“No. I think I’ll just rest for now.”

“Sleep? You want to sleep?”

Yes. He wanted desperately to wrap his arms around a pillow or some other soft object and drift away, but how could he close his eyes on the first rays of sunlight he’d seen in ten years? How could he close his eyes on Melodie?

He followed her movements around the room and gazed up at her when she returned to him with a knitted afghan from a nearby chair. She handed him the blanket, her expression uncertain. “While you’re sleeping, I’ll see if I can track down Calypso and find out what’s going on.”

Blake dropped the blanket across his lap and reached for her hand. “Don’t leave, please.”

“I won’t. I’ll call her. I told you I’d stay with you, and I will.”

“How can you even look at me?” He let his fingers trail out of hers and flicked the woolen ridges of the blanket with one vicious black claw. “I understand now why it’s better to be turned to stone. At least then, I didn’t have to see my own reflection in people’s eyes.”

Melodie drew in a breath and swiped a hand over the tears that had gathered on her lower lashes. “You’re not ugly. Not at all. And you’re not frightening.” She knelt down in front of him and put her hands over his. “When I look at you now, I don’t see a monster. I see a man who’s done everything he can in the last few days to try to help me. You might pretend you’re only in this for yourself, but I see the real you. You’re not a witch hunter, and you’re not evil.”

He almost believed her. Staring into her warm brown eyes, feeling the slide of her smooth skin over his rough hands, he could almost imagine himself as the man she claimed to see.

Their gazes held, and he leaned over to kiss her, not thinking, only feeling.

“Ow!” She jumped back, dabbing at a scratch on her chin from one of his fangs.

“I’m sorry—damn, I’m sorry.” Instinctively he reached for her, then pulled back, afraid to hurt her again.

She caught his hand and held it to her face. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” She rose and ran her hand over the top of his head. The contact made him shiver. “I’m going to call Calypso. Get some sleep.”

“Wake me before sunset,” he said as she headed out of the room. “I don’t want to miss any more daylight than I have to, but I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.”

She nodded and disappeared, and with a heart as heavy as stone, Blake lay down on the creaking couch and closed his eyes.

Apprehension dogged Percival’s every step as the copper-haired girl led him deeper into the woods. He expected a cave, or perhaps a deep, dark tunnel leading to the underworld, but instead she brought him to a cabin made of smooth, round river stones with a neatly thatched roof. The stuff of fairy tales—and probably nightmares as well.

The man who answered the rough plank door at her insistent knock looked like a woodsman. His dark eyes sparkled in a heavily bearded face, and concern creased his plump lips. “What happened, Lise? The blood—”

“Is not mine,” the girl hastened to explain. “This man killed the Mendican.”

Percival eyed her expectantly. In the warm light spilling from within the woodsman’s cabin, her hair lit with streaks of gold and her face shone like an angel’s. He cleared his throat, prompting her to continue.

“And he saved my life, I suppose.”

The woodsman raised a bushy brow. He looked nothing like a sorcerer, and Percival wondered if perhaps the girl had deceived him to draw him farther from the village.

“As recompense, he asks a favor. Can you break a witch’s curse?”

The man eyed Percival now, and his lips quirked into an expression resembling a smile but without the humor. Finally he motioned them inside. “Sit by the fire, and I’ll make you something warm to drink. Tell me about this curse you bear.”

“I never said
I
bore the curse.”

“You didn’t have to. I can see it in your aura. It’s powerful. You must have done something terrible to earn it.” The man’s eyes, set deep in his wrinkled face, seemed to pierce Percival’s soul. Reluctantly he crossed the threshold into the old man’s home and followed him to sit on a cushioned bench near the crackling hearth.

His apprehension eased just a bit when the woodsman placed a cup of steaming broth into his hands. He sipped the brew, grateful for its warmth, and before long, he found himself confessing his sins. All of them.

When he’d finished, shame heated his face as surely as the merry flames heated his old bones. Lise glared at him, her youth obviously heightening her emotions. The woodsman merely nodded as if none of the horror Percival had described fazed him in the least.