Page 3 of The Gargoyle and the Songbird

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo,” she tells me. “I always knew you were meant for something special.”

A tidal wave of emotion washes through me, undoubtedly heightened by both exhaustion and homesickness. My throat tightens, and I swallow hard, giving Lori a smile. It means so much to hear her say that; she’s been practically a surrogate mother to me all these years.

“Now, let’s talk about wedding details!” she says, pulling out a stool. “I can’t believe it’s only a week and a half away. How are you feeling about your bridesmaid duties? And your song, of course!”

We spend the next hour sitting at the kitchen island, munching seaweed cookies, sipping wine, and going over the minute details of the big day. I’m thrilled to be one of Mariah’s two bridesmaids, alongside her soon-to-be sister-in-law, Gruna. But even as we chat, guilt gnaws at my stomach.

“I feel awful that I haven’t been around more to help,” I confess, toying with a crumb on my plate. “Some maid of honor I am, huh? Is there anything else I can do, even from a distance?”

Lori reaches over to pat my hand reassuringly. “Honestly, Ecco, everything is set. We all know how busy you are. Don’t worry about a thing.”

She slides a piece of paper across the counter—it’s the wedding timeline, with my surprise slotted in: a new song Iwrote just for Mariah and Thorak’s first dance. I trace my finger over the schedule entry, mentally running through the lyrics that I only just finalized.

“Mariah is going to be so moved,” Lori says softly. “Your friendship means the world to her, Ecco.”

I nod, blinking back tears. Music has always been the language of my heart, the truest way I know how to express my feelings. Pouring my love for Mariah into this song, into this moment... I just hope it can convey even a fraction of what she means to me.

We chat a bit longer, and the late evening light starts to slant low across the hardwood floors. I can see Lori stifling a yawn behind her hand.

“I should probably let you get settled,” she says reluctantly, glancing at her watch. “I know you must be wiped, and we can talk more about details on the phone if we need to.”

We both stand, and I walk her to the door, hugging her tightly. “Thank you for coming, Lori. And for the gift, and the cookies, and just... everything.”

She squeezes me back, rubbing soothing circles between my shoulder blades. “Anytime, sweetie. We love you so much. Never forget that, okay?”

With a final wave, she disappears down the hall, leaving me alone once more in the cavernous silence of the apartment. I lean my forehead against the door, eyes closed.

Then I straighten up and survey the space—the unpacked boxes, the impersonal decor. Lori’s visit has sparked renewed resolve. I may not be home in Elderberry Falls with my best friend, but I can still carve out a space here that is true to me.

Rolling up my sleeves, I set to work, putting on a classic vinyl record and letting the music carry me away as I start to unpack and nest.

As night falls, I pause to survey my handiwork.

The housewarming gift from Lori, a beautiful hand-blown vase in swirling shades of blue and violet, now sits proudly on the mantel. My favorite patchwork quilt, stitched by Mariah’s great-aunt and imbued with the faintest trace of our elf friend Laurelle’s calming magic, is draped over the back of the couch, making the austere lines a bit more inviting.

Suddenly starving, I heat up some leftover takeout from the fridge and wolf it down. Tossing the container into the recycling bin, I reflect on how many meals I’ve already eaten alone in this place, then brush the thought aside.

No use dwelling on how lonely I am in this colorless apartment and this strange city. Better to remember that I’m living out a fantasy. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

I brew a mug of my favorite elderberry flower tea and carry it with me to my bedroom, excited to sink into the plush embrace of my brand new king-size mattress.

Sleep proves elusive.

I toss and turn, the too-crisp sheets tangling around my restless legs. The mattress is firmer than I’m used to, and the distant wail of police sirens jars me awake every time it starts up again. The city sounds are a big contrast to the crickets and frog song that used to drift through my bedroom window back home.

Sighing, I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I have a twinge of disquiet that I can’t quite shake, and I try to pinpoint what it is.

I’m over the moon for Mariah, truly, but there’s a tiny, selfish bit of me that fears losing my best friend to the whirlwind of married life. I’m already so far away from everything I know. Everything is changing so fast, and I?—

A sudden, sharp hiss shatters the too-still silence of the room, and I bolt upright with a gasp.

Minx is perched atop the dresser, her snowy fur bristling, her eyes luminous in the darkness. She’s starting to emit the greenglow that means she can sense a threat. A chill runs down my spine as I follow her gaze to the left side of my bed, my breath catching in my throat at the sight that greets me.

There, materializing from the shadows like a nightmare made flesh, is a figure that can only be described as unutterablywrong.

Elongated limbs, skin too smooth and featureless to be quite human, but not resembling any monster I’ve ever seen, either. Its eyes make my blood run cold—strange, depthless pools of obsidian black.

And then it starts to move.

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