Page 5 of Eggsactly the Right Gargoyle (Evershift Haven #7)

THE NEXT MORNING, I arrive at the Glimmergrove just as dawn breaks. The air smells differently today. Fresher and more alive. Yesterday’s work with Dorian has already started to take effect. The blossoms we revived now glow with a soft, pulsing light, their petals unfurling toward the morning sun. The Lumina vine has also grown and is producing yellow and orange blossoms.

“Good morning,” I whisper to them, running my fingers gently across a bloom. It shivers in response, releasing a tiny shower of golden pollen that dances in the air around me.

I set down my basket of supplies containing fresh seedlings, enchanted soil, and a thermos of lavender-infused coffee to take a moment to appreciate the quiet. This early, the grove feels like it belongs just to me. Well, to me and—

“You’re early.”

I turn to find Dorian standing at the edge of the clearing. He’s wearing a simple cream sweater today, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms. Something about seeing him dressed so casually makes my heart skip.

“So are you,” I say, smiling. “I wanted to check on our progress before we get started for the day.”

He moves closer, his footsteps surprisingly light for someone made of stone. “The seedling we created yesterday has already grown a foot.” He gestures toward the center of the clearing, where our little vine now stretches upward.

“Hello, little one,” I say, kneeling beside it. “You’ve been busy overnight.”

The vine curls one of its tendrils around my finger in greeting. “Sun warm. Ground good. Growing fast,” it says in its tiny, rustling voice inside my head.

Dorian kneels beside me, his massive form dwarfing mine. “I’ve never seen a plant grow so quickly without magical intervention.”

“Maybe it’s because it was born from our combined magic?” The vine releases my finger and reaches toward Dorian. He extends his hand, and the tendril wraps around his stone finger, seeming to hum with contentment.

“Perhaps.” He looks at me, and I see his eyes are calmer today, like honey in sunlight. “Or perhaps the grove is more eager to return than we realized.”

A rustling sound from the path interrupts our moment. We both turn to see Atlas Mountainheart, the enormous mountain troll who owns Fae Fitness, ducking under a low-hanging branch. He’s carrying what appears to be a yoga mat made for someone three times human size.

“Good morning, sunshine friends,” Atlas booms, his voice echoing through the trees. Tiny flowers bloom on his bald head as he smiles. “Word travels fast in Evershift Haven. Grizelda told me you two are restoring the sacred grove, and I thought, what better way to help than with some sunrise yoga?”

I glance at Dorian, whose expression has shifted from peaceful to mildly horrified.

“That’s very...thoughtful of you, Atlas,” I say, trying not to laugh at Dorian’s discomfort, “But we were just about to start planting—”

“Perfect timing then.” Atlas unfurls his massive yoga mat. “Nothing connects you to the earth better than a good stretch. Fifteen minutes to align your chakras, and then you’ll plant with renewed purpose.”

Dorian looks at me with an expression that clearly says, “Save me.”

I shrug helplessly. “I guess a quick session couldn’t hurt?”

Atlas beams and more flowers bloom on his stone-like head. “Excellent. Dorian, my friend, I brought an extra mat for you. Don’t worry. It’s reinforced for stone bodies.”

For a moment, I think Dorian might refuse or simply turn to stone, which is a defense mechanism I read about last night when learning more about gargoyles. They employ it when particularly uncomfortable, and not always consciously.

Instead, he sighs deeply and accepts the offered mat. “Fifteen minutes,” he says firmly. “Not a second more.”

Atlas nods. “That’s the spirit. Let’s begin with a simple mountain pose. Feet grounded, spine tall, just like the ancient trees around us...”

I try to focus on Atlas’s instructions, but I keep getting distracted by the sight of Dorian, a centuries-old gargoyle guardian, attempting to touch his stone toes. His wings shift awkwardly as he bends, and I bite my lip to keep from giggling.

He catches me looking and narrows his eyes. “Not a word.”

“I didn’t say anything,” I whisper back, transitioning into warrior pose with far more grace than he manages.

“Your face is saying plenty.”

Before I can respond, Atlas moves behind Dorian. “Excellent form, my friend. Now, let’s adjust those shoulders...” The troll gently repositions Dorian’s posture, and I swear I see a flash of embarrassment cross the gargoyle’s stony features.

We’re midway through a particularly challenging balance pose when more voices approach from the path. Candice Winters appears, her blonde hair braided elaborately around her head like a crown, followed by Ronan Duquenne, whose massive Lycan form is pushing a wheelbarrow filled with what appears to be...compost?

“Morning, everyone,” says Candice cheerfully. “We heard about the restoration project and thought you could use some help.”

Dorian loses his balance and stumbles out of his pose. “Is the entire town planning to visit today?” he mutters.

“Only the ones who care about magical ecology,” says Candice, apparently having heard him. She approaches with a bright smile. “This is so exciting. A sacred grove restoration. Do you have a project plan? A timeline? I could help coordinate volunteers if you need—”

“We’re managing fine,” interrupts Dorian , his voice gruff.

I shoot him a look. “What Dorian means is that we appreciate the offer, but we’re still figuring out exactly what the grove needs.”

Ronan sets down the wheelbarrow with a thud. “It definitely needs this.” He gestures to the compost. “Premium blend. Every household in town contributed something.”

I approach the wheelbarrow cautiously. “Every household?”

“Yep.” Ronan’s muzzle twitches into a smile. “Mrs. Thornberry added her special tea leaves, Gustave from Beastly Bites threw in some exotic spice remnants, and I think Hemlock contributed...something. He said not to ask questions.”

“How thoughtful,” I say, examining the rich, dark mixture. Despite its questionable origins, I sense the potent magical energy emanating from it. “This will actually be incredibly helpful for the new plantings.”

Atlas finishes his final pose with a flourish. “And that concludes our session. How do you feel, friends? Energized? Connected to the earth?”

“I feel like I’ve discovered muscles I didn’t know existed,” grumbles Dorian, rolling his shoulders.

“That’s the magic of yoga.” Atlas beams. “I’ll be back tomorrow, same time. We can try some wing-specific stretches for you, Dorian.”

The gargoyle’s expression is priceless. I quickly turn away, pretending to examine the compost more closely to hide my smile.

As Atlas packs up his yoga mats, Candice pulls out a small notebook from her pocket. “I took the liberty of drafting a preliminary restoration schedule. I thought maybe we could divide the grove into sections, tackling one area at a time...”

I glance at Dorian, who looks increasingly overwhelmed by all the attention and assistance. His wings have pulled closer to his body, indicating he’s uncomfortable.

“That’s really thoughtful, Candice,” I say gently. “Maybe you could leave the schedule with us, and we’ll look it over? The grove has its own magic and timing, so we need to be flexible.”

She nods eagerly. “Of course, of course. I completely understand. Magic has its own schedule. I’ll just leave this here...” She places the notebook on a nearby stump. “And if you need anything, just let me know. The whole town is buzzing about this project.”

“The whole town?” asks Dorian , his voice strained.

Ronan chuckles. “You’ve been a mystery for centuries. Now you’re out here gardening with the new sun witch. People are curious.”

“I am not gardening,” says Dorian stiffly. “I’m restoring a sacred magical site of profound historical importance.”

“With flowers,” adds Ronan, grinning to reveal his sharp teeth.

Before Dorian can respond, a small golden-brown blur darts between the trees, momentarily visible before vanishing again.

“Was that...?” I start to say.

Ronan inhales deeply. “Hecate.”

Sure enough, the tiny Yorkie-Chihuahua mix materializes atop a moss-covered rock, her fluffy tail held high. “Don’t mind me,” she says regally. “I’m simply collecting magical pollen for my invisible tea stash.”

“Your what now?” I ask, approaching the tiny dog.

Hecate sniffs importantly. “My invisible tea stash. It’s very exclusive. Only those with dragon ancestry can appreciate its subtle notes.”

“You don’t have dragon ancestry,” says Dorian flatly.

Hecate narrows her eyes at him. “Excuse you, stone face. My great-great-grandmother could breathe fire after eating spicy enchiladas. That’s documented fact.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “And you need pollen from the Glimmergrove for this...tea?”

“Precisely.” Hecate hops down from the rock and trots over to the Lumina blossoms. “These flowers have ancient magic. Very potent. Very good for the complexion.” She sniffs at a blossom, which shivers and releases a puff of golden pollen. Hecate sneezes and disappears from sight. “I’m fine,” her disembodied voice calls out. “Totally meant to do that.”

Candice and Ronan exchange amused glances before bidding us farewell, promising to return with more supplies tomorrow. As they leave, Dorian’s shoulders relax slightly.

“Not used to so much company?” I ask softly.

“I’ve spent the last century with only Griswald for conversation, and he’s not exactly talkative.”

I laugh. “It seems you’re going to have to get used to it. The town is invested now.”

“Wonderful,” he mutters, but there’s less bite in his tone than I’d expect.

We spend the next hour working in companionable silence, planting new seedlings and incorporating the town’s compost mixture into the soil. Occasionally, we catch glimpses of Hecate darting around, collecting pollen and muttering to herself about tea blends and dragon heritage.

As midday approaches, I notice Dorian watching me as I coax a particularly stubborn seedling to take root. His golden eyes are intense, swirling with those mesmerizing patterns that seem to speed up when he’s focused.

“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Your magic,” he says simply. “It’s different when you work with plants.”

I look down at my hands, which are glowing with a soft golden light. “Oh. Yes, I suppose it is. Plants respond to solar magic better than anything else.”

“It’s not just that.” Dorian moves closer, kneeling beside me. “You’re more confident with them. More certain.”

I consider this. “I guess I am. Plants don’t judge. They just want to grow, to reach for the light. It’s simple.”

“Nothing about magic is simple,” says Dorian.

“Maybe that’s the problem.” I gently pat the soil around the seedling. “We overthink it and worry about controlling it perfectly. Plants just accept the magic they’re given and use it how they need to.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then extends his hand toward the seedling. Gray stone magic flows from his fingertips, mingling with my golden light. The seedling responds immediately, stretching upward with new vigor.

“Like that?” he asks, and there’s something vulnerable in his question.

“Exactly like that.” I smile at him, and for a moment, we’re connected through the flow of our magic and the life growing between us.

The seedling gives a happy little wiggle, its leaves unfurling toward the sun. “Thank you,” it whispers in its tiny plant voice.

Dorian pulls his hand back slowly, but his gaze remains on me. “Your magic is warm,” he says quietly. “Like sunlight on stone.”

My heart flutters at his words. “And yours is steady. Grounding.”

Something shifts in his expression. There’s a softening around his eyes, and a slight parting of his lips. For a breathless moment, I think he might lean closer, but he looks away and returns to his task.

By late afternoon, we’ve made significant progress. The clearing looks noticeably healthier. Our little vine seedling has grown another few inches, its tendrils now reaching out to connect neighboring plants.

“It’s creating a network,” says Dorian. “Linking the plants together to share magic and nutrients.”

“Smart little thing,” I say proudly, as if we’ve raised a particularly clever child.

As the sun begins to dip toward the horizon, I reluctantly begin packing up my tools. “We should probably call it a day. I need to check on my herb cart before the evening market.”

Dorian nods, though he seems reluctant to leave as well. “I’ll stay a bit longer. There are a few more seedlings I want to plant before dark.”

I hesitate, not quite ready to part ways. “Will you be here tomorrow morning?”

“Yes.” His answer comes quickly, almost eagerly. “Hopefully later than Atlas and his yoga mat though.”

I laugh. “I’ll try to run interference if he shows up with more wing-specific stretches.”

“I would appreciate that.” The corner of Dorian’s mouth lifts in what might almost be a smile.

As I gather my things, Hecate materializes beside me. “I’ll walk with you. I need to get back to Bella before she notices I’ve been gone all day.”

“She doesn’t know you’re here?” I ask.

Hecate waves a paw dismissively. “She thinks I’m napping in the café window. I left a glamour that looks like me sleeping. Works every time.”

We say goodbye to Dorian, who raises a hand in farewell. Once we’re on the path back to town, Hecate gives me a knowing look.

“So,” she says casually, “You and the gargoyle, huh?”

“What? No. We’re just working together to restore the grove.”

“Mmhmm.” Hecate’s collar charm turns a smug purple. “And I’m just collecting pollen for my invisible tea stash.”

“You are not helping,” I mutter, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.

“I’m just saying, I saw how you two were looking at each other. Like Bella looks at fresh-baked muffins.”

“We were not—”

“And the way your magic mingles? Very intimate. Very romantic.”

I stop walking and look down at the tiny dog. “Is there a point to this conversation?”

Hecate’s expression softens. “Just be careful, sun witch. Stone hearts take a long time to warm up, but once they do...” She trails off meaningfully.

“We’re restoring a sacred grove together. That’s all,” I insist, though even to my own ears, the words sound hollow.

“If you say so.” Hecate trots ahead, her fluffy tail swishing. “But for what it’s worth, I approve. He needs someone bright like you, and you could use some solid ground beneath your feet.”

I watch her disappear around a bend in the path. Despite my protests, there is something growing between Dorian and me, something as new and fragile as the seedlings we’ve planted today. and like those seedlings, I’m not sure yet what shape it will take when it blooms.