Page 2 of The Gargoyle and the Songbird

“You crushed it, honey! I’m so proud of you.” She holds me at arm’s length, her eyes shining with pride and affection. “The way you handled those questions about your magic? Absolute perfection.”

I laugh, feeling simultaneously untethered by the surreality of the moment and anchored by Natalie’s support.

Despite our different backgrounds—Natalie’s a city girl who has never even been to the magical realms—she means the world to me. Natalie scouted me from afar after a video of one of my performances at Mariah’s inn went viral. After nine months of me commuting, Natalie convinced me to move here and has been holding my hand through every step of the process.

We’ve grown so close over the past year as she’s guided me through the twists and turns of this industry.

Natalie leads me to our waiting chauffeured car, whipping out her tablet and rattling off the dizzying lineup of press appearances scheduled for the coming weeks. Photo shoots, talk shows, radio spots, industry parties...

I’m acutely aware of how few people get to live out their wildest dreams like this, how lucky I am.

But underneath, weariness is already starting to tug at me. What I wouldn’t give for a quiet weekend curled up with a mug of tea and an old favorite book...

I say none of this to Natalie, though.

Instead, I plaster on my smile and nod along as she describes a particularly high-profile magazine interview, doing my best to focus.

The car glidesto a stop in front of my building and I thank the driver before stepping out onto the sunlit sidewalk. Tipping my head back, I gaze up at the sleek glass and steel tower stretching overhead.

My new home, although it still doesn’t quite feel that way.

It’s still weird, living in this mundane city. I know I’m the only magical being living in this entire building. It’s obvious from the lingering looks other residents give me, like they know there’s something not quitehumanabout me, but they can’t figure it out.

I make my way through the gleaming marble-clad lobby, waving to the concierge, then step into a high-tech elevator. It zooms upwards to the 15th floor in silence and moments later, I’m turning the key in my front door.

My pet glowkitten, Minx, greets me at the door with a happy meow. She winds her tiny body around my ankles and I bend down to pet her soft white fur. Even though she’s seventeen years old—glowkittens live for decades—Minx is the size of a young cat and has the energy of one too.

She’s one of the few reminders of home in this apartment. I’ve had Minx since I was a tween. Mariah found her as a stray and tried to sneak her into the inn where she lived. She was quickly caught.

I was all too happy to take Minx instead, and my dad—who was in the middle of his divorce from my mom—didn’t feel like he could say no. She’s been my constant companion ever since.

Stepping inside, I pause to survey the sprawling, modern space with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city skyline. By all accounts, it’s a dream apartment.

And yet...

It’s too sterile, too impersonal. I moved in three months ago, but between the whirlwind of the album release and the press tour, I’ve barely had a chance to infuse it with my own flair.

A few moving boxes still sit in the corner, waiting to be unpacked. Generic artwork that came with the place hangs on the walls.

Sighing, I kick off my heels and pad barefoot into the kitchen. I miss the cozy, lived-in charm of Elderberry Falls, with its crooked cobblestone streets and quaint little shops. Places like the Moonflower Inn, where the air always smells of cinnamon and every nook seems to hold a story.

Lost in my musings, I almost miss the gentle knock on the door.

Frowning, I glance at the clock—is it already 6 pm? I invited Lori, Mariah’s mom, to come over for a drink and talk about wedding planning.

I hastily grab a bottle of wine out of the fridge and two glasses, setting them down on the counter before hustling to get the door.

“Ecco! My favorite rock star!” Lori stands beaming at my doorstep, her dark hair—so similar to Mariah’s—pulled back in a loose bun.

In her hands she holds a colorful gift bag and a familiar tin that sends a pang of homesickness straight to my heart: seaweed cookies from the Moonflower’s cafe, a specialty you just can’t find in the human lands.

Lori walks inside, wide eyes taking in the soaring ceilings and wall of windows.

“Oh honey,” she breathes. “Would you look at that view? And this kitchen, it’s bigger than my whole downstairs!”

I trail after her, grinning as she “oohs” and “aahs” over the smart fridge and marble countertops. It’s nice to see someone appreciating the place… especially since I’m still not sure I like it all that much.

Lori doesn’t seem to notice my ambivalence, though. She sets down her gift on the kitchen island, then turns to cup my face in her palms, green eyes shining.

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