Page 11 of The Gargoyle and the Songbird

I shake it off, annoyed at my own unprofessional lapse. I can’t afford to let my guard down for even a moment.

And then, it happens.

In the middle of a verse, Ecco falters. It’s subtle, just a slight hitch in her breath, a widening of her eyes.

To my hypervigilant gaze, it’s like a beacon.

I follow her line of sight, scanning the audience, searching for the source of her distress. At first, I see nothing out of place. But then, I spot a ripple in the sea of faces. A disturbance near the back of the set—something magical.

I catch a glimpse of a figure, pale and distorted, features obscured by a dark hood. It’s only a fleeting impression, there and gone in an instant, but I know with bone-deep certainty.

The stalker.

My instincts take over, my body moving on pure reflex. I’m across the room in seconds, shoving through the oblivious crowd, my eyes locked on the spot where the figure vanished.

“Move!” I growl, not bothering with niceties.

A burly man wearing a “Siren’s Call” branded t-shirt shoots me an offended glare, but something in my expression quickly convinces him to step aside.

I reach the back wall, my heart pounding, my fists clenched. But there’s nothing. No sign of the hooded figure, no trace that they were ever there at all. I sniff deeply, trying to use my gargoyle power of heightened scent to clock the being’s smell so I can track them.

There’s not even a scent to trace.

It’s like they were never here at all.

“Damn it!” I curse under my breath, frustration filling me.

I force myself to take a breath, to center myself. I can’t let this setback rattle me, not when the stalker could still be lurking somewhere on the premises.

I turn back to the stage, where Ecco is gamely pushing through to the end of her song despite the whispers that erupted in the audience at my disturbance. Her smile is now just slightly off kilter, which sends a pang through me.

I’ve failed her.

My mind races, calculating, strategizing. The game has changed. The threat is no longer theoretical, but viscerally real. And I’ll be ready next time. No matter the cost, I won’t let this maniac anywhere near Ecco again.

I play back the look of fear in her eyes, the fierce protectiveness that surged through my veins. I tell myself that it’s about my professional pride and duty.

She’s my client, nothing more.

And nobody gets to harm my clients. Just let that stalker try their luck again.

This gargoyle will be waiting, and heaven help anyone who dares to cross me.

5

ECCO

Iclutch my steaming mug of elderberry tea like a security blanket, letting the mug’s warmth seep into my hands as I hunch forward on the plush leather couch. The scent of the floral tea usually soothes me, reminding me of home. Right now, it barely registers.

My mind keeps replaying that moment on stage, when I spotted that hooded figure lurking at the back of the studio audience. I can barely remember the rest of the performance, just a blur of fear and anxiety that somehow ended with me here, in the greenroom.

Natalie paces nearby, her stilettos clicking against the polished floor. Her worried gaze burns a hole through me.

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, the door bursts open.

Graeme storms in, his granite features betraying his frustration. Natalie whirls to face him, her voice tight.

“Did you find them? The person who spooked Ecco?”

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