Page 20 of Heartsong
Captain only chirruped again and smacked her with his paw for touching the tummy.
She put him back down and followed him into the living room.
The knot of her stomach only twisted tighter when she beheld Frey exactly as she’d left him. The saturated light of late afternoon cast deep shadows across his sharp angles, catching in the textures and undulations in his stone skin.
Hugging herself, Anna rounded the couch so she could see the side of his face.
That same anguished howl was frozen on his lips, and Anna hated to see it. Although stone, the despair was real in his unseeing eyes.
Captain’s purr cut through the sad silence of the apartment, and Anna watched in surprise as her cat wove around the gargoyle’s stone legs before folding himself into a loaf between Frey’s feet.
Despite being a street cat for years, Captain loved everyone. Even non-human houseguests, apparently.
“Kept him company, huh?” Something about that gave her a little comfort.
Her cat purred harder and began rolling around between the stone legs and rubbing his big cheeks against the gargoyle’s thick calves.
Mollified, Anna returned to the kitchen to deal with the groceries.
She hadn’t known what to get, unsure if she’d have a houseguest or statue when she got home, but had opted for some meal options. She had to hope he’d wake up, and therefore needed to be prepared.
The guy hasn’t eaten in over a thousand years.
Maybe it was crazy to hope he woke up again—things would be easier if he just remained a statue. If last night was just a fluke.
But Anna knew what it felt like to be trapped. To want out.
Her whole childhood had been a string of rundown apartments and crappy boyfriends, her mother unable to be alone for more than a few weeks. Shannon Kincaid was someone who needed to be taken care of, provided for, even if what a man could give came with fists and shouting. By the time she was eight, Anna was counting down the days until she was eighteen and could leave.
Her mother had rarely shown interest in her, and in the last weeks of living together, hadn’t been quiet about what a burden having Anna was. How it limited her options. How it tied her down. Anna had borne it silently, then at the first opportunity, left. She rarely spoke to her mother; just obligatory holiday and birthday greetings, most of which were done via text message.
It wasn’t some magical curse, no, but Anna knew what it was to be desperate. To want to escape. To look fate in the eye and shoutfuck you.
So yeah, she hoped the gargoyle woke up.
She also hoped he liked chicken alfredo.
The noodles were almost al dente and the sauce just starting to simmer when it happened.
Anna was at the stove, ruminating on the continued lack of news about the heist. She’d remarked to Carrie that she was surprised none of the local news channels or papers had caught wind and turned up to poke around. Her boss had smiled wanly.“We’re going to keep it quiet.”
Sure, she could get behind that. In Anna’s experience, you never invited trouble—and that meant keeping away from cops and reporters, among others. However, Anna didn’t think things like this could necessarily be kept quiet. They had a way of getting out, of creating buzz. Everyone loved a juicy theft story.
Still, there were no reporters around the museum when she left after the interviews were finally over. Detective Ramirez had gotten promises from all of them to stay in town and stay in touch as he investigated.
Carrie had assured her everything would be fine.
“We’ll need a few days to get things in order,”Gavin had added.“Everyone has the rest of the week off.”
The idea of having two paid days off, followed by the false weekend she and the others had on Monday and Tuesday, was almost as strange as the keeping the theft quiet.
By the time the sun had gone down, the pots were all beginning to boil and she was busy thinking over why exactly it was a bad idea to go to the news. A crackling sound reached her from the living room, like gravel spilling from a truck.
Captain came tearing into the kitchen, paws smacking on the linoleum.
A great whoosh of air, then the sound of something buffeting the couch.
“ANNA!”
