Page 38 of The Gargoyle and the Songbird

“Security detail, huh?” Rian casts me a glance, his tone laced with fatherly protectiveness. “So this stalker business is serious.”

I wave a dismissive hand. “Oh, it’s… I’m sure it’s nothing. Just some over-enthusiastic fan. But my manager insisted, so.” I shrug, aiming for nonchalant.

Rian frowns. “Well. I’m glad you’re not taking any chances, Ecco. Your safety is the most important thing.”

Graeme’s gaze bores into the side of my head and I staunchly avoid meeting it.

“Right. Anyway, enough about my drama,” I say. “How are you? How’s Jessabel?”

At the mention of his eleven-year-old daughter, Rian’s expression turns contemplative. He gestures for us to sit at one of the bakery’s handful of tiny tables, grabbing a chair across from me.

“She’s doing alright, but you know what, her choir is struggling,” Rian says. “The music teacher is out on parental leave and so they’ve been trying to keep things going with a volunteer choir director who is… well, very nice but not all that experienced.”

“Ah,” I say. “I know how that goes.” I’ve had my fair share of crappy music teachers.

Rian chuckles, running a hand over one of the two huge protruding horns on top of his head.

“And they’re set to perform at the Moonbloom Jubilee next month,” Rian continues, “but I know Jessa’s worried about being ready. They could really use some expert guidance.”

Rian’s eyes meet mine, hopeful and earnest.

My heart squeezes painfully. Memories of sitting cross-legged on the floor of the Hungry Minotaur flood my mind—Jessa perched beside me, hanging on my every word as I taught her simple melodies on a ukulele. Rian waving away my protests when I tried to pay for my baked goods.

I blink, Rian’s hopeful face coming back into focus. I want to say yes.

But I also have commitments. Interviews to do, fans to appease, an image to maintain. And with the added complication of my stalker, and Graeme shadowing my every move…

I hesitate, torn.

“Ecco, can I speak with you privately?” Graeme’s deep rumble cuts through my internal debate.

I glance up to find him watching me intently, his jaw tight.

Rian clears his throat, sliding out of his seat. “I’ll just go check on those muffins in the oven.”

I shoot Rian an apologetic look as Graeme all but drags me into the corner of the tiny bakery, next to the stacks of baked goods that have recently come from the kitchen. Trays upon trays of glistening pastries, their smells divine, each more tempting than the last.

But Graeme’s brow is furrowed, his mouth set in a grim line. “I don’t like this, Ecco. That minotaur is far too familiar with you. How well do you really know him?”

I bite back a laugh at Graeme’s suspicious tone. “Rian? He’s harmless, Graeme. I used to babysit his daughter all the time before I got my record deal. It’s how I made ends meet while I was trying to make it as a singer.”

Graeme doesn’t look convinced. If anything, his frown deepens. “Have you forgotten about the very real threat we’re dealing with? Your stalker could be anywhere, anyone. Even someone you think you know. Getting involved with that choir would be an unnecessary risk.”

I know I said I’d be careful, but this is just too much.

“You think my stalker is in thechildren’s choir, Graeme? Really? What exactly do you think is going to happen, we discover my stalker is posing as a 9-year-old soprano?”

Graeme’s jaw clenches, his eyes hard. “It’s not just the children. It’s their families, Ecco. There will be lots of strangers involved, people we haven’t vetted. Why put yourself in harm’s way?”

I can’t listen to this any longer.

Rian emerges with a tray of muffins that give off thick fragrant steam.

“Rian,” I say quickly, before Graeme can try to interfere further. “I would love to help with the choir. Just let me know when and where.”

The minotaur beams, setting down the tray to clasp my hands in his, still covered in flour-dusted oven mitts.

“Thank you, Ecco. Jessa will be thrilled.”

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