When A Gargoyle Investigates Page 3

  Gracchus cracked his neck. Time to fulfil his mission.

  Chris suggested that a friend of his – a female FBI agent – may be a suitable ally to the clan, and Luc had dispatched Gracchus to test this theory.

  He trusted Chris’ judgment, more than Luc did at least, and if Chris said she could be trusted with their secret, then Gracchus was inclined to agree. But he would watch her as asked and when he was sure she was trustworthy, he would go home and catch up on his shows. It would only take a few hours, he was sure of it.

  Four

  “No, Mom, please, please, please! Don’t do that.”

  “Oh, Chiquita, I don’t know why you have to be so difficult…”

  Melissa sighed as her mother gave her the usual speech. You’re not getting any younger. Soon it’ll be too late for you to have children. A good man is hard to find and how can you find one unless you don’t try. Plus, Melissa’s favorite, I just want to make sure you’re happy before I die.

  Her mother was intent on giving Melissa’s phone number to her next-door neighbor’s son – a forty-four-year-old podiatrist with two ex-wives and five kids. She didn’t have to meet him to know he wasn’t the man of his dreams.

  Melissa wiggled her freshly painted toes as her mother droned on and on. She wasn’t sure why she continued to paint them – she never got a chance to wear open-toed shoes, and it wasn’t like anyone was going to see them. Nope, no one but her had seen them in over thirteen months.

  She peered into the mirror and tried not to sigh. The towel around her head, blotches of zit cream and the hair lightening formula on her upper lip were not exactly conducive to getting a boyfriend. But it was her beauty maintenance night. She had Grandfather Garcia’s bad skin and Grandmother Sanchez’s mustache – that while it looked great on her dad, it did not suit her in the least.

  “Chiquita,” came that wheedling tone again, indicating that she was almost done. “I just don’t want you to end up one of those women who live alone with half a dozen cats.”

  “That’ll never happen,” said Melissa nervously eyeing her rapidly growing comfort of cats. It wasn’t her fault – why did the adoption center have to make them all look so cute? She had just wanted to adopt a friend for her cat Lion-O – a cat she had rescued from a victim’s house in the course of one of her investigations. But adopting Cheetara had turned into her also bringing home Panthro and Tygra. She didn’t regret choosing them, but she worried she was on a slippery slope to crazy cat lady.

  “I swear you’ll be the death of me.”

  That was Melissa’s cue to wrap up the conversation. She said the same thing when Melissa told her she was going away to college, when she joined the FBI, when she moved into her own apartment and when she cut out dairy – though that didn’t last long. Ice cream was invented to be eaten. Her mother just had a tendency to overreact to everything.

  Melissa quickly said her goodbyes and ended the phone call, slumping into her chair with relief. Did everyone find talking to their mothers such a chore?

  She considered the other tasks she had earmarked for that evening. Cleaning out her oven. Calling her landlord to let him know the lock on the front door to the building was broken. Two weeks of laundry – she was getting close to wearing a bathing suit as underwear territory.

  Instead of all that, she sipped on her glass of wine and decided that she’d done enough mental heavy lifting for the evening.

  *

  Gracchus watched from a safe distance. She was hard to make out, but he would not risk getting closer.

  Melissa Sanchez. This was the female that Chris wished to entrust with the secret of their existence. He thought she would prove helpful. Luc wanted Gracchus’ opinion before anything else. Honestly, he did not know what to think.

  Like Chris, she was a law enforcement officer, working for the FBI. He watched more than enough TV to know what that meant.

  Gracchus would not deny that the gargoyles needed as many allies as possible for when the day arrived that they showed themselves to the world, but they needed to be careful. He trusted Chris’ judgment. The human male proved himself much more level headed than most of the gargoyles in their clan, and he was a good mate to Annis whose delicate spirit surely would have been trampled by a gargoyle mate. However, he was not sure about this female. She looked so tiny, and curvy. She did not look to be the sort of woman who should be running around with a gun trying to arrest dangerous men. Surely police officers needed to be strong and tough – like Chris who would not back down from a gargoyle. Melissa looked far too delicate.

  He groaned and shifted his wings, trying to find a more comfortable position in the tree. He had been there a couple of hours, and already his back was starting to ache from sitting in the same position. He reflected that in his younger days, he could have done this all night long and never felt a twitch. Time was marching on for him. He was not old, but nor was he young. Older than Luc, but he had a long way to go before he would be like one of their newest gargoyles – Leo. Humans put so much emphasis on age and numbers, but he had never kept track. As far as he was concerned, gargoyles were young, then they were warriors and then they were old. He was still a warrior.

  Gracchus watched as the female moved around, swaying her hips. Her movements were loose and almost hypnotic. He was so intent on watching her that he almost missed the man entering her apartment.

  For a moment, he assumed the male to be someone she knew – a friend, a relative or even a lover. He growled at the last thought, but his assumption went right out the tree as the male pulled a gun out.

  He had to do something, but showing himself to humans… It was only the briefest of hesitations as he launched himself out the tree and shot towards her apartment. He landed with a soft thud on her balcony. The door was slightly ajar and tucking his wings and tail behind him; he hoped to take the male by surprise.

  He didn’t, but what he saw took him by surprise.

  The male was face down on the floor, his eyes closed and a little bit of drool escaping his mouth. Melissa was cuffing his hands behind his back. She looked slightly disheveled, but unhurt. She stooped to pick up the male’s gun and only when she had grabbed it did she notice Gracchus standing in her living room.

  He froze, uncertain whether he should tell her she was dreaming and duck out the window. That happened a lot in TV shows and about fifty percent of the time, it actually worked.

  “What are you?” she murmured, her eyes roving over him.

  “Gargoyle,” he blurted unthinkingly.

  She had a gun; she could easily shoot him. He should move before she recovered her senses and did just that. She was a cop – in spite of her small and exceedingly curvy stature. Melissa had been unarmed and had taken out a much larger male than herself with what appeared to be very little trouble. It seemed unlikely she would have any issue in shooting a supernatural creature who had just appeared in her apartment.

  Just when he thought she would, she giggled.

  “You’re real!”

  “Yes,” he said cautiously.

  “You’re really real!”

  “Yes?” This time it was more of a question.

  “I knew it! I knew it! I was right all along!”

  Then she started jumping for joy. He supposed it was probably too late to go with the dream explanation.

  Five

  Melissa did a quick mirror check – to make sure she was looking a little more presentable than the last time he saw her. She’d been dreaming about gargoyles for twenty years and when did one finally drop into her life? On ‘beauty night’ when she was trying to get rid of her zits and mustache. Isn’t that so freaking typical!

  She had stashed him in her guest room – it was the best option she had. She had to call the cops on her would-be robber, but she didn’t want the gargoyle to leave. Putting him in her bedroom felt somehow too intimate – which seemed like an odd feeling – but it wigged her out enough to decide on her guest room. Which admittedly was
less of a guest room and more of a deposit for all the things she couldn’t bear to throw away and yet weren’t presentable enough to be out on display for anyone to see.

  Melissa paused outside the room, checked her breath, rolled her eyes at the fact that she checked her breath and boldly pushed the door open.

  Oh, my. Just the sight of him nearly knocked the breath out of her. He was freaking magnificent.

  The gargoyle she had seen so many years ago had been a blur in the sky, but up close he was so… so… detailed! His muscles were…

  Heat poured into Melissa’s cheeks. Since when was she the type of woman who stared at men’s muscles? Never is the answer! Muscles weren’t necessary – now, brains, brains were important. Not the thick corded muscles this incredibly, beautifully green creature was sporting. Well, green was her favorite color, and she had been waiting her whole life to meet a gargoyle – not to mention the hours of torture and ridicule she had to endure from her brothers when she admitted she thought gargoyles were real. Or the psychiatrists her mother subjected her to.

  He was sitting on the bed – on the tiny sliver of the bed still visible – and reading a newspaper. Not a new newspaper, no, this was years old, and he appeared to have found it on one of her leaning towers. She never threw papers away – she was adamant she might need them one day. Given the color of the paper, it had to be at least two years old and had the headline about a monster on the loose. Melissa almost burst into laughter – she remembered that. The monster turned out to be a dog. A St. Bernard, slobbering, puppy of a dog, who would be more likely to kill someone with kisses than rip them apart.

  His eyes rose to meet hers, and one of his cheeks twitched in an almost smile.

  “He’s…” she started.

  “Gone,” he rumbled. “I heard.”

  Melissa’s eyebrows rose. “You did?”

  “I was listening to ensure I was not needed.” He carefully folded the newspaper.

  “Would you have run out there to save me?” she asked, smiling.

  “Yes,” he replied simply, and with a forcefulness that nearly knocked her on her ass.

  That yes suggested that he would move mountains and wade through molten lava should she need assistance. Parts of her that shouldn’t quiver started quivering.

  He placed the paper onto a stack, probably the one where he found it, and it wobbled precariously.

  “Oh ah, sorry about the mess,” she said surging forward in case the wobble turned deadly. “I’ve been meaning to clean this room.”

  For the last five years, she added silently. This was the room where she dumped everything because she struggled to throw anything away. Well, she just might need it one day. She might need that dilapidated birdhouse her nephew Matty made for her, or she might need that ugly cuckoo clock her Aunt Hilda bought for her from Switzerland – she just didn’t know.

  His cheek twitched again, more so than before, and she considered he had a very handsome face. Not pretty but handsome, and masculine, and oh, goodness gracious there goes that quivering again!

  “I have been reading one of these newspapers, it is interesting.”

  She squinted at the date. “That’s nearly three years old.” How time flies – one moment a St. Bernard is causing havoc and the next you’re in your guest room with a giant, mythological beast.

  His eyes clouded slightly, and his expression seemed to darken. “Yes, I… I was not around at that time. It is interesting.”

  Melissa tried to tidy a couple of piles – to make it look like she was making some effort. Really, she never cleaned anything. She paid to have a cleaner come in once a week, though there generally wasn’t much work for Dorothy to do. Melissa’s mother visited a couple of times a week and would always clean something – because she insisted it needed to be clean for when Dorothy arrived. Melissa tried to point out the silliness of this, but her mother wasn’t known for listening to reason. Though, not even her mother or Dorothy was interested in tackling the guest room.

  She heaved some papers around making them into one pile – because one pile was better than three, and they toppled to the floor in a massive heap.

  He raised an eyebrow and seemed amused.

  “Ugh.” Melissa waved her hand at the mess. “Let’s talk in the living room.”

  He rose to his feet, and she scooted over to the wall, flattening herself against it as he ruffled his wings. He held out a hand, and she shook her head.

  “After you,” she insisted.

  He cocked his head to the side. “I thought human females preferred for men to show them deference in this way.”

  Melissa chuckled. “It’s called chivalry, and I can take it or leave it. What do gargoyle females prefer?”

  Both cheeks ticked but even if he didn’t quite smile, his eyes danced in amusement. “They also wish to go first. Though, they never wait for the offer. They simply knock the male in question out of their way.”

  “Sounds like my kind of ladies.”

  Now he appeared worried. “I would be wary of most female gargoyles if I were you. They are not like human females.”

  “How so?” she asked curiously.

  He merely flicked his tail and carefully made his way out of the room. How he managed to avoid all her piles of junk given that he was sporting both wings and a tail was a miracle, but he did somehow. The way he moved was graceful - like he was a dancer moving to music. There was nothing clunky or plodding about his movements.

  She watched him carefully, watching him move, the way he folded and moved his wings. His freaking wings! There was something that was a little odd about his movements, what was it? Noise! He wasn’t making a sound! He moved quieter than her cats.

  Speaking of which…

  During the aborted robbery attempt, her comfort of cats had been safely ensconced in her bedroom, both hairing and clawing up her favorite sheets. But now, they were up and milling around his feet performing an opera of meows.

  He bent down and rubbed Tigra’s head while Cheetara almost obscenely rubbed herself against his leg. Melissa nearly chastised her for being a hussy.

  “What will happen to the young male?”

  Yes, the little shit who broke into her apartment. He had apparently managed to get into the building behind a pizza delivery girl and had already robbed an apartment two floors down. Why he picked Melissa’s apartment next, she had no idea, but it was better for her other building mates that he had. She had called the cops, and they had taken him into custody. Melissa may be diminutive, but she passed the FBI physical just like all the other big, tough agents. One pimply burglar who stank of marijuana was no match for her.

  “Oh, he’ll be charged, and he’ll go to court, but he’ll probably just get community service.”

  He grunted in displeasure and to the disappointed mewls of her cats, straightened, removing his hand from their ears that demanded scratching.

  “That does not seem adequate.”

  Melissa sighed. “He’s only seventeen.”

  “Age is no excuse,” he rumbled.

  “I agree, but he’s still considered a child,” murmured Melissa, not wanting to get into this argument.

  He snorted, and his wings ruffled. “The things I had done by the time I was his age…”

  “Like what?” she pounced eagerly – because that was certainly a subject she was a lot more interested in than how unfair justice could be.

  “You were aware gargoyles existed before I… arrived here.”

  Melissa pressed her lips together. Yes and no.

  He was standing still as a statue until she realized he was waiting for an invitation

  Her mother’s years of haranguing filtered through. “Please sit down, can I get you anything?”

  The considerable male graciously sat down, and she watched him as he arranged his tail and wings. He was amazingly poised given that he looked so cumbersome.

  All of her cats keenly found an area of him on which to perch – Cheetara was
unashamedly on his chest, flicking her tail and purring like the cat who got the gargoyle. Shameless thought Melissa censoriously – utterly shameless.

  “I would not say no if you perhaps had a diet coke,” he said as his large claws stroked Cheetara’s back.

  “Really?”

  She stared in amazement. Gargoyles are real, and they drink diet coke. Go figure.

  She skipped to the kitchen, found a can and passed it to him, watching in rapt amazement as he opened it, drank some and let out a contented noise. Wow. It was the most amazing thing she had ever seen – period.

  He looked at her calmly, and Melissa perched on a chair facing him, on the edge, impatiently waiting. Though, he didn’t seem very forthcoming.

  “You were going to explain how you are aware of us,” he prompted finally.

  “Weren’t you going to explain what you’re doing here?” she asked. Because as magical as it was to have a gargoyle suddenly turn up , she had to think there was a reason for it. Or what next? Would she run into Bigfoot while grocery shopping?

  “I do not recall saying I would,” he said giving her another cheek twitch.

  Hmmm. No, he didn’t. He hadn’t tried to explain anything about his miraculous appearance yet. He didn’t seem like the type to cave either – his poker face was incredible.