Page 68 of The Gargoyle and the Songbird

As we step into the lobby, the comforting scents and bustling sounds of the Moonflower greet us, as usual.

But when I breathe it in, savoring the way the warm scents mingle with the sweet florals of Ecco’s hair, I smellthat smellagain, ever so faintly.

The stalker.

My gargoyle instincts kick into high gear, senses heightening as I punch the button on the device the police gave me and search for any sight of the stalker. I release my wings from their enchantment and let them span out wide.

Ecco starts up the stairs toward our room, not realizing that I’ve fallen behind.

I stand rooted to the spot, scanning the lobby, my gaze darting from the fairy lights twinkling above to the shadows pooling in the corners.

There it is.

A figure lurking in the far corner of the lobby, its form distorted and flickering like a candle flame in the wind.

“Graeme?” Ecco turns back toward me, halfway up the stairs. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. Because the figure is moving now, gliding across the lobby with a speed that terrifies me.

And it’s heading straight for Ecco.

25

GRAEME

Time slows to a thick, viscous crawl as the stalker charges toward Ecco. The stalker’s form undulates, twisting in the air like desert heat mirages made flesh, and they barrel closer.

Their arms elongate and fingers stretch out with feverish desperation to seize Ecco.

Ecco’s scream slices into the air, piercing my heart like a knife.

Damn it all to hell. My senses are dulled from that blasted brunch, my reaction time just slightly sluggish from the beer I drank.

I should’ve known better than to let my guard down, even for a moment.

In that crystalline, stretched-out second before impact, every minute detail leaps out with shocking lucidity—the shimmer of Ecco’s blue hair, the whoosh of the stalker’s ragged breaths, the swirl of intermingling scents, sweet and foreign.

All thought leaves me as I push through my sluggish mind and move on pure reflex. I thrust out a wing, shoving Ecco to the side, out of harm’s way.

She staggers and stumbles back against the wooden railing but I can’t stop moving, pivoting toward the stalker and unfurling my wings more, making myself a solid wall between her and this faceless threat.

The stalker smashes into my stone-like torso with a slam that jars my bones.

I grab at the creature, ready to put an end to this once and for all. But their form seems to warp and stretch around me, blurring and blending against my edges in a stomach-churning defiance of physics.

My fingers close on empty air, wisps of smoke, nothing solid, nothing real. The stalker’s form dissolves, dissipates through my grasp like a half-remembered fever dream.

The sickly sweet stench of something burnt lingers in the air, coating the inside of my nostrils, the back of my tongue. My stomach roils and I swallow against the urge to vomit right there on the stairwell.

Chest heaving, I stare at the empty space where the stalker stood just a heartbeat ago. It doesn’t make sense.

None of this makes a single goddamn bit of sense.

“Graeme...” Ecco’s voice trembles and cracks.

I whip my head toward her, drinking in the sight of her wide violet eyes—she’s safe.

No thanks to me.

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