“Congratulations,” said the pet store cashier, all smiles as he rang up the sale. “You’ve got a great guard animal there. He’s only eight weeks right now but they grow fast. This little guy will get to be about 120 pounds.”
Oh, no way! She was so not keeping a gargoyle for a pet. She was just rescuing him until she could find a better owner. If she had a pet, it would be something like a fish or a canary — something that stayed in its cage and didn’t break anything. Something that didn’t kickstart the empathic powers she’d buried beneath a cartload of accounting texts and sensible shoes.
Dismay settled over her as she crossed the parking lot to her car. A hundred and twenty pounds?
Selina tossed the back-seat clutter — a woollen car blanket, a map book and some binders from work — on to the floor and made room for the gargoyle. It hunkered down until it was wedged between the seat back and the passenger door. Every few seconds, it worried its crooked wing with its beak, poking at the injury.
Selina pulled out her cellphone and dialled the gallery with one hand while, with the other, she fished in the pet store paperwork for the vet’s address. The card was stapled to the inside of the folder and gave an address about ten minutes away. The vet’s name was simply listed as “Dr Jake.” What kind of a name was that?
Sounds like a frontier medical man, scalpel in one hand and bar room floozy in the other.
Meanwhile, the phone at The Old World Art and Antiques Gallery went to voicemail. The recorded message jerked her back to the present. Her boss, Richard Janos — still at home after heart surgery and grouchy as a bear — was too sick to run the gallery but still trying to micromanage from afar. He wouldn’t be happy that she was MIA, especially right now.
In a little over a month, collectors were coming from three countries to attend Old World’s exhibition and sale of eighteenth-century French antiques. There was a lot left to arrange, even though Selina had taken over the planning when Janos fell ill. She’d always shied away from working with the public, never wanting to advertise the fact that she was anything but a numbers gal, but this was an excuse to show off what she could do. Fey were the ultimate party planners, with a flair for turning the dullest affair into a smash hit. Combined with her human knack for financial detail, Selina was bred for the job. Not only was the show hotly anticipated, clients had started asking for her by name.
Hopefully, her recent successes would buy her some slack. Selina pushed a button to get the admin assistant’s voicemail inbox. “Hi, it’s me. Listen, would you please cancel the one-thirty with the caterer and tell him I’ll be in touch tomorrow. Reschedule my two o’clock with Mrs McAdams to five and would you please call the framers and tell them I’ll be by in the morning? Something personal’s come up. I’ll explain when I get there.”
She disconnected before anyone could pick up. Sighing, she leaned back against the seat, trying to relax for a split second before tackling the next problem. She was getting a headache.
Part of the reason was that Selina could feel the gargoyle’s anxiety like something gnawing at her belly. Instinctively, she reached out with her mind. If she could just steal away the animal’s distress — that was her magical talent, the one trick her half-fey blood could sometimes manage. On a good day, she was just empath enough to catch emotion and blow it out like a candle.
But she was rusty, her fragile magic sluggish from disuse. It felt like moving blocks of concrete by will alone. Can I do this?
Selina opened her eyes, realizing she’d been squeezing them shut. Gasping a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and glanced in the rear view mirror. The gargoyle was staring at her, round-eyed, but the look was now adoration instead of fear. It worked!
On the other hand, she didn’t look so good. Sweat dewed her face, tendrils of her blond hair darkened where they clung to her damp cheeks. Her expression looked bruised.
She’d sworn off using her talent for a good reason: it sucked. And people thought being a fey meant dancing in dew circles with a mushroom cap on your head. Yeah, right.
With shaking fingers, she stabbed the key into her car’s ignition.
With a final glance at the back seat, Selina pulled out of the parking lot. The gargoyle whimpered as the car moved. It crawled down to the floorboards, doing its best to hide under the folds of the blanket. So much for taking away his fear. That only worked if there was nothing new to be afraid of. Car rides were no fun for any animal. Must get one of those dog carriers.
Which would only make sense if I was keeping him. Involuntarily, she twitched. One bad landing, and he could take out her collection of rare Chinese vases. And who knew what those claws could do to the Louis Quatorze escritoire? She’d bought that piece with an eye to her retirement plan. A good antique just kept gathering value — at least it would until Gary the Gargoyle smashed it to smithereens.
Gary. It sort of suited the little guy, who was now sending up an occasional pathetic moan. She hoped that didn’t mean he was about to be car sick.
She turned into the Bayside Vet Clinic, wedging the car into one of the three visitor spaces. The building was showing its age — low, white and plain except for tattered green awnings. Selina got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. She opened the door, ready in case the gargoyle made a run for it. It didn’t. It flattened to a whimpering pancake.
Selina reached in, picking it up under the forelegs and catching an unpleasant smell. It had piddled on the plaid wool car blanket. It looked away, the picture of guilt, and hid its face against her arm. Oh, damn. Poor little guy.
She kicked the car door shut and, cradling the gargoyle, carried it into the vet’s office. Dr J. Hallender’s name — Dr Jake? — was the only one stencilled on the door, right above a line of bold lettering that read: Everyone deserves the very best care. No furry friend too unusual.
Selina wondered how much more this act of mercy was going to cost her.
The receptionist, identified by her name tag as Tracy, looked up as Selina came in. “Hi, can I help you?”
“Broken wing, I think.”
“Are you one of Dr Jake’s clients?”
“As of now I am.”
Tracy gave a grudging smile. Selina eyed her. The young woman had a sharp, hungry look that wasn’t quite human. Werewolf? Werewolfism wasn’t contagious but did that matter once you were digested?
“How soon can we see Dr — um — Dr Jake?”
Tracy leaned across the reception desk, gently scratching the gargoyle’s head. Selina could feel the heat of the she-wolf’s skin even though they never touched. Shape-shifters seemed to run at a higher temperature than humans.
An affectionate look softened Tracy’s features. “What’s his name?”
“Um, Gary.”
“Hey, Gary.” She ran a finger down the crooked wing.
The gargoyle flinched into Selina’s chest, gripping the front of her coat for dear life. He turned pain-filled eyes up to her.
A thin line formed between Tracy’s brows. “Yeah, there’s something wrong there, poor baby. Go right into Exam One. There are a few people waiting, but I’ll make sure Jake sees this little guy right away.”
Tracy pointed down the hallway. The sign for each exam room was clearly visible.
As she walked down the hall, Selina took quick peeks through glass windows into the other rooms. There was a storage space filled with surgical equipment, cages, and shelves of medical supplies. Another held a woman and what looked like a giant lizard. In a third, an ordinary-looking guy was pacing the room in a stew of anxiety. There was no pet in sight. Hm.