Page 2 of Eggsactly the Right Gargoyle (Evershift Haven #7)

THE VIbrATION IN MY stonework wakes me from a half-slumber. My eyelids snap open as I register an unfamiliar magical hum resonating through my chapel roost. I push myself up from my perch, scraping my stone skin against the ancient masonry. “What now?” I grumble to no one in particular.

The hum grows stronger as I move toward the eastern alcove, where several of my gargoyle companions rest in various states of hibernation. Most haven’t moved in decades—lucky bastards. My attention fixes on Griswald, the most ancient among us, whose granite form has been motionless for nearly thirty years. He’s due to sleep for at least another decade.

Except something is different. Beside him, nestled against his wing, sits a peculiar egg-shaped object. It glows with a soft, pulsing light that shifts between pink and gold. The magical signature is unlike anything I’ve encountered in my five centuries of existence.

“Griswald,” I say, tapping his stone shoulder. “Wake up.”

No response. Not that I expected one. Once a gargoyle enters deep hibernation, nothing short of magical catastrophe will rouse them.

I lean closer to examine the egg without touching it. Its surface appears smooth, almost pearlescent, with intricate patterns that shift and change as the light inside pulses. The magical hum emanating from it seems to resonate specifically with the stone of my chapel. “Where did you come from?”

As if responding to my voice, the egg begins to emit a melody that’s soft, haunting, and unmistakably romantic. The notes rise and fall in a pattern that reminds me of ancient love songs from centuries past. Great. Just what I need.

I extend a cautious hand toward the egg. The melody intensifies, and the glow brightens in response to my proximity. Interesting. “Griswald, if you’re secretly awake and this is your idea of a joke, I’m not amused.”

The ancient gargoyle remains motionless, his expression frozen in the same stoic grimace he’s worn for three decades.

With a resigned sigh, I carefully pick up the egg. It’s surprisingly warm against my cool stone palms, and the melody changes key, becoming more upbeat. The magical resonance vibrates through my arms and into my core. “What are you?” I ask the egg, turning it over in my hands.

No answer, of course. Just more music and glowing.

I carry the egg to my workbench near the western window, where morning light provides the best illumination. Over the centuries, I’ve collected various tools for magical analysis, like crystals that detect different types of enchantments, ancient texts on magical signatures, and specialized lenses for viewing magical auras.

The egg defies all standard classification. Its aura is complex and layered with multiple magical signatures that seem to be harmonizing with each other. That’s unusual. Most magical objects have a single, distinct signature.

Three hours later, I’m no closer to answers. The egg continues its musical performance, occasionally changing tempo or key but never ceasing. I’ve tried speaking to it in twelve different magical languages, attempted three different revealing spells, and even threatened to drop it from the bell tower—an empty threat, but sometimes magical objects respond to intimidation.

Nothing.

A familiar scent drifts through the open window of lavender, sage, and something distinctly...sunny. My muscles tense involuntarily. Talia Brightwell, the newest resident of Evershift Haven. We haven’t formally met, but I’m aware of her existence more than I should be for no explicable reason. It’s been like that since she arrived.

I hear her footsteps on the stone path leading to my chapel door long before she knocks. Light, quick steps accompanied by humming—a tune that, annoyingly, complements the egg’s melody perfectly. The knock, when it comes, is rhythmic and energetic. Just like her.

“I know you’re in there, Dorian.” Her voice carries through the thick oak door. “Grizelda sent me. My name is Talia, but we haven’t been formally introduced.”

Of course, she did. Grizelda Greenwarth, the town witch, has made it her personal mission to drag me into town affairs at every opportunity. I consider ignoring the knock, but the egg’s melody suddenly intensifies, as if responding to Talia’s voice.

Curious.

With a resigned groan, I move to the door and pull it open. The sunlight momentarily blinds me, and I squint against the brightness. Talia stands on my doorstep, radiant as always. I haven’t met her, but it’s impossible not to notice her, even for a semi-hermit like me.

Her deep brown curls are tied back with a scarf that shifts between green and yellow, reflecting her current mood, no doubt. Her dark brown eyes, ringed with a distinctive golden-brown, widen slightly at the sight of me. She’s wearing one of her typical floral sundresses, this one patterned with daisies, that contrasts beautifully with her dark skin, and she carries a small basket covered with a cloth.

“Good morning,” she says, her voice infuriatingly cheerful. “I brought you moonflower seedlings. They told me they’d like to grow near your chapel.”

“Plants don’t talk,” I say flatly.

“They talk to everyone. Most people just don’t listen.” She peers around me into the chapel. “May I come in? Grizelda said you might be able to help me with something.”

I step aside reluctantly. “If this is about the Ostara Festival, my answer is no. I don’t participate in town celebrations.”

“It’s not about the festival.” She steps inside, her presence immediately brightening the somber interior of my chapel. The scent of spring follows her with fresh soil, growing things, and that distinctive sunny quality that seems unique to her magic. “Though you really should reconsider. Your stone carving skills would make beautiful decorations.”

Before I can respond, her attention shifts to my workbench, where the egg continues its musical performance. Her eyes widen, and the golden rings around her irises become more prominent. Perhaps a sign her magic is responding to something?

“You have one too?” she asks, moving toward the egg with surprising speed.

I intercept her, stepping between her and my workbench. “What do you mean, ‘too?’”

She sets down her basket and reaches into a small pouch at her waist. When her hand emerges, she’s holding an egg identical to mine, except its glow pulses in shades of blue and silver rather than pink and gold.

“This appeared in my herb basket this morning and started playing music. A song only I could hear, apparently. The moonflowers started blooming weeks ahead of schedule when it showed up.”

The two eggs seem to sense each other’s presence. My egg is playing the same song as hers.

“Grizelda said you know about magical resonance. She thought you might be able to identify what these are.”

I move back to my workbench and gesture for her to join me. “How did you find yours?”

“It was just there. When I woke up this morning and went to check on my seedlings.” She places her egg next to mine on the workbench. The two objects immediately roll toward each other until they touch, their lights pulsing in synchronized patterns. “What about yours?”

“It appeared next to one of my sleeping companions.” I nod toward Griswald’s motionless form. “He’s in deep hibernation and won’t wake for another decade at least.”

“They just appeared. Out of nowhere.” Talia leans closer to examine the eggs. “And they’re playing a love song.”

“Love songs?” I ask, surprised by her specific identification.

“Yes. They’re both playing ‘Heart’s Embrace’—an old witch’s ballad about finding your magical complement.” She looks up at me. “You can’t recognize the melody?”

“I recognize it as music,” I say defensively. “I don’t categorize by emotional intent.”

“Maybe they’re some kind of practical joke?” she says, her lips quirking into a smile.

“No.” My response is immediate and firm. “These are clearly magical artifacts of unknown origin and purpose. We should approach them with caution, not romantic speculation.”

Talia shrugs, seemingly unperturbed by my gruffness. “Whatever they are, they’re connected. Look.”

She points to where the eggs touch. The patterns on their surfaces have aligned, creating a continuous design that flows from one egg to the other. “Have you tried any revealing spells?”

“Three different kinds. None worked.”

“What about a resonance amplification? Since they clearly respond to sound.”

I hadn’t thought of that. “No.”

“May I?” She gestures to the eggs.

I step back, giving her space. “Be careful.”

Talia closes her eyes, and the golden rings around her irises begin to glow visibly even through her eyelids. She hums softly, matching the tune of the eggs but adding subtle variations. Her fingers move in small, precise gestures above the eggs.

Both eggs rise several inches off the workbench, spinning slowly in midair. Their glow intensifies, and the music swells. Patterns of light project from their surfaces onto the chapel walls, showing intricate, intertwining designs that remind me of ancient fertility symbols.

“Oh.” Talia’s eyelids snap open in surprise. “That’s interesting.”

The projected patterns shift, forming words in an ancient magical script that I haven’t seen in centuries. I translate automatically:

“When stone meets sun, winter’s done. Hearts entwined, souls aligned.”

“It’s a prophecy,” she whispers, her voice tinged with awe. “Or a riddle.”

“It’s nonsense,” I counter, though I’m not entirely convinced. The script is authentic, and the magical energy powering it is older than me, possibly older than Evershift Haven itself.

The eggs slowly descend back to the workbench, dimming their glow slightly, but the music continuing.

“Stone meets sun.” Talia looks pointedly at me. “You’re stone. I’m a sun witch.”

“That’s a literal interpretation,” I say dismissively. “Magical texts are rarely so straightforward.”

“Sometimes the simplest answer is the right one.” She touches one of the eggs gently. “I think these were meant for us to find.”

“That doesn’t explain what they are or what they do.”

“Maybe they don’t ‘do’ anything. Maybe they’re just...messengers.” She looks around my chapel, taking in the ancient stonework and stained glass. “This place has strong magical foundations. It could have attracted the egg to your gargoyle friend as the most receptive vessel.”

It’s not an unreasonable theory. My chapel was built on a convergence of ley lines, which is why I chose it as my roost centuries ago. “And yours appeared in your herb basket because...?”

“Plants are conduits for my magic. They probably provided the easiest path.” She picks up her egg, cradling it carefully.

I cross my arms over my chest, staring at her with what I hope is my most intimidating gargoyle glare. The eggs continue their harmonized melody, which now sounds suspiciously like a wedding march. Perfect.

“This is ridiculous,” I say. “These eggs appeared out of nowhere, playing romantic music, with cryptic messages about stone and sun. There’s clearly some kind of magical mischief at work.”

Talia picks up both eggs, cradling them in her palms. The glow intensifies in a mixture of pink, gold, blue, and silver light. The effect makes her brown skin luminous, highlighting the golden rings around her irises.

“Magical mischief or not, we need to figure out what they are and why they chose us.” She holds them out to me. “Take yours.”

I reluctantly accept the pink and gold egg, which immediately warms in my stone palm. The music swells, adding a triumphant flourish that makes me want to crush the thing.

“We should consult with Grizelda now that we have two, and we see what they do together. She might recognize these from some ancient text or tradition.”

“Fine. You go talk to Grizelda. I’ll stay here and continue my research.”

Talia shakes her head, her enchanted scarf shifting to a stubborn orange. “The message specifically mentioned stone and sun together. I think we both need to investigate this.”

“I don’t do town visits.”

“And I don’t do gargoyles, but here we are.” She grins, the expression lighting up her entire face.

I blink, taken aback by her directness. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I didn’t expect to spend my morning in a stone chapel with a grumpy gargoyle, discussing magical singing eggs.” She steps closer. “Sometimes magic has other plans for us.”

The egg in my hand pulses warmly, as if agreeing with her.

“These eggs are connected to us both. The sooner we figure out what they are, the sooner we can go back to our separate lives. You to your solitude, me to my herbs.”

She has a point, though I’m reluctant to admit it. The faster we solve this mystery, the faster I can return to my peaceful existence without cheerful sun witches invading my space. “Fine,” I concede. “We’ll investigate together.”

Her smile widens. “Excellent.” She moves toward the door, then pauses. “We should go now, while the town is quiet. Fewer people to bother you.”

She’s trying to be considerate, which only irritates me more. I don’t need her consideration. I don’t need anything from her except help solving this egg mystery. I secure my egg in a small leather pouch and follow her outside, automatically folding my wings tight against my back.

“Your home is beautiful,” says Talia, pausing to admire a cluster of luminescent mushrooms growing at the base of an ancient oak.

“The path to town is this way,” I say with a grunt, moving ahead to lead.

The forest gradually thins as we approach the town’s edge. I slow my pace, tension creeping into my shoulders. It’s been months since my last visit to Evershift Haven proper, and that was only because Grizelda insisted she needed a specific type of stone that only I could identify for some spell or other.

“We’ll go straight to Grizelda’s shop,” says Talia, noticing my hesitation. “No detours.”

I nod, grateful for her understanding even as I resent needing it.

The town of Evershift Haven spreads before us, a picturesque collection of magical buildings arranged around a central square. The Heart of Haven—an ancient, sentient oak tree—dominates the square, its branches currently adorned with spring blossoms that shimmer with magical energy. Various shops line the cobblestone streets, their enchanted signs moving and changing to attract customers.

We’re barely past the town’s edge when the first curious glance comes our way. A young elf carrying a stack of books does a double-take, nearly dropping his load. He whispers something to a passing fairy, who immediately turns to stare.

“Ignore them,” says Talia quietly. “They’re just surprised to see you.”

“This is why I avoid town,” I mutter.

More stares follow as we make our way toward the Enchanted Emporium. A group of gnomes stop their street sweeping to gawk. Two witches outside the Enchanted Espresso pause mid-conversation, their eyes widening.

“Dorian Thorne in town?”

“With Talia Brightwell?”

“The new sun witch?”

“Are they together?”

The whispers reach my sensitive ears easily. I keep my expression neutral, though my wings twitch with the desire to unfurl and shield me from view.

“Almost there,” says Talia encouragingly. Her scarf has shifted to a calming blue, perhaps in response to my discomfort, but it does nothing to soothe me.