Page 1 of Eggsactly the Right Gargoyle (Evershift Haven #7)

I’M UP TO MY ELBOWS in soil, whispering encouragement to a particularly stubborn batch of moonflower seedlings, when the bell above the door of The Enchanted Espresso jingles. I don’t look up immediately because these seedlings need some serious pep talks to bloom properly for next week’s full moon. “Come on, little ones,” I murmur, channeling a thin stream of solar magic into the soil. “You can do this. Just a little stretch toward the light.”

The seedlings quiver, their tiny stems straightening ever so slightly. Progress.

“Talking to plants again, Talia?” Bella Brewster’s voice carries from behind the counter. “Those moonflowers giving you trouble?”

“They’re just shy,” I say, finally looking up. “Nothing a little sunshine pep talk can’t fix.”

Bella slides my usual across the counter—iced coffee with lavender syrup, and the ice cubes are shaped like tiny suns. Her familiar, Hecate, perches on a nearby stool, tail swishing with interest.

“Those flowers better cooperate,” says Hecate. “Last time you brought in rebellious plants, they tried to climb up the walls.”

“That was an accident.” I wipe my hands on my dirt-smudged apron. “The ivy was just...enthusiastic.”

I take my coffee and settle at my favorite table by the window, where my seedlings are arranged in a semicircle of tiny terracotta pots. The window seat gives me the perfect amount of natural light for both plant work and people-watching.

“How’s the herb garden coming along?” asks Bella, wiping down the counter. “Grizelda mentioned she might need extra chamomile for her pregnancy tea.”

“Growing like crazy,” I say. “The chamomile practically jumps into the basket when I mention Grizelda’s name. I think they’re excited to help with the baby.”

The door jingles again, and the entire café seems to shift. Not physically, though in Evershift Haven, that wouldn’t be unusual, but the energy changes dramatically. I turn to see Grizelda Greenwarth attempting to navigate through the door, which is no small feat considering her current state.

Grizelda is magnificent in her pregnancy. Her wild mane of silver-streaked purple hair seems more animated than usual, coiling and uncoiling like tentacles as she concentrates on balancing a clipboard, a large cup of something steamy, and her enormous belly. Her flowing robes today are a riot of spring color in yellows, greens, and pinks that seem to shimmer and change patterns as she moves. Her pale-green skin has a healthy glow that makes her look almost luminous.

She waddles—there’s really no other word for it—toward my table, her gaze fixed on me with such intensity that I instinctively sit up straighter. The seedlings in front of me tremble slightly.

“Talia Brightwell,” she says, her voice carrying throughout the café. “Just the witch I need.”

“Good morning, Grizelda,” I say, trying to sound casual while mentally reviewing anything I might have done wrong recently. “How are you feeling?”

“Enormous. Uncomfortable. Magical.” She drops into the chair across from me with a heavy sigh. The chair, wisely, adjusts itself to better accommodate her. “The baby did something peculiar this morning, and all the spoons in our kitchen turned into butterflies. Atlas spent an hour chasing them around before work.”

I smile at the image of Atlas Mountainheart, all seven feet of muscular troll, delicately pursuing butterflies around their kitchen.

“Sounds like the little one is already taking after their mother,” I say.

“Hmph.” Grizelda takes a sip from her cup, which smells like a combination of raspberry leaf tea and something distinctly magical. She places her clipboard on the table with such ceremony that several of my seedlings lean away from it. I glance down and see “OSTARA FESTIVAL” written across the top in Grizelda’s elaborate, swirling handwriting. Beneath it is a dizzying array of lists, diagrams, and what appears to be a choreography chart for...dancing flowers?

“The Ostara Festival is coming way too soon,” says Grizelda, patting her belly, “And I am entirely too pregnant to oversee flower choreography or manage the spring magic surge or coordinate the sunrise ritual or—” She waves her hand, causing her cup to hover momentarily before settling back on the table. “Any of it, really.”

My stomach drops as I begin to understand where this conversation is heading. “That’s unfortunate,” I say carefully. “I’m sure the town council can find someone to—”

“I’ve already spoken to Ambrosius,” she interrupts, referring to our venerable wizard mayor. “He agrees with my choice of replacement.” She stares at me expectantly, her purple eyes gleaming.

“Me?” I squeak. “You want me to coordinate the Ostara Festival?”

“Who better than our resident sun witch?” Grizelda beams. “The festival celebrates the spring equinox, the balance of light and dark, the return of growth and warmth. Your magic is perfectly aligned with the occasion.”

“But I’ve only been in Evershift Haven for eight months. I barely know how the festival works, let alone how to coordinate it.”

“Details.” Grizelda dismisses that with a wave of her hand. A few sparks fly from her fingertips, causing my coffee to momentarily change color before settling back to normal. “Everything you need to know is in here.”

From behind the counter, Bella gives me a sympathetic look. “The Ostara Festival can get a bit...intense,” she says diplomatically.

“Remember last year when all the egg hunt prizes hatched into those singing mayflies that wouldn’t stop serenading everyone?” asks Hecate.

“Minor hiccups,” says Grizelda, waving her hand dismissively again. Another small thunder cloud forms above her head, drizzling lightly before dissipating. “The point is, Talia, your solar magic will be perfect for stabilizing the spring energy. The festival needs someone who can channel excess magic safely.”

I bite my lip, unwanted memories of my last magical failure surfacing. It was after that disaster that I’d left the coven and eventually found my way to Evershift Haven, seeking a fresh start. “I don’t know. The last time I coordinated a major magical event, things didn’t go well.”

Grizelda’s expression softens, and she reaches across the table to take my hand. Her skin is warm, almost hot to the touch, and crackling with maternal magic.

“That’s precisely why you need to do this,” she says, her voice gentler now. “You came to Evershift Haven to heal and grow, yes? This is part of that journey. Besides, you won’t be alone. The whole town helps with Ostara.”

I exhale slowly, looking from the clipboard. “Okay,” I say finally. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” Grizelda beams, causing all the lights in the café to briefly flare brighter. “I knew you would. Now, let me walk you through the basics.”

I WIPE THE SWEAT FROM my forehead with the back of my hand, careful not to smudge dirt across my face again. The afternoon sun beats down on my little herb cart outside Thaumaturge’s Apothecary, my newly acquired shop space in Evershift Haven’s town square. After Grizelda’s surprise promotion this morning, I’ve been stress-organizing my inventory all day.

“Lavender, chamomile, rosemary...” I murmur, checking items off my mental list as I arrange the freshly cut herbs in neat bundles. “Moonflower seedlings still need coaxing, sage looks good, and the mint is trying to take over as usual.”

My enchanted silk scarf shifts from a worried gray to a more settled blue as I work. I’ve always found comfort in the methodical tasks of herbalism. It settles me when my thoughts start spinning too fast, like they’ve been doing since Grizelda dropped the Ostara Festival coordinator bomb on me.

“You can handle this,” I tell a particularly robust basil plant. “And so can I, right?”

The basil shivers slightly, its leaves rustling in what I choose to interpret as agreement.

I reach for the next bundle of herbs in my basket and pause. Something glimmers beneath the rosemary sprigs that definitely wasn’t there when I packed the basket this morning. I push aside the herbs and gasp.

Nestled among the greenery is an egg. Not a chicken egg, but something altogether more magical. About the size of my palm, it glows with a soft lavender light that pulses gently, like a heartbeat. Its shell isn’t smooth but textured with what look like tiny, iridescent scales that shift colors when the light hits them, from lavender to pale blue to a hint of rose gold.

“Where did you come from?” I glance around to see if anyone is watching. The town square is busy with afternoon shoppers, but no one seems to be paying attention to my discovery.

Cautiously, I reach out to touch the egg with one finger. The moment my skin makes contact, a melody fills my ears. It’s a sweet, haunting tune that somehow reminds me of moonlight on water and the first warm breeze of spring. It’s clearly a love song, though in no language I recognize. The notes weave together in a pattern that makes my heart ache with a strange mixture of longing and joy.

I look around again, startled. “Does anyone else hear that?”

A woman passing by my cart gives me a curious look. “Hear what, dear?”

“The music. From this...” I hold up the egg, which continues to glow and pulse in my palm.

The woman shakes her head. “No music that I can hear. Just the usual town square sounds. What a pretty trinket though.”

She moves on, leaving me staring at the egg in confusion. The music continues, growing slightly louder. Around my cart, something extraordinary begins to happen. The flowers—not just my herbs, but all the plants within a few feet radius—start to stir. Buds that were tightly closed begin to unfurl, stretching petals toward the sun. A row of daffodils that weren’t due to bloom for another week suddenly burst open, their yellow faces turning toward the egg in my hand as if it were the sun itself.

“Okay, this is weird,” I mutter, watching as even the ivy climbing the wall of the apothecary begins to sprout new leaves at an alarming rate.

I carefully place the egg in my apron pocket, planning to examine it more closely inside. The moment it leaves my hand, the music fades, though it doesn’t disappear entirely. It becomes a distant hum, just at the edge of my hearing.

Grizelda waddles by, her purple eyes widening as she takes in the prematurely blooming flowers around my cart. “Someone’s been busy with growth magic.”

“It wasn’t me,” I say quickly. “At least, not intentionally.” I pull the egg from my pocket, holding it out for her inspection. “I found this in my herb basket. When I touched it, it started playing music—music only I can hear, apparently—and then all the flowers started blooming.”

She reaches for the egg, and I place it in her palm. Immediately, her expression changes to one of confusion. “Nothing,” she says, turning over the egg carefully. “No music, and no magic that I can detect.” She hands it back to me. “But when you hold it...”

The moment the egg returns to my hand, the music swells again, and a fresh wave of growth ripples through the nearby plants. A climbing rose by the door suddenly produces a dozen new buds that bloom in fast-forward, their petals unfurling in seconds rather than days.

“Fascinating. It’s responding specifically to you.”

“But what is it? And where did it come from?”

She gives me a smile that can only be described as suspiciously innocent. “I have no idea.” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe talk to Dorian Thorne about this. Gargoyles know all about magical resonance.”

I nearly drop the egg. “Dorian Thorne? The hermit who lives at the edge of the Glimmergrove? That Dorian Thorne?”

“The very same.” Grizelda’s smile widens. “He’s quite knowledgeable about unusual magical artifacts, and resonance magic is a gargoyle specialty.”

“I’ve never even met him. Everyone says he doesn’t like visitors.”

“Oh, he’s not as grumpy as people make him out to be.” Grizelda waves a dismissive hand, causing a few sparks to fly from her fingertips. “Just a bit solitary, but for something like this, I’m sure he’ll make an exception.”

From inside the shop, a small golden-brown blur zooms out and leaps onto the herb cart. Hecate, Bella’s familiar, stretches luxuriously in a patch of sunlight that’s fallen across my display of mint.

“Oh, yes, talk to Mr. Growly,” she says, lifting her head just enough to smirk at me. “I’m sure he’s thrilled to be your emotional support statue.”

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the café with Bella?”

“Day off.” Hecate yawns, showing tiny sharp teeth. “Bella’s doing inventory, and I find counting coffee beans tedious. Besides, Grizelda has those excellent almond cookies I like. Dorian might actually be helpful with this one if you can get him to talk instead of just glowering and grunting.”

“Has anyone actually spoken to him recently?” I ask, suddenly realizing I know very little about the gargoyle beyond town gossip.

“I deliver his weekly groceries,” says Grizelda. “Always polite if a bit terse.”

“He let me sleep on his porch during that thunderstorm last month,” says Hecate. “Didn’t even threaten to use me as a garden ornament, which is his usual greeting to visitors.”

I look down at the egg, which continues to glow and pulse in my palm, its song a constant, presence. Whatever it is, it’s clearly magical and clearly connected to me somehow. If Dorian Thorne is the local expert on magical resonance... “Fine.” I sigh. “I’ll go see him, but if he turns me to stone, I’m holding both of you responsible.”

“He won’t turn you to stone,” Grizelda assures me, patting my arm. “Probably.”

“Very comforting,” I mutter.

“Take him some of those moonflower seedlings,” suggests Hecate, nodding toward the small pots on my cart. “He has a garden behind his cottage. Mostly night-blooming flowers. I think he gets lonely when he’s on watch duty.”

“Watch duty?”

“Gargoyles are guardians by nature,” says Grizelda. “They patrol their territory. It’s instinctual.”

I carefully wrap the egg in a soft cloth and tuck it into my satchel, along with a few of the moonflower seedlings. The music dims to a gentle hum, just on the edge of my awareness. “How do I even find his place?” I suddenly realize I’ve never ventured to that part of town.

“Follow the path past the Luminous Lagoon,” says Grizelda. “When you reach the split in the trail, take the right fork. The trees get older and taller as you go. You’ll know you’re close when you see stone lanterns lining the path.”

“And if you get lost, just listen for the sound of brooding,” says Hecate helpfully. “It’s like a low-frequency grumble that makes the leaves vibrate.”

I give her a look. “You’re not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to.” She stretches again, then hops down from the cart. “Good luck with Mr. Growly. Try not to stare at his wings. He’s sensitive about them.”

“Wings?” I’ve never actually seen Dorian Thorne at all, so I don’t know what to expect.

“Magnificent ones,” says Grizelda with a dreamy sigh. “Dark gray with these elegant hooks at the top. Very dramatic.”

“Great. A dramatic, brooding gargoyle with wing sensitivity. This day just keeps getting better.” I close up my herb cart, making sure everything is secure. The prematurely bloomed flowers continue to stretch toward the sun.

“I’ll watch your shop while you’re gone,” says Grizelda. “I need to sit down anyway. The baby’s been doing somersaults all afternoon.” As if on cue, a small ripple moves across her rounded belly, visible even through her flowing robes. She places a hand on the spot.

“Thank you,” I say, genuinely grateful. With a final check of my satchel—egg secure, seedlings packed, and notebook and pen just in case—I set off toward the Glimmergrove, the mysterious egg’s song humming softly in my ears all the way.