Omens (Cainsville 1)

I shrugged as I brought the soup to the table. "He says he has information that the police weren't interested in at the time. About Christian."

I had to smile at how fast Gabriel whipped around, nearly dropping a box of sushi.

"And he didn't see fit to give it to me when I was representing Pamela?"

"He doesn't like you," I said. "You're ... how did he put it? Pathologically ambitious. Me? In my own way, I'm as much a victim as the families who lost loved ones in this tragedy."

Gabriel snorted as he took his soup and sat.

"I seem to recall you saying almost the exact same thing once," I said.

"That was before I knew you."

I sat down and took a salmon roll. "Anyway, Evans obviously likes taking care of victims, so I'll play one for him tomorrow."

Gabriel frowned. "You've arranged an appointment? I'm waiting for a verdict on the Rivers case, Olivia. I cannot--"

"You're busy, I know. I'm not. It's my day off. So I'll handle this. He doesn't want you there anyway."

"I would prefer to be there."

"And I'd prefer to have you there. But it ain't happening. Either I go in alone or we don't get this interview."

"I'll drive you. We'll reschedule if necessary."

"I'm perfectly capable of--"

"You were already attacked by the father of one victim. You're my client. I can't have you getting yourself killed."

"Getting myself killed?" I shook my head. "No wonder you're a defense lawyer. We'll discuss transportation later. Let's eat."

After Gabriel left, I couldn't relax, much less consider winding down for the night. I kept thinking about William Evans and what he might have to say to me.

Finally, I gave up trying to relax and went out for a walk. By ten, Cainsville had shut down for the night. Main Street was a movie set of a picture-perfect town, the road empty, the sidewalk bathed in soft lamp glow, the wind whispering past. I suppose that could be eerie, too, postapocalyptic even, but I knew where all the people were--at home, snug in their beds, dreaming.

Even the gargoyles weren't sinister at night. They loomed from rooftops like grumpy old men on a small-town porch, ready to yell at any kid who dropped a candy wrapper, but making sure they stayed safe, too. When one gargoyle seemed to move, I only glanced up. I think if it had spread its wings and flown off, it wouldn't have fazed me. It was just that kind of night. It was a cluster of bats, though, launching from their stonework perches, to pirouette and swoop across the sky.

When the bats were gone, I continued on. The breeze changed direction, bringing with it the smell of moonflowers from a storefront garden. Planting moonflowers for a place that never stayed open past dark? It seemed a touch of whimsical defiance.

I could smell honeysuckle from the lamppost pots, too, along with the rich scent of damp earth, as if they'd just been watered. One was still dripping. It made no sound, which seemed odd until I realized there were strategically placed sidewalk-level pots under each hanging one. I put out my hand, letting a few drops fall on it. In the glow of the streetlamp, my fingers seemed red and I lifted them for a better look in the light. Then I caught a few more drops. Yes, definitely a red tinge, like the water on the school yard.

If I was being macabre, I could imagine it as blood. But I wasn't in that kind of mood. It was iron or runoff from clay or red bark or red stone. I wiped my fingers on my jeans and turned to see a face staring at me. A gargoyle face embedded in one of the stone medallions carved around the bank's thick doors. I must have walked this way a dozen times and had never noticed it. I even ran my fingers across the bulbous nose and hooked chin and curved horns, in case I was seeing wrong.

"I see you found one of our hidden gargoyles."

I jumped and turned to see Veronica--the old woman who'd helped fight off the raven. She was coming around the corner, tugging a contraption that looked like a mobile watering can with a sprayer hose. It wheeled along silently on rubber tires.

"I hadn't seen this one before," I said, touching the gargoyle.

"That's because it's a night gargoyle. It only comes out after dark." She waved to the garden across the road. "Like the moonflowers."

"Ah." I smiled. "Well, it was definitely well hidden. Are there any more?"

"Lots. I could tell you how many, but that would be cheating. Only a few select elders know the total number of gargoyles in Cainsville and where to find them. Otherwise it would spoil the May Day contest."

"May Day contest?"

"Every year, at the festival, the children can submit a list of all the gargoyles they've found so far. There are prizes for those who get more than half of them, more than sixty percent, and so on." She smiled. "It's quite a competition. The kids jealously guard their lists year after year, and they are forbidden to pass along hints to their own children later."