CHAPTER 1
T he ancient gargoyle’s talons pressed into the ceramic-tiled rooftop. Snow gathered on his wings and horns. His tail lay buried beneath the white powder. Cold echoed in his bones. But he had long ago gotten used to the cold. Used to the stillness. Used to being utterly alone.
A pigeon fluttered through the air and settled on his knee, scattering the snow that had accumulated there. Uzoth remained unmoving. Several minutes later, the pigeon took flight.
Uzoth’s gaze remained fixed on the dark streets below, empty in the middle of the night. Fresh snow lay undisturbed in the cobblestone alley. Come afternoon, much of it would turn to slush beneath the feet of the passers-by.
Above, clouds filled the night sky and fat flakes of white drifted down. Colourful Christmas decorations hung in windows marking the beginning of the festive season. Uzoth had never experienced a Christmas. But he had watched many from above.
As morning approached, the door opened to an apartment where a family of hearth and kitchen witches lived. A witch wearing black robes and a hat stepped out.
“Come on, Kit.” Lachlan the witch strode down the stairs to the bakery run by the family of witches. His cat followed.
Uzoth had seen the black stray cat many times wandering the streets, scrounging through trash and hunting for rats. Now he was the witch’s pet. As a sentinel, Uzoth learned much about those he watched.
The bakery’s door opened without Lachlan touching it, welcoming the witch within. Light flickered inside the bakery as the witch and cat entered. The door closed behind them.
Silence and stillness returned. After a while, others passed along the alley as they began their day. Uzoth remained watching.
Many years ago he’d guarded a powerful sorceress and her kingdom, shoulder to shoulder with his gargoyle brethren. He’d had a purpose then. And he’d not been alone.
But that time had passed. The sorceress’s rotting bones lay beneath the dirt. The kingdom had crumbled to dust. He had no one to protect now. No one to guard. And no one watched beside him.
Now he merely existed in Anorra, a city that had grown from fields where tribes of gnomes once roamed. He watched from rooftops, ready to protect those who might be set upon. But it was no true purpose. He had no true purpose. He’d lost any sense of that long ago. After all, most did not want the help of a terrifying monster.
Over time, his heartbeat slowed. The blood pumped sluggishly through his veins. Movement became difficult. He wondered sometimes if without a purpose, he would turn to stone, never to wake again like the rest of the kin.
Another witch left the apartment, the eldest of them, Grady. The “witch protector,” as Uzoth thought of him. Grady paused as he left the apartment, pressing his hand to the door. He whispered an incantation Uzoth could not hear.
But Uzoth sensed the protection magic surging and calling to his gargoyle blood. After all, protection magic had been used to create Uzoth.
Every door, every window, and every witch in the apartment and bakery had a protection charm or spell placed on them by this particular witch. And it called to Uzoth. He’d felt the magic one day as he flew above the city.
Now he remained close to the protection charms. Being close to them somehow made him feel he was a part of that protection magic and almost had a purpose. Because at his core, that was what the gargoyle wished for, a true purpose. Someone to guard and stand sentinel over. And not only that, but someone to stand with. Then Uzoth would no longer be alone.