Months had passed. Months filled with medications and doctors, telling Kami gargoyles were just statues, that her vivid fantasies had caused her to somehow crash her car and cause a terrible accident that had almost killed a man.
She’d taken to walking the streets at night, staring up at the building, at Mord. He was always there, never moved.
The doctors were right. He wasn’t alive, but it couldn’t have all been a dream. It couldn’t have.
The wind whistled past Mord’s face. Another night, awake, alone. He’d travelled the city, searched to see if other gargoyles were awake, if the c
himeras were awake. None were. He was alone.
His search for the sorcerer had also been futile.
Then he’d turned his attention to the Mason. The man had a warehouse full of statues, each intricately crafted, each a mix of man and beast. An army of chimeras, but locked in stone. Mord had walked among them in the deep of night. None had stirred. The Mason had to be building a force of chimeras, planning to use Kami to bring them to life. Was he alone? Or were there others in on his plan?
If Mord hadn’t been so fixated on saving Kami, he might know the answer. But he’d reacted to the danger to Kami with no thought of saving the one man that might have the information he needed to keep the world safe - The Mason. He’d risked everything for one human: Kami. It couldn’t happen again.
He gazed down, only his eyes lowering. Kami was below on the street, watching again. Every night she’d watched, appeared at erratic intervals. She needed to give up, move on. He couldn’t be with her. A part of him said he couldn’t even afford to allow her to live. Yes, she could bring the gargoyles back to life, but she could also be used against them. If she were dead, that risk would be gone.
At first he’d told himself he’d use her to awaken the gargoyles, then eliminate her once the job was done. But he knew that was a lie. He knew if he allowed himself to get that close to her, he’d weaken and think of another reason to spare her. But as long as the chimeras remained asleep, all would be well. Which brought him back to killing Kami.
But he was weak, couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Night after night, she appeared, as if to torture him. And night after night he fought the same battle inside himself, between his head and his heart; the latter, an organ he hadn’t had to deal with before meeting Kami. Which one would win?
“One last time,” Kami told herself through her tears. She’d bribed a member of the cleaning crew, bought her way back into the building, and out onto the ledge. The crew was gone now, everyone was gone. Even the streets were empty.
There was no one here but her and Mord.
She inched forwards. Ran her hand down his arm. He was cold, still, stone.
She was here. Mord tried to stop his heart from beating, tried to stay in his stony state. If he revealed that he was alive, he’d have to make the choice. Do his duty and kill her? Or go with his heart and let her live?
Her hand grazed his arm, warm and supple. His body tingled, the feeling of life flowing into him almost painful. He gritted his teeth. Why wouldn’t she give up?
“Mord?” Her voice caught. “Mord?” A whisper. Her fingers trailed down his side.
He kept his gaze firm — straight ahead.
“I love you.” She pressed a kiss against his shoulder, started to move backwards, towards the window.
He’d won. She’d given up.
Then he heard it, a sob. He felt the moisture she’d left behind on his skin.
She was crying, over him.
He tried to resist, tried to stop himself, but couldn’t. Couldn’t deny any longer that the magic wasn’t temporary. It had changed him. He loved this human, enough that he would risk anything, everything, to keep her safe.
He stepped forwards, off of the ledge. He spread his wings behind him and hovered behind Kami. “I love you too.”
She froze, twisted too quickly, and fell. But Mord was there to catch her. Just like he would always be.
The Lighthouse Keeper and His Wife
Sara Mackenzie
She placed her hands on the man’s face. He lay still, his flesh cold, giving the impression of death. But the Sorceress knew better. Beneath the chill flowed warm blood, just waiting for the moment to spark into life. His eyelashes flickered. She began to chant the words of waking, her voice soft at first and then rising, growing louder and louder until it echoed about the high-vaulted cathedral. The incense-laden air vibrated.
His eyes opened, one as dark and shining as jet, the other dull and sightless. There was a scar running down his cheek where the ship’s wooden spar had caught him, blinding him and tearing his flesh. He should have died in the storm that wrecked his ship, rather than later, when he was the lighthouse keeper, trying to save drowning passengers from a sinking steamer.