Page 4 of Eggsactly the Right Gargoyle (Evershift Haven #7)

”I’M NOT GOING BACK there.” I cross my arms over my chest, the stone of my skin making a soft grinding sound. “The Glimmergrove has been dormant for a century. There’s nothing to see.” She’s been following me for twenty minutes since I left Hemlock’s with the intention of returning to my lair and putting all this behind me.

Her enchanted silk scarf shifts from determined purple to stubborn orange as she steps up to stand in front of me. “The eggs led us here, Dorian.” She holds up a handful of the petals, which are all that remain of the fifth egg. “They’ve been right about everything else. Why would they lead us astray now?”

I turn away from her. The distant tree line of the Glimmergrove is visible from here, a darker green patch against the lighter foliage of the surrounding forest. “The Glimmergrove is dead,” I say flatly. “It died a long time ago.”

“When you failed as its guardian?” she asks softly.

My wings twitch involuntarily, but that’s the only outward sign of my discomfort. “Yes.”

“What happened?” She moves closer.

“It doesn’t matter.” I step away, maintaining distance between us. “What matters is the grove is dormant, and no amount of sun witch magic or mysterious eggs will change that.”

Talia studies me. “You’re afraid.”

“I’m cautious. There’s a difference.”

“No, you’re afraid.” She steps closer again, undeterred by my stony expression. “You’re afraid of going back there because it reminds you of your failure. You’re afraid of trying again because you might fail again.”

Her words strike with uncomfortable accuracy. I’ve spent a century avoiding the Glimmergrove, the memories, and the guilt.

“The eggs want us to go there together. Don’t you want to know why?”

“No,” I lie.

She raises an eyebrow. “You’ve lived for over five centuries. Are you telling me you’re not even a little curious?”

I sigh, making a rumbling sound like stones shifting. “Curiosity has gotten me into trouble before.”

“So has avoidance.” She arches a brow. “We don’t have to stay long. We’ll just go, see what the eggs want to show us, and leave. If nothing happens, I’ll never mention the Glimmergrove again.”

I study her face, searching for any sign of deception, but find only earnest determination. Her scarf has settled on a hopeful shade of yellow-green. “Fine, but we go, we look, and we leave. No experiments, no attempts to reawaken anything, and no trying to conjure the eggs back to us. The grove is dormant for a reason.”

Her face lights up with a smile so bright it almost hurts to look at. “Thank you. I promise, in and out, quick as a blink.”

Somehow, I doubt it’ll be that simple.

THE PATH TO THE GLIMMERGROVE is overgrown, barely visible after a century of disuse. I lead the way, my stone body easily pushing through the underbrush. Talia follows behind me, occasionally murmuring to the plants to ask them to move aside. To my surprise, they listen, bending away from her path.

The closer we get to the grove, the heavier my steps become. Memories press in of my failure, and memories of the day the grove went dark. We reach the edge of the Glimmergrove, and I stop. The boundary is still visible. It’s a perfect circle, where the ordinary forest ends and the magical grove begins. Once, this boundary shimmered with protective enchantments. Now, it’s just a subtle change in vegetation.

Talia steps up beside me, her eyes wide. “It’s beautiful.”

I look at her in surprise. “It’s dead.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s dormant. There’s a difference.” She repeats my earlier words with a smile.

I try to see what she sees. The grove is a perfect circle of ancient trees, their trunks twisted into fantastical shapes. The ground is carpeted with moss and small white flowers that shouldn’t bloom in this season. A massive oak tree stands in the center, reaching its branches toward the sky.

It is beautiful, in a melancholy way. Like a painting of something once vibrant but now faded with time.

“Come on.” Talia steps across the boundary.

I hesitate, one foot raised. To cross this line again after so long... My stone heart feels unusually heavy.

“Dorian?” She looks back, concern in her eyes. “Are you coming?”

I step across the boundary, and nothing happens. There’s no magical surge, and no recognition from the grove. Just silence. “See?” I gesture around us. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

“We need to go to the center. That’s where the heart of the grove is, right?”

I follow reluctantly and suddenly hear humming again, growing louder as we approach the central tree. I freeze at the sight of the four eggs popping into visibility in front of us before slowly sinking to the ground, settling on a nest of moss. The very same eggs the Heart of Haven absorbed, minus the fifth one that turned into petals and revealed the riddle leading us here. I groan.

The Heart Oak stands at the center of the clearing. It’s tall and imposing despite its dormant state. Its bark is silvery-gray, etched with patterns that resemble ancient runes. At its base is a circular clearing where, once upon a time, magical ceremonies were held to celebrate the changing seasons.

Talia steps closer to look at the eggs now pulsing with light so bright it hurts my eyes. She looks otherworldly with her dark skin glowing golden, and her eyes wide with wonder. “This is it,” she whispers. “This is where we’re supposed to be.”

I remain at the edge of the clearing, reluctant to fully step into the sacred space I once guarded. “We’ve seen it, so let’s go.”

She ignores me, walking to the very center of the clearing. “Bring the eggs, Dorian. I think they need to be here.”

“Talia—”

“Please. We’ve come this far.”

With a resigned sigh, I stop to pick up the four eggs and join her in the center of the clearing. The moment I step into place beside her, the air grows heavy with potential, like the moment before lightning strikes.

“Do you feel that?” she asks as she takes two of the eggs again.

I nod, unable to deny the shift in energy. Our eggs are again pulsing in perfect synchronization, their light blending together. Hers are golden like sunshine, and mine are silver like moonlight.

“What now?” I ask, suddenly uncertain.

“I think,” She holds out her eggs toward the Heart Oak, “We need to place them at the base of the tree.”

Together, we approach the ancient oak. Its massive roots create natural niches, perfect for placing our eggs. As if guided by instinct, we each select spots. The moment the eggs touch the tree’s roots, they stop glowing. For a heartbeat, nothing happens.

Then the earth moves, starting as a tremor beneath our feet. Just a whisper of energy through the air. Then it grows stronger, a pulse of magic so powerful it makes my stone skin vibrate. The ground beneath us shifts with purpose, like a sleeper stirring after a long rest.

“Dorian?” Talia’s voice holds a note of alarm as she reaches for my arm to steady herself.

I instinctively move closer to her, partially unfurling my wings to shield her if necessary. “It’s okay. The grove is responding.”

The pulse continues, rhythmic and strong, like a heartbeat. With each beat, a wave of energy spreads outward from the Heart Oak, rippling through the clearing and beyond. The dormant magic of the Glimmergrove begins to stir.

Talia gasps, lifting her hands to stare at her fingers. “My magic is responding to the grove.”

Tiny motes of golden light dance around her fingertips, awakening her sun witch magic in response to the grove’s pulse. To my shock, I feel an answering surge within my own body. My guardian magic, dormant for as long as the grove itself, stirs restlessly.

“This is incredible.” Her scarf cycles through colors too quickly to track. “The grove isn’t dead. It was just waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” I ask, though I suspect I know the answer.

“For us.” She turns to me, her face lit with joy and wonder. “For a guardian and a sun witch. For balance.”

The pulsing grows stronger and more insistent. The moss begins to glow with a soft blue light. Above us, the branches of the Heart Oak creak and shift, reaching toward the sky with renewed vigor.

Talia laughs, a sound of pure delight. “We should help it. I could use my seasonal magic to encourage the plants. Just a little boost to help the awakening along.”

“Talia, wait—” I start to protest, but she’s already kneeling on the glowing moss, hands pressed to the earth.

“It’s okay. This is what I do. Plants are my friends.” She closes her eyes in concentration as she channels her magic into the ground. Golden light spreads from her palms, seeping into the earth. The moss responds immediately, its glow intensifying, spreading outward in a widening circle. White flowers begin to grow, blooming in rapid succession.

“Talia, be careful.” Vines creep along the ground, growing at an accelerated rate. “The grove’s magic is ancient and powerful. It might be more than you can handle.”

“It’s working,” she exclaims, oblivious to my concern. “The grove is waking up.”

She’s right. All around us, the Glimmergrove is stirring from its century-long slumber. Trees that were gray and lifeless now shimmer with an inner light. Flowers bloom in impossible colors. The very air seems to sparkle with magic.

It’s beautiful but terrifying. “That’s enough,” I say, moving to pull her away. Before I can reach her, one of the rapidly growing vines surges forward, wrapping around her ankle. Talia yelps in surprise as it yanks her off balance, pulling her toward a thicket of newly awakened plants.

“Dorian,” she calls out, scrabbling for purchase on the mossy ground.

I move without thinking, launching forward with surprising speed, and close my hand around her wrist just as the vine gives another powerful tug. I pull her against me, unfurling my wings fully to wrap around us both as I break her free from the grasping plant.

For a moment, we’re pressed together, her soft body against my stone one, my wings creating a protective cocoon around us. Her heart beats rapidly against my chest as her breath comes in quick gasps. Then, to my astonishment, she laughs.

“That was exciting,” she says, looking up at me with eyes bright with adrenaline and magic. “I guess the grove is a little enthusiastic about waking up.”

I stare at her incredulously. “You could have been hurt.”

“But I wasn’t.” She pats my arm, seemingly unconcerned by our close proximity. “You caught me.”

I become acutely aware of how I’m still holding her. Despite being made of stone, my arms aren’t cold. Guardian magic ensures my stone form maintains a warmth similar to living flesh. “You’re warm,” she says, surprise in her voice. “I thought you’d be cold, like stone.”

“Guardian magic,” I say stiffly, not moving away despite knowing I should. “It keeps me...functional.”

She smiles, a small, curious thing. “It’s nice.”

Something strange happens in my chest—a constriction that has nothing to do with my stone physiology and everything to do with the way she’s looking at me. It’s a sensation I haven’t experienced in a century. I clear my throat and step back, releasing her from my embrace. I fold my wings behind me once more, though they seem reluctant to do so.

“We should go,” I say. “The grove is awakening, but it’s still unstable. It could be dangerous.”

She looks around at the revitalized grove, her expression thoughtful. “It’s not dangerous. It’s just alive. After being dormant for so long, it’s bound to be a little unpredictable.” She reaches out to touch a nearby flower, which turns its bloom toward her like a pet seeking affection. “See? It just wants connection.”

I watch her interact with the awakening grove, a strange mixture of emotions churning within me. Fear, yes—fear of what might happen if the grove fully awakens, but also something else I’m reluctant to name. “We’ve done what the eggs led us here to do,” I say finally. “The grove is awakening. That doesn’t mean we need to stay and risk ourselves in the process.”

She stands her ground. “We can’t just leave. The grove is awakening because of us. It needs us.”

I cross my arms. “The grove survived without us for a century. It’ll manage.”

“Survived?” She gestures around at the half-dormant trees and struggling undergrowth. “This isn’t survival. It’s stagnation. The eggs brought us here for a reason.”

“The eggs have led us on a wild chase across Evershift Haven. For all we know, they’re some cosmic practical joke.”

Talia steps closer, her dark gaze fixed on mine. “You don’t believe that. I can see it in your eyes. They’re swirling faster.”

I turn away, irritated that she’s learned to read my expressions so quickly. My golden eyes betray my emotions through their movement, with faster swirls for agitation, and slower for calm. Right now, they must be spinning like whirlpools.

“Give me one day to work with the grove. If nothing significant happens, we’ll leave it alone.”

“And if something dangerous happens?”

“Then you’ll be here to protect me, won’t you?” She smiles, disarmingly sweet. “That’s what guardians do.”

I sigh, a sound like wind through stone crevices. “Fine. One day.”

Her smile widens, bright enough to rival the sun she channels. “Perfect. We’ll need tools, and seeds, and maybe some special fertilizer—”

“Talia.”

“Right. Sorry. I get excited about gardening.” She spins in a small circle, surveying the grove. “Let’s start with clearing some of these dead vines. They’re blocking the energy flow.”

For the next several hours, we work side by side in the awakening grove. I clear away dead branches and overgrowth while Talia follows behind, coaxing new life from the soil with her solar magic. Despite my initial reluctance, I’m drawn into the rhythm of the work and the familiar motions of tending to the grove I once guarded.

“You’re good at this,” she says when I carefully prune a thorny bush. “You’ve done it before.”

“I was the guardian for four centuries,” I say, moving my hands with practiced precision. “Tending the grove was my responsibility.”

“What was it like when the grove was alive?”

I pause, memories washing over me. “It was magnificent. The trees glowed from within, their bark translucent like stained glass. Flowers sang with the dawn and dusk, and the Heart Oak produced fruits that could heal any ailment.”

“That sounds beautiful.”

“It was.” I resume my pruning, trying to push away the memories. “The grove was a place of balance—light and dark, growth and rest, joy and solemnity.”

Talia works quietly for a moment, her hands glowing softly as she encourages a patch of dormant moss to spread. “What happened to it?”

The question I’ve been dreading. I continue working, focusing on the thorny bush rather than her face. “It died.”

“Because you failed as its guardian?” Her voice holds no judgment, only curiosity.

“Yes.”

She waits, clearly expecting more, but I remain silent. After a while, she sighs. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.” She moves to another patch of ground, kneeling to work her magic on a cluster of withered flowers. “I’ll tell you a story instead.”

I glance at her, surprised. “A story?”

“About why I left my coven.” She doesn’t look up from moving her hands gently over the soil. “You’re not the only one with failures in your past, you know.”

Despite myself, I’m intrigued. I move closer, pretending to examine a nearby tree while listening.

“I was part of a coven in Seattle. The Daughters of Dawn. Very prestigious and very powerful. They recruited me right out of the Pacific Northwest Institute for Magical Arts because of my affinity for solar magic. The coven was amazing at first. Twelve powerful witches, all working together to channel the sun’s energy for healing and growth.”

She pauses over the flowers, which have begun to uncurl their petals. “The problem was, I was the youngest and the newest, and I wanted so badly to prove myself.”

I recognize the tone in her voice as the same one I hear in my own when I talk about my failure. “What happened?”

“They asked more and more of me. My solar magic was stronger than most since I could store sunlight and release it even at night, so they started scheduling more of their major workings after dark, when they needed my stored energy.” She sighs. “I should have recognized my limits, but I wanted their approval so much.”

“You burned out,” I guess.

She nods. “During the spring equinox ritual, three years ago. We were trying to heal a blighted forest outside the city. The other witches were channeling through me, using my stored sunlight as a conduit. It was too much.” Her voice drops. “I collapsed. The magic backfired. Instead of healing the forest, we accidentally accelerated the blight. Hundreds of acres were gone in minutes.”

I watch her face, seeing the pain of the memory etched there. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it? I knew I was reaching my limit. I felt it happening, but I pushed through anyway. My pride cost that forest its life.” She looks up at me, her dark eyes serious. “The coven blamed me. They said I wasn’t strong or disciplined enough and asked me to leave.”

“They were wrong,” I say firmly. “They pushed you too hard.”

“Maybe, but I still should have known better.” She returns to her work, coaxing the flowers to bloom. “After that, I couldn’t do magic for months. Every time I tried, I’d panic, remembering the backfire. It took me two years to work up the courage to use my full power again.”

I absorb her story, understanding her better now. Her cheerfulness isn’t naiveté but hard-won optimism in the face of failure. Her enthusiasm for the grove isn’t recklessness but redemption. “Is that why you came to Evershift Haven?” I ask. “For a fresh start?”

“Partly. Also because my grandmother lived here when she was young. She always said the magic here was different—more natural and less structured.” Talia smiles at the flowers, now fully bloomed. “She was right.”

We work in companionable silence for a while, the grove gradually coming to life around us. The moss glows brighter, the flowers stand taller, and the trees seem to straighten, reaching for the sky with renewed vigor.

“Your turn,” says Talia eventually, wiping soil from her hands.

“My turn for what?”

“To share. I told you my big failure story. Now you tell me yours.” She sits on a newly cleared patch of ground, looking up at me expectantly. “What happened to the grove? To you?”

I consider refusing, walking away, and ending this strange partnership before it goes any farther, but something in her open expression stops me. She shared her pain with me. Perhaps it’s only fair I do the same.

“It happened during the summer solstice, 1923. The grove was at the height of its power. The Heart Oak was producing golden fruits, the flowers were singing day and night, and the magical barrier was strong.”

I move to sit on a large stone across from her, my wings adjusting to accommodate the position. “I had a mate then. Luetha. She was a dryad, born from the Heart Oak itself. Beautiful, wise, and stubborn.” The memory of her face flashes in my mind with a hint of longing and the familiar pain as I envision her bark-like skin with patterns like wood grain, eyes the color of new leaves, and hair like autumn foliage.

“We had been together for centuries, guardians of the grove, but we disagreed about how to protect it.” I stare at my stone hands, remembering. “Luetha wanted to reveal the grove to the people of Evershift Haven, to create a partnership. I wanted to strengthen our isolation and hide the grove more completely.”

“You argued?”

“Bitterly for weeks.” I shake my head. “On the solstice itself, our argument reached its peak. I said things I regret. She accused me of being afraid of change, of being too rigid in my thinking. She wasn’t wrong.”

The memory is still painful, even after a century. “I stormed off. Flew to the mountains to cool my temper. I intended to return by nightfall for the solstice ritual, but...” I pause, the guilt washing over me anew. “I was so angry, I went into stone hibernation. It’s something gargoyles do when we’re distressed. We turn completely to stone, our consciousness dormant.”

Talia watches me, her expression soft with empathy. “How long were you gone?”

“Three days.” My voice is a mere whisper. “When I woke, I felt Luetha’s distress through our bond. I flew back as fast as I could, but I was too late.” I close my eyes, seeing it all again. “A warlock had come to the grove, drawn by its power. He sought to drain its magic for himself, and Luetha fought him alone, with no guardian to help her. She managed to stop him, but the price...” My voice breaks. “The price was her life force. She was tied to the Heart Oak. As she weakened, so did the grove.”

“Oh, Dorian.” Talia’s voice is soft with sorrow.

“I arrived just as she was fading. The warlock was dead, but the damage was done. The grove was withering, its magic draining away. Luetha was...” I swallow hard. “She was returning to the Heart Oak, her physical form dissolving. I held her as she died and watched as she became part of the tree again.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Her last words to me were, ‘Find balance, my love.’ Then she was gone, and the grove went dormant.” I look around at the half-awakened landscape. “I’ve guarded it ever since, though there was little left to guard. A penance for my failure.”

Talia is quiet for a long moment, absorbing my story. Then she stands and walks to me, placing her hand on my stone arm. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I abandoned my post. I let my anger cloud my judgment.”

“You made a mistake. We all do.” Her hand is warm on my arm. “Luetha wouldn’t want you to punish yourself forever.”

“You didn’t know her.”

“No, but I know what it’s like to carry guilt that’s too heavy.” She squeezes my arm gently. “The grove is awakening now. Maybe this is your second chance. Maybe it’s both our second chances.”

I look down at her hand on my arm, then up at her face. There’s no pity there, only understanding. It’s been so long since anyone looked at me like they see me, not just the stone exterior or the brooding guardian, but me . “Perhaps.”

She smiles, then returns to her work, giving me space to process. We continue tending the grove, moving deeper into its heart. Hours pass, and I enjoy the work and her company. Talia talks while she works, sharing stories of her life and asking questions about mine. Her chatter should irritate me, but instead, it’s oddly comforting.

We reach an ancient archway, once a magnificent entrance to the Heart Oak’s clearing. Now it’s covered in thorns, the stone crumbling, the magic dormant.

“This was beautiful once,” I say, running my hand over the weathered stone. “Flowers bloomed year-round on this arch, even in winter. They would change color based on who passed beneath.”

“What color did they turn for you?” she asks, examining the thorny vines that have overtaken the structure.

“Gold. The same color as my eyes.” I help her clear away some of the dead vines. “For Luetha, they were green.”

“And for others?”

“It varied. Blue for those with water affinities, red for fire, purple for air, or brown for earth. The flowers recognized magical signatures.”

Talia runs her fingers along the arch, her brow wrinkled in concentration. “There’s still magic here. Dormant but present.” She closes her eyes, and her hands begin to glow with golden light. “May I try something?”

I nod, stepping back to give her space. She places both hands on the arch, channeling her solar magic into the stone. The golden light spreads from her fingers, seeping into the cracks and crevices of the ancient structure.

“The flowers that grew here... What were they called?”

“Lumina blossoms. They’re extinct now, as far as I know.”

She nods, her eyelids still closed. “I can feel their memory in the stone. Their pattern and their essence.” Her magic pulses brighter. “I think I can wake them.”

I watch, fascinated, as her magic works through the arch. The thorny vines begin to shift, their sharp points softening, their woody stems becoming green and supple. Tiny buds appear along the vines, swelling rapidly.

“It’s working,” I say, amazed.

Talia’s face is a mask of concentration. She opens her eyes, looking at me. “I need your magic too, Dorian. They need the balance of sun and stone.”

I hesitate but place my hands on the arch beside hers. My guardian magic stirs, rusty from disuse but still present. Golden-orange energy flows from my palms, merging with Talia’s sunlight magic. The combination creates a new color—a warm, rich amber that spreads through the entire arch.

Something extraordinary happens. The arch begins to pulse with light, and something small and round rolls out from the base of the arch, coming to rest at our feet.

“Is that...” Talia kneels down, peering at the object.

“Another egg,” I confirm, kneeling beside her.

This egg is different from the others. This one is smaller, with a shell that seems to be made of tightly wound vines rather than the smooth surface of the previous eggs. As we watch, the vine-like shell begins to unravel, peeling back to reveal what’s inside.

A tiny green shoot emerges, unfurling delicate leaves no bigger than my fingernail. The shoot grows rapidly, stretching upward as it develops more leaves and a slender stem. Within moments, it’s the size of a small sapling, reaching its vines outward.

“It’s a baby Lumina plant,” I say, recognizing the distinctive leaf pattern. “I haven’t seen one in a century.”

The vine continues to grow, extending toward us. Before either of us can react, it separates into two tendrils, wrapping one gently around Talia’s wrist, and the other around mine. The touch is cool and soft, like a living ribbon.

“Oh.” She gasps, not in fear but in surprise. “It’s communicating.”

I feel it too, a gentle presence in my mind that’s curious and innocent. The vine seedling is sentient, aware in the way all magical plants in the grove once were. I’d suppressed that, trying to block out the past when I’d insisted plants can’t talk, but it’s coming back to me now. “It’s greeting us,” I say softly. “Recognizing us as its...parents, in a way. Our combined magic created the conditions for it to hatch.”

The vine remains wrapped around our wrists for a moment longer, its presence warm in our minds before it gently releases us, returning to its place at the base of the arch. It plants its roots in the soil there, settling in as if it has found its home.

“Did we just...have a plant baby?” Talia asks, her voice caught between amusement and wonder.

I laugh. “I think we did.”

As the plant grows, buds start to emerge. They’re still tiny, like our plant baby, but they tremble then burst open all at once. Flowers the size of peas unfurl their petals, creating glowing blossoms a shade between gold and orange, exactly matching the color of our combined magic.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispers.

“They’re responding to both of us. I’ve never seen them this color before.”

We stand together, hands on the arch, magic flowing between us, as the Lumina blossoms continue to bloom while the vine grows larger and travels along the entire structure, starting to wind around it. The Lumina’s presence wakes up the slumbering thorned bushes, and the thorns start to retreat as an array of blossoms appear in pastel shades.

“We did it.” Her voice is filled with wonder. “We woke them up, It was both of us. The flowers needed both our magics—sun and stone, growth and protection. Balance.”

Balance. Luetha’s final words echo in my mind. Find balance, my love.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Talia turns to me, her face alight with excitement. “If we can wake the Lumina blossoms, we can wake the entire grove together.”

The thought is both thrilling and terrifying. To see the Glimmergrove restored to its former glory, to fulfill my duty as guardian once more... But also to risk failure again, to open myself to that pain...

“I don’t know,” I say honestly.

“What’s holding you back?” she asks gently. “Fear of failing again?”

“Partly.” I look at the blooming arch, then back at her. “And partly fear of succeeding. If the grove awakens fully, I’ll be bound to it again. Responsible for it.”

“You wouldn’t be alone this time.” She says it simply, as if offering to share guardianship of an ancient magical grove is no more significant than offering to help with the dishes.

I stare at her, this sun witch who crashed into my life with her cheerful determination and stubborn optimism. “You barely know me.”

“I know enough.” She smiles. “I know you care deeply about this place, even after all this time. You carry guilt that isn’t entirely yours to bear, and you’re a grump with a good heart.”

The last comment is so unexpected, I laugh. It’s a short, rusty sound that surprises even me. Her eyes widen as she laughs too, the sound bright and musical in the quiet grove.