Adamant Spirits, page 110
Leaving a naked gargoyle statue in the doorway for everyone to photograph, bringing even more people tomorrow.
Horror, all right. But she lived here – she couldn't flee from it.
She swallowed. "You can't go out the front door. Not when there are people out there. They'll see you, and then they'll film you and then they'll never leave us alone."
"Of course they will. Am I not terrifying?"
"Well, yes, but…"
"Am I not a capable protector?"
She couldn't deny that, either.
"Of course you are, Tor, but they're not here to attack me. They're here to see you, and the more they see of you, the more they'll come here."
"This is lunacy. What manner of person likes to be terrified, likes it so much that they return for more?"
Millions of horror movie fans, not to mention readers of gothic novels. Even she'd read a few Stephen King books, until the sleepless nights and nightmares had gotten to her and she'd had to stop. In fact, the only horror film she'd ever managed to watch a second time was The Mummy, for obvious reasons.
"A lot of people. Probably crazy people, yes, but…they find it entertaining. Look, if you stick around, I'll watch The Mummy with you, and you can see what I mean. But right now…there's a café full of people over the road, dying for a glimpse of you, or a picture on their phone. And if they get so much as a single, blurry picture, tomorrow there will be two or three or even ten times as many people. So you have to stay inside, where they can't see you."
Tor blinked. Maybe it was a lot to take in for a gargoyle who'd only been awake for three days, after sleeping who knew how long. "Miss Kelly, I find this very hard to believe, though I do not believe you would lie to me. I must observe these lunatics for myself, for if they are a danger to you, I cannot allow them to remain. Even if they make pictures of me."
Catena buried her face in her hands. "Tor, you can't…look, I'll take you up to the roof. Hopefully they won't see us up there, and I can show you what I mean. C'mon." This time, she held out her hand, and Tor took it. His grip was warm and gentle, as if he feared he might break her fingers if he held on too tight. He probably could, too.
She led him upstairs, then up through the French doors to the rooftop.
The moment the wind hit her, straight off the sea and likely fresh from the South Pole, she wished she'd thought to bring a coat. Oh well, they'd only be out here a moment.
Then Tor emerged, and his spread wings blocked the breeze.
Catena wanted to turn around and hug him, but she managed to stifle the urge, and led him to the edge of the rooftop instead. Ducking down behind the gargoyle statue, she could feel the heat of Tor crouching in close behind her.
"Look, there's the café across the road from us," she said, pointing at the Shut Up Café. She'd never noticed the name before. Evidently, the noisy patrons outside hadn't, either. "Everyone out there is watching the entrance to our place, where you first appeared on Friday night. They're watching and waiting, hoping to take a picture."
"They don't look like lunatics, but what are they all doing, crowding around outside, when there are tables and chairs to spare inside? Perhaps they are crazy, after all."
"There's a better view outside. With all the bright light inside, you can't see what's going on in the shadows across the street, which is what they really want to see. Besides, you can't get a good picture through glass." She wondered if she'd have to explain photography to Tor, too.
"I see." He peered out at them, as if searching for something that he couldn't find. "What I don't see is anyone about to make a picture. Not a sketchpad or pencil among them. I can't imagine how a picture could be a bad thing. It takes considerable skill and practice to become a good artist, so I don't imagine one in a thousand could create a passable picture that looks anything like me. Or why I should care if they did."
Catena could feel a headache coming on. How could she explain what a viral video was to a man who didn't understand the existence of phone cameras? She'd have to try. Because between Tor's size and his ability to walk through walls, she hadn't a hope of stopping him if he wanted to go outside and confront the café patrons.
She took a deep breath. "Okay, you see those things in their hands? Those rectangular things?" She waited for Tor to nod, then pulled her own phone out of her pocket. "This is mine. It's a communications device that allows me to take pictures and share them with everyone in the world. Through a thing called the internet…a sort of invisible network that goes right round the world."
To her surprise, she found Tor nodding. "We called it the aether."
That sounded like something to do with alchemy, or weird science theories that got debunked centuries ago. "Uh, yeah, something like that. Anyway, it can instantly take a picture of anything it sees, and share it."
"A machine does not have eyes. It cannot see anything."
No, she was not going to try to explain robotics to him. "Will you just trust me for a moment, okay? It's a lens, not an eye, but the principle is the same. Here, look at this, and smile." She pointed at the lens on her phone, waited for him to stare at it, then snapped a picture. Definitely not a vampire. She flipped her phone around to show him. "See?"
He peered at it. "That looks like me, but…how…"
Explaining camera phones was way beyond her level of expertise. Plus she was hungry, damn it.
Catena threw an arm around Tor's shoulders, leaned back, and held up her phone. She thumbed the screen to use the front camera instead of the rear one. "Smile for your first selfie!"
"Hey, that's me!"
She snapped a shot of his smile of wonderment, and had to admit she didn't look too bad in the photo, either. A pity she'd never be able to show it to anyone, because no one would believe gargoyles existed.
She'd still save it, though, so that she could take it out and look at it to remind herself that she hadn't dreamed this.
Wait, what was that poking her in the back? All hard and pokey and…oh God, was that his…?
"Please forgive me, Miss Kelly, I seem to have gotten tangled up in your…in your clothing…"
He shifted, and then he was heating the pocket of her sweater instead.
"We need to get you some pants," she bit out, closing her eyes so she wouldn't see anything as he extracted his wayward appendage.
Of course, she couldn't help peeking a little. If anything, he'd actually gotten bigger and harder. Had their little hug given the gargoyle a hard-on? It seemed that it had. Huh.
When he'd managed to disentangle them and backed up enough for her to get past, she led the way back inside, to the laundry, where Maria had kept all her dig clothes.
"My godmother used to keep a collection of men's cargo pants in here, to wear when she went out to archaeological sites. You should be able to find something to fit you in one of these drawers." She waved at them. "When you're decent, you can come find me in the kitchen, where I'll be making dinner."
She marched off, determined not to think about his monster dick and what it might feel like somewhere more personal than her pocket. Definitely not thinking about sleeping with the gargoyle, riding him hard for half the night. Nope. Not at all.
Would it even fit?
Nope. Not thinking about it at all…
Twenty
Tor was surprised to find she did indeed have some pants that fitted him. They were made from a heavy, cream-coloured cotton and fastened at the waist with a length of cord, cunningly hidden on the inside. So much finer than the scratchy fustian he'd been forced to wear before. These suited him better than any livery. He must thank Miss Kelly.
Almost without thinking, he slipped through the walls to arrive in the kitchen, where he found her stirring something in a pan on the stove. A blue flame did indeed appear underneath the pan, solving the mystery of her meals.
"Oh, good, you found some," she said.
Tor glanced down. It appeared his pants could travel through walls, as well, or at least while he was wearing them. Good. For if a single touch from Miss Kelly could arouse him so powerfully…he was her protector, not her paramour, even if someone like Miss Kelly would consider taking a lover. She'd never choose someone as lowly as him. Best he remember that.
"I'm making enough for two, in case you want some. I usually make extra, so I can have leftovers for later," Miss Kelly said, still stirring. The appetising aroma of bacon rose up to assail his nose.
Damn, he hadn't eaten bacon in…no, he could not remember that, either.
"I have no need for sustenance, being made of stone," he said sadly. He'd make an exception for that bacon, though.
"You don't have to eat? Not ever? I can't imagine what that must be like. To never taste bacon…"
Tor swallowed. "I remember what bacon tastes like, so I must have eaten it once. Not that I remember when."
She stared at him. "So you haven't always been a gargoyle, then?"
He shrugged. "I can remember nothing of my past."
Miss Kelly had a deft hand with a knife, as she alternated between slicing mushrooms and stirring the bacon.
"You sound Scottish. Is that where you're from? Do you remember anything from there?" she pressed.
Tor racked his brain, but came up with nothing. "Wherever I came from, this is my home now." These words rang with truth. Memory twinged, just the tiniest pang of yearning, before it was gone, too quickly to grasp. "I have no memory of anywhere else."
"Is that a gargoyle thing? Are there any other gargoyle things I should know, like your issue with sunlight?"
Tor pondered. "I don't know. I've never met another gargoyle. I only know that I am bound to serve, and protect, and I will."
Miss Kelly scraped the mushrooms into the pan. "That doesn't seem fair. You do all the hard work, serving and protecting, and sleeping in the darkness for who knows how long, waiting to be called, and what do you get out of it? Sounds like slavery to me, and that was abolished a long time ago."
What could he say? "It is my purpose."
"Protecting me sounds like a pretty shitty purpose in life. Isn't there anything you want to do?"
There was something, dancing on the tip of his tongue, tingling at his fingertips, just out of reach, but whatever it was, Tor could not grasp it. "Perhaps there was once, but not any more. I am what I am, and no more." He coughed. "If you'll forgive my impertinence, I wish to ask another question."
"Just ask, Tor. I've already forgiven you for accidentally sticking your dick in my pocket, so let's just assume I'm okay with a bit of impertinence, as long as you're wearing pants, okay?"
Tor almost choked. "Miss Kelly, are all lady scholars of this time as outspoken as you, or is it just your tongue that is unusually salty?"
Miss Kelly laughed. "I don't know what time you're actually from, but I'm beginning to think it's a lot different to this one. No one's ever called me a lady scholar before, though I admit I kind of like it. And I'm probably no more salty than most of the women I know. Oh, and drop the Miss Kelly thing. My name is Catena, or occasionally Cat. This is Australia. We don't do honorifics unless we really hate someone, or maybe if they're the prime minister. Come to think of it…yeah, definitely the prime minister, on both counts, at the moment. We've got a real dickhead in office right now."
"You're…not what I expected."
She snorted. "Well, you're definitely not what I expected. If anyone had told me I'd have a conversation with a gargoyle in my kitchen, I wouldn't have believed them. Yet, here we are."
She busied herself about the kitchen, putting things in pots, then pouring them out again, until she filled a bowl with long, stringy things before spooning the mushroom and bacon sauce over the top.
"I feel bad eating in front of you, when you can't and all. Is there anything I can get you?" she said.
It sounded silly, but something made him say it anyway. "May I…just sit near you, so that I might smell it? Even if I can't eat it, I can enjoy the scent, for it smells quite delicious."
She grinned. "I can do you one better. I'll put all the leftovers in a box, then set it in front of you, so you can sniff to your heart's content while it cools off."
She might have a salty tongue, but she certainly was remarkably thoughtful.
"Thank you, Miss…Catena."
"And when we're done, we're going to watch The Mummy."
"Aren't those from Egypt?" he ventured.
Her smile widened. "Indeed they are. This movie's set there. It's about a lady scholar and librarian, and an archaeological dig in Egypt where they dig up something they shouldn't…"
"It sounds like a gothic novel."
"Does it? For all that you said you didn't read them, you sure know a lot about them. Maybe you've read more than you're willing to admit."
Try as he might, Tor could not remember reading much of anything, but he followed Catena into the next room to see whatever it was she wanted to watch.
Twenty-One
The moving picture with sound, appearing on the black screen on the wall, were entirely new to Tor. He might not remember much about his past, but it definitely hadn't included movies. Unlike Catena, who had seen this one so many times, she knew many of the lines by heart.
In fact, she'd fallen asleep before he'd found out how the story ended, curling up on her side on her couch while he'd watched every moment.
Now, he was torn. As her protector, surely it fell to him to make sure she was warm and comfortable as she slept, instead of all cramped on the couch, when she had a large, fine bed in another room. Yet he didn't want to wake her, and while he was more than up to the task of carrying her to her bedchamber, now he knew his body's reaction to touching her, he wasn't sure if he should.
Well, it wasn't like he was going to ravish her as she slept, he reasoned, no matter how much certain parts of his body relished that idea. His head ruled here, and he would protect her from any and all threats, including the wicked parts of himself. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had made him feel like this – after all, he couldn't remember much of anything – but he suspected there was something special about Catena that made her utterly unique. Why else was he charged with protecting her?
Carefully, he scooped her up from the couch, shifting her weight until her head rested snugly against his chest. Her hair smelled like exotic fruit, sweet and sensual all at the same time. He breathed deep, savouring it as surely as he had the bacon smells in her kitchen.
"I'm…a librarian," she mumbled, rubbing her face against his chest.
Tor smiled. Another line from the movie that she knew by heart. She was a strange woman in an even stranger world.
Carrying his precious cargo, he remembered not to slip through the walls, and instead trudged through doorways and passages to reach her room, where he laid her on the bed. She'd made a point of going off to change into her night clothes, so he knew she wouldn't mind if he peeled back the coverlet, and pulled it over her.
Then he was at a loss for what to do. He could watch over her as she slept, he supposed, but the café across the road had since closed, and most of the people outside had dispersed. All of Catena's doors were locked, so there were no threats to her, inside or outside, for him to watch for.
Watching her sleep made his mouth inexplicably dry, or dryer than usual, given he was made of stone. He cast his eyes about her room, looking for something, anything, that might pose a threat to her that he might deal with.
Wait, was that a crack in the wall, up near the ceiling?
Indeed it was. A hairline crack in the plaster, but as he delved deeper, he found the crack originated in the limestone wall itself. Oh, that would never do. Her house could not be permitted to fall down around her while she slept.
He'd seen some construction materials downstairs, where someone was rebuilding the road during the day, so he borrowed a little of the limestone and a lot of other things, and set to work.
Some time during the night, as he worked to fill the gaps in the crumbling limestone, cursing the poor quality of the stuff, he had a flash of memory, his own voice cursing the stone, as bright sunlight beat down on him and the tall, white wall.
"If you don't build buttresses, one good gust of wind'll send the walls toppling," he heard himself say.
"If we build buttresses, the prisoners will climb up them and escape. You do as you're told. The engineers know what they're doing."
"They don't if they're not building buttresses."
"You do as you're told, convict, or it'll be manacles and motley for you."
"It'll be manacles and motley for everyone, for when these un-buttressed walls come down, everyone will escape."
Pain turned the memory blinding white, and Tor found himself blinking at Catena's wall again, though he still felt the sharp sting of the lash on his back and the weight of the manacles at his ankles.
Of all the memories of his past, this was one he'd have happily forgotten. Back to work, then, for working stone always made him forget anything but the wall in front of him.
He might not remember much, but he knew how to build and maintain a wall that would last for centuries. Maybe it was a gargoyle thing, or maybe it was something he remembered from before, but it didn't matter.
By the time the sun rose, he'd carefully patched every wall in her bedroom, and the kitchen, too. Tomorrow night, he'd do more, until Catena's house was as sound and secure as any lady's castle. His salt-tongued lady scholar deserved no less.
Twenty-Two
Catena woke when the sun rose, to find she was securely tucked into her own bed and Tor was nowhere to be seen. The TV was still on in the lounge room – she'd evidently fallen asleep before the movie ended, and Tor hadn't known how to turn it off. Something else she'd have to explain to her new gargoyle roommate.
