Page 3 of When the Weaver Met the Gargoyle (Leafshire Cove Monsters #1)

Chapter 3

Laini

“ S park, no!” I shoo my dragonfox away from the edge of my scraps basket.

He scampers away, snorting at me but still grinning in that funny little fashion he always does. I can’t let him play in there. He gets too excited and always catches everything on fire with his sparks.

As the watchtower bell tolls in warning of another storm, I settle Spark on his favorite pile of quilts by the hearth and hope Tully’s last application of protective magic will be enough to preserve my roof. Spark purrs at the crackling fire and curls into a ball. I scratch him between his fox ears and around his tiny dragon horns, then I head to my loom .

The front room of my place serves as my workshop. It’s my favorite place in the world, the spot where I fit exactly right, where I can truly relax, and where I can smile fully without worry. My wooden loom almost touches the rough-hewn beams of the ceiling, the ivory-hued warp threads stretched and ready, like I’m a spider about to spin her web. Beeswax candles in bronze holders on the window ledge and table release a sweet scent. The hearth crackles pleasantly near two wicker chairs stacked with fluffy blankets and pillows, and I imagine someone large sitting there with their feet up and a book in hand. Blinking the thought away, I shake my head at myself. Spark is there, at least.

I lift my new wool just as Tully swings through the door, spheres of purple magic dancing around her curly red hair.

“Have you picked him yet?” she asks, her voice too loud for my peaceful home.

“Picked who?” I load the first skein of blue wool onto the rack, then take up one end and attach it to the spool turner on my smaller workbench.

“Your Harvest Party date.”

My stomach turns. I hadn’t realized it was time yet, but she was right. The party always happens during the harvest moon. Just one week away now .

“As I have told you twice already, I’m not going. I have too much work to do.”

I’m not at all interested in romance, love, dating—any of it. Getting too attached to people only leads to heartbreak and embarrassment. I shudder at the very thought of opening my heart up to anyone ever again. Besides, I’m focused on winning the Rustion job.

Tully just stares, her face telling me nothing about what’s going on in her head. “Oh, you haven’t heard the update,” she says quietly, menacingly.

My hands freeze over the spool. “Tell me.”

She tucks a curl of red hair behind her ear and eyes me from under the rim of her pointy witch’s hat. “Lord Mayor Rustion decided to combine the tapestry contest with the party.”

My pulse stutters. “No.”

“Yes.”

Exhaling in a rush, I drop into the nearest chair. I haven’t attended the Harvest Party in two years because you have to bring a date. The faeries who founded Leafshire Cove set some old magic on the land that now belonged to Lord Rustion. Whoever enters the large area on the night of the harvest moon must have a potential love match on their arm. History claims the magic was meant to encourage locals to procreate and populate the new village.

“Can’t you be my date?” I ask, giving her my best puppy eyes.

Tully crosses her arms. “You know it won’t pass.”

The ring of mushrooms on the property serves as the entry point to the sacred ground. They can’t be fooled, I guess. Tully would know. She was born here.

She continues. “You might love verbally sparring with me, Laini, but I don’t think you want to stick your tongue in my mouth. I know I don’t want to stick mine in yours.”

I laugh despite the horror of this information about the contest and the party. “Damn it.” Gods, I’m going to be sick. I can’t go on a date.

Tully draws her fingertips along the warp threads of the loom and grins at me through their pale lines. “Listen, it’s not so bad. It’s one night. And if you can get a dance with Lord Rustion or even share a green apple cider with the old shifter, you’ll have a much better chance in the competition.”

“But you know who will be there.”

“Leo. Yes. You have to stop letting him affect you. ”

“Oh, all right. Now that you’ve told me, I’ll just stop feeling my feelings.”

She gives me a flat look. “I only mean you can’t let his presence bully you out of showing up for fun things forever.”

Leo and I were very serious for a while, and our break up was… It was bad. The gossip went on for weeks and weeks. I lost weight. Couldn’t sleep. It was the worst time I’ve had in my adult life. But Tully wasn’t wrong here.

I groan. “Fine. Yes, you’re right.”

She clasps her hands under her chin and spins in a circle. “My favorite words.”

“But it’s only for the tapestry job that I’m doing this. I will not be actually going on a date with anyone. Ever. Why are you looking out the window? Is the storm coming already? Or is my spool of silken thread finally here?” The delivery is days late.

Tully eyes the town through my round window. “I’m choosing your date. You still like males the most, yes?”

“Yes. Wait, what? You can’t choose my date,” I say.

“You’ll never do it,” she says. “You’ll sit here in this gloomy shop and weave and talk to your little beastie…”

Spark growls at Tully, flaps his dragon wings, and flicks his fluffy fox tail.

“And the Harvest Party,” Tully continues, “will be over without you even realizing it. Just let me do this for you.”

I scowl at her and grin at Spark to encourage more growling. “There is nothing in our shared past that encourages me to trust you with this or anything, so why would I say yes ?”

“Because no one else is going to help you. You’ve successfully pushed every one of your actual friends away.”

All right, that hurts. “Fine. I’ll go with whomever you choose.” Right after I vomit from nerves.

Tully spins and rises into the air a foot, her curls nearly catching on the lantern that swings from the hook on the wall. “I know who.”

“Do tell.”

Suddenly, she is at my loom, smacking at my hands with her wand. “At least, pretend to be interested for one second. It won’t kill you.”

I lift my eyebrows. “It might.”

She sticks her tongue out.

“You’re such a child,” I say.

Tully shrugs. “Better than being an old hag.”

I give her a scowl. “Careful. ”

She waves off my warning. “You know I don’t mean it. I mean, have you seen yourself?” Sauntering back to the window, she says, “Your stupid skin is perfect without the need of any magic at all, you gorgeous storm cloud.”

I can’t help but smile at the compliment. “All right. Spill. Who am I asking to the party?”

“The bell tower guy.”

“The gargoyle?”

“Yep. He’s mysterious.”

“He doesn’t speak to anyone. He just whisks from the tower to the manor now and then in his big cloak. Never once shows himself at all. How am I supposed to go on a date with someone who hates everyone?”

Wait. My mind snags on what I just said. A big cloak. Like the one that covered me during the magical cloudburst.

“He won’t hate you,” Tully says. “You spend time in my company, so you’re automatically fantastic.”

“Blessed Stones, your ego is remarkable,” I say. “Here I am, remarking.”

“Sorry to bother you,” a deep voice says, startling me.

Spark yips and snuggles under one of the quilts, only the end of his black dragon snout showing.

A tall figure ducks through the half-open door, peering around. He is mostly covered in the hood of his cloak. My mind whirls.

It’s him—the male who helped me this morning. The gargoyle.

My throat is dry, too dry, in fact, to utter a word. I work my way around the loom and stand in front of him, making stupid sounds. How and why is he suddenly here?

“Can gargoyles read minds?” Tully whispers.

He’s the gargoyle that stands guard in the watchtower. Yes, of course, he is. With all my worry and haste this morning, I didn’t put two and two together.

“I hate to intrude,” he says. “I did knock, but…”

Tully grabs his arm and pulls him inside. “Nonsense. You’re welcome here!”

His hunched back hunches further, and he seems to shrink within his hood. Not that he truly can. He’s too large to disappear into any background.

Tully cluelessly keeps on with her loud exclamations. “What is your name anyway? No one knows. My, but you’re built like a brick?—”

I want to hurry this up because he seems incredibly uncomfortable. “What is wrong?” I’m not asking this male to go with me. He won’t say yes ; he’d never say yes . It’s obvious.

“My name is Romulus Greystone. And, um, there’s another storm coming,” he says, the light from his eyes glinting as he turns to look at the loom.

Spark snarls at him, then returns to hiding under a quilt.

Romulus glances at him, then looks back at me. “You need to bespell your home. Your shop. I mean. This is a larger storm system.”

“I’m on it!” Tully rushes out the door, leaving the gargoyle and me alone.

“Thank you for telling us, Rom,” I say. Why did I just give him a nickname? I blush furiously, feeling like I’ve crawled into the hearth fire.

Is that a grin? I can almost make out some full, dark gray lips tucking up at one side, and my stomach flips.

“It’s my duty,” he says.

“Right. Of course.” I try to clear my throat and end up coughing.

He hands over the cup of water I had sitting on the side table. I take it, and our fingers brush. A spark travels up my hand and into my arm, and I gasp. But I’m being ridiculous. I sip the sweet well water and nod to him in thanks.

“I’ll go now,” he says.

But instead of heading out, he looks around the room.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I wanted to see your dragonfox.”

The light hits his eyes again, and they flash, giving me chills that I somehow find intriguingly pleasant rather than frightening. He seems too scary to want to cuddle anything. Hopefully, he doesn’t want to eat Spark.

My cheeks warm. “Spark? Really? I thought I was the only one who likes the horrid little creatures.”

He stands, watching and waiting, so I start toward the stack of quilts by the hearth. I lift the first quilt. Spark truly is the cutest thing. His head is a mix of fox and dragon with a fox’s red fur and large, black ears and a dragon’s tiny horns, slitted irises, and scaled nose. I gently lift him, and he stretches, extending his little dragon-green wings and yawning. The gargoyle hasn’t moved, but I approach and hand the dragonfox over.

“He will simply fly away if he isn’t keen on you holding him,” I say.

But Spark permits the handover and even crawls onto the gargoyle’s shoulder. He settles up there, wings tucked back in tightly. White fangs and teeth suddenly show in the darkness of the gargoyle’s hood.

Is Rom smiling? The look of it makes my heart quiver. He looks so foreboding, but he’s just so sweet. What would it be like to kiss someone with vicious teeth like that? I swallow and shove that thought into the very darkest parts of my mind.

He reaches up and pets the dragonfox’s snout right where fur meets scale. “Hello, Spark. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

Spark lets out a quiet purr.

“Are you always this good with animals?” I ask. Perhaps he prefers animals to society. I feel exactly the same way.

“I am. I had a dog when I was young.”

“You know, you could put up a flyer at the tavern and see if anyone has a maplekitten they can’t handle. They breed like rabbits.”

“I don’t think I’d be a good caretaker considering my job.”

“Cats love high places, though.” It’s oddly easy to talk to him. I feel like we’ve known one another for ages.

“But the storms… Sometimes, I have to venture out in them to warn those who might not have heard the warning bell.”

“Like you did for me today.”

He nods and keeps petting Spark.

“Well, if you change your mind, I’d be happy to keep your kitten while you are on watch.”

His head lifts, and his gaze on me feels like a soft touch to the cheek. I swallow and cross my arms, suddenly sweating.

“That’s very kind of you.”

“I know not every human is nice. Sorry if you’ve had some bad experiences with my kind.”

An unfunny laugh huffs from him. “No one is as bad as a gargoyle.”

“What do you mean?”

He lifts Spark, his taloned fingers graceful and easy on the dragonfox’s small body. As he deposits Spark on the nearest chair, I imagine those monstrous hands on my cheek, running down the side of my neck, then gripping my hip. Heat shoots through me, and I take a quick breath. What’s wrong with me? I don’t want anything to do with that sort of thing.

“I should go,” he says.

I nod and escort him to the door, secretly glad that he isn’t telling me why gargoyles are supposedly so bad. I don’t have time for another friend, or Blessed Stones forbid, a romance. I have to finish my tapestry, or I’ll be homeless by the next moon.

I open the door, and the cool wind tosses my hair and the ends of his cloak.

“Thank you for this morning,” I whisper as he begins to walk away. My cheeks heat again, and I don’t even really know why.

He glances back. “You’re welcome.”

And I just stand there like he’s turned me to stone.

Tully appears out of nowhere and smacks me on the arm. “You didn’t ask him, did you?” She raises her wand, and I lunge for her arm, but she manages to flick the magical weapon anyway.

Rom’s cloak moves like Tully is tugging on it. He spins, looking around.

“That’s just me!” Tully shouts. “Will you take Laini to the Harvest Party?”

I can’t breathe. I want to melt into the cobblestones. Everyone is looking this way. He’s going to say no. Why is he so tall? Is he the tallest person in this entire town? I’m losing my mind. He’ll definitely say no. I’m glad about that, but I wish this was happening inside my shop instead of out here in the street. This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this—any of this.

Tully strokes my arm like I’m a nervous cat that needs coddling. I shake her hand from me.

Rom lifts his head. The line of one sharp cheekbone shows in the dim of his hood. “Yes. I will.”

My stomach falls to my knees. “I hate you, Tully,” I whisper, barely speaking.

The witch’s mouth twists into her usual terrible grin as the gargoyle walks away. “I hate you too, lovely girl.” Tully cups a hand at her mouth. “And I’ll make you both an appointment at the tailor’s for tomorrow!”