Page 79 of The Gargoyle and the Songbird

The melody pours out of me, each note heavy with the ache of loss, the hollowness that comes from saying goodbye too soon. Velda’s grief flows through me, amplified and given voice by my siren magic. Through her, I remember Myrtle, our many afternoons together as the three of us. Her vibrant spirit, her laugh, her silly jokes.

Velda’s pain becomes mine, and mine becomes the music, raw and devastating.

But as the song continues, rising and falling like ocean waves, something starts to shift. The oppressive weight in the room begins to lift, the shadows receding as if banished by the break of dawn.

As I sing, I sense the change in Velda too, see it in the way her shoulders straighten, the taut lines of anguish on her face smoothing.

Tears flow freely down her cheeks, and then with a deep breath, she closes her eyes. The tears begin to slow, then ceasealtogether, as if my song has granted her permission to release her iron grip on sorrow.

As the final notes dissipate into silence, Velda opens her eyes. The transformation in her countenance steals my breath—sorrow is still there, but so is a new serenity.

“Thank you, Ecco,” Velda whispers. “You were right. This hasn’t made me love Myrtle any less, or miss her any less. But now… now it’s like I can see the sun on the horizon again. Like I can finally start to move forward, even if it’s just one small step at a time.”

A lump swells in my throat. I can only nod as I pull Velda into a fierce embrace, tears spilling down my own cheeks.

Graeme’s gruff voice calls us back to reality. “Ecco, Velda. Look outside.”

Startled, we turn toward the window. A gasp escapes me. Outside, the relentless snowfall has ceased. The heavy gray clouds are parting like a theater curtain, revealing a sky of breathtaking crystalline blue.

The blizzard that’s held Elderberry Falls captive is losing its chokehold. The realization crashes over me—the magical storm is dissipating at last.

We’re free.

But even as relief surges through my veins, a leaden weight settles in my stomach.

“Well, then,” I manage to say. “I guess it’s time to go home.”

The insistent trickleof melting snow and ice dripping from roofs and trees and lampposts forms a backdrop as Graeme and I load up his car outside the Moonflower. A magical snowplowworks on the scattered piles of snow still blocking parts of the road out, the metal scraping loudly against the cobblestones.

I pause, my hands full of the random items I’ve bought from shops in town these last few weeks—paperbacks from Spellbound, a cutesy set of branded mugs from the Enchanted Bean. Mementos of a stolen time.

Around us, Elderberry Falls is stirring back to life. People emerge from their homes and shops, blinking owlishly in the unaccustomed brightness, the sudden return to summer sunshine.

“Mrrow?” Minx chirrups from her perch atop a duffel bag, her glowing eyes quizzical.

“Looks like you’re riding shotgun, little miss,” I coo, scooping her up and relishing the warm, soft weight of her against my chest. At least this time, Graeme will let us both ride in the front seat.

As if on cue, the trunk slams with an ominous thud. I turn to find Graeme watching me, his expression inscrutable. He gives a short nod toward the knot of people assembling on the Moonflower’s lawn.

“Looks like your farewell party has arrived.”

My stomach twists painfully. Slowly, I pivot to face the gathered crowd. Mariah and Thorak stand arm-in-arm, Mariah smiling bravely through obvious tears. Beside them, Dad beams at me.

“There’s my songbird,” he says, opening his arms. I fly into his embrace, burying my face against the solid strength of his chest.

I pull back, swiping at my damp cheeks, and my gaze lands on Deandra. Mom. She hovers at the edge of the group, her posture perfect, hair impeccable, her expression a careful mask. But as our eyes meet, I can see a hint of apology in them, of hope.

Impulsively, I step forward and wrap my arms around her.

“Safe travels, Ecco,” Mom murmurs as I step back. I can only nod.

Then I’m enveloped in a dizzying flurry of embraces—Gruna’s firm clasp, Finn’s exuberant squeeze, Rian’s gentle shoulder clasp and Jessa’s tearful hug.

“You’ll be amazing at the Jubilee,” I tell little Jessa fiercely. “I’m so proud of you, and everyone in the choir. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

“I’ll come visit,” Jessa promises. “Soon.”

At the end of the line flutters little Karisse. The sprite fidgets in place, her wings lifting her up into the air and then bumping back down to the ground again. “Miss Ecco, I?—”

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