Page 10 of The Gargoyle and the Songbird

Perfect. Just perfect.

I finish unpacking and head out to the living room, where I find Ecco just ending her call, a wistful smile on her face.

“Ms. Waverly,” I begin, fighting to keep my tone calm and professional despite my annoyance. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re planning to travel soon?”

She nods, her smile fading slightly as if she can sense what I’m about to say.

“My best friend Mariah is getting married in Elderberry Falls next week,” she says. “I’m her bridesmaid, I have to be there.”

I shake my head, a sense of foreboding settling in my gut. “I don’t think you understand the severity of your situation. With this stalker still at large, any travel would be extremely unwise. It’s an unnecessary risk.”

Ecco’s eyes widen, a flush rising in her cheeks. “Unnecessary? This is my best friend’s wedding! I’m not going to miss it because of some creep with boundary issues!”

She jabs a finger at my chest, her voice rising with each word.

“You’re supposed to be this big, bad bodyguard, right? Well, if you’re so worried, then you can just come with me! Problem solved!”

I clench my jaw, a muscle ticking in my cheek. The thought of leaving the city, of venturing into unknown territory with an unpredictable client and a dangerous stalker in the mix...it goes against every protocol.

But as I meet Ecco’s challenging glare, I know I’m fighting a losing battle. This woman’s stubbornness could rival a gargoyle’s.

“Fine,” I grit out, already dreading the complications this trip will bring. “But we do it my way. No exceptions.”

She beams at me, her anger evaporating as quickly as it appeared. “Deal! Oh, this is going to be so much fun! You’ll love Elderberry Falls, it’s the most magical place on earth!”

Somehow, I highly doubt that.

Ecco cocks her head, her eyebrows stitching together in a way that I try very hard not to find cute. “Wait—you had wings. Where did they go?”

She must not know much about gargoyle powers. “I can hide them with my magic,” I explain. “I usually keep them concealed.They can be inconvenient in crowded places, and while humans can always tell that I’m not one of them, it’s much easier to blend in if they can’t see the wings.”

“So why did you have them out this morning?” she asks.

“I like for new clients to see them. To know that I have the ability to use them to help with protection if necessary. But unless there’s an emergency, I usually only have them out when I have my shirt off.”

Ecco’s eyes rake down my torso and then guiltily dart back up to mine, as if she wasn’t just clearly imagining me shirtless.

“Well,” she says, starting to flush. “Let’s hope I never see them again, then.”

She turns quickly back to her room, Minx trotting at her heels, and I can’t help but feel a spark of… something.

Intrigue, perhaps. Or maybe just a masochistic sort of curiosity.

Two days later,I’m standing to the side of a dimly lit studio’s set, my eyes scanning the gathered audience with practiced vigilance. It’s been a long forty-eight hours of shadowing Ecco, of trailing her to studio sessions and meetings, of enduring her relentlessly bubbly chatter and seemingly endless supply of energy.

Her every quirk and mannerism has begun to grate on my nerves. The way she insists on stopping to speak with every fan, her complete lack of spatial awareness, her tendency to get lost in her own creative world at the most inconvenient times...

I’m at my wit’s end.

Now, as Ecco takes the stage for a taped performance on some late-night talk show, I find myself grudgingly interested.I’ve heard a few clips of her music while surveilling her meetings, but I haven’t actually seen her perform live yet.

The audience hushes as the first notes ring out, Ecco’s silhouette illuminated by a single spotlight.

And then, she begins to sing.

Her voice washes over the room, ethereal and haunting. There’s a magnetic quality to her presence, an authenticity that shines through every soaring note and soulful lyric.

Against my will, something stirs in my soul. A flicker of understanding, of appreciation for the rare talent I’m witnessing.

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