Page 8 of When the Weaver Met the Gargoyle (Leafshire Cove Monsters #1)

Chapter 8

Laini

T he next day, I storm over to Tully’s again. She whips the door open and grins wickedly.

“How did it go?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

My cheeks flush, and I point at her, backing her into her foyer. “That was criminal, Tully. You can’t just put spells on people without asking. You owe Rom and me a massive apology. And you need to swear you’ll never do it again.”

She is chuckling, and I barely restrain myself from throttling her.

“You had fun,” she says. “Admit it. And I know he did.”

“You don’t even know him, and you don’t know anything,” I snap. I feel oddly protective of the gigantic gargoyle.

“He’s a male. That’s plenty of information for this specific scenario. What did you do? Give me all the delicious details. You said he has wings. Did he use them? I’ve heard they have forked tongues and a crest of sorts above their?—”

“Tully. Criminals do not get juicy details!”

She sticks her bottom lip out and frowns. “Aw, come on. You two were dying for one another. It was so obvious when he was at your place.”

“You couldn’t even see him. He was wearing a hooded cloak.”

“Body language defies cloaks,” she says.

I bow my head and grumble. “You are the worst. Seriously.”

She grips my arms, her long, witch nails digging into my skin a little. “Eh, I am sort of sorry. Stop hating me and tell me about his special accoutrements.”

I roll my eyes, my body flushing and my mind bringing up kisses, hands, and heat even though the last thing I want is to recall what Rom and I did right here right now.

Tully releases me, rubs her hands together, and jumps up and down. “Oooo, that good, was it? ”

“Nothing happened.”

She barks a laugh. “Right. That was my most powerful mix.”

My jaw aches from clenching it too tightly. “You’re the worst.”

“Yes, yes. We’ve established that. Now, talk. It wasn’t nothing, and I know it.”

“It wasn’t nothing, no, but you don’t get any information. You’re lucky I’m not reporting you to the Lord Mayor for magic misuse.”

“You wouldn’t.”

I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms. “I would, and I could.”

“I won’t do it again. In fact,” she says. “I’ll give you a warning so you can avoid being influenced like that again to prove I’m sorry.”

“Warning?”

“In the forest on Rustion’s land, there are these flowers that bloom during the harvest moon. Moonpetals. If the wind blows the right way, their pollen will make you want to hump everything in sight. The blooms are the base ingredient in that tea.”

She seems to be telling the truth, and I have to admit I’m glad to know about the moonpetals. “What do they look like?” I ask begrudgingly.

“I gather them at night, so I’m not quite sure, really,” she says. “Maybe they have white on them? Not sure. They make a sound when the wind rises. It’s like they’re sighing.”

“I do appreciate that warning. I’ve never heard of them.”

Tully shrugs. “Most people know about them, but no one wants to admit they’ve indulged in their pollen under the forest’s shadows.”

I turn to leave. “Fine. But I’m going to stay mad at you for a while.” Spinning, I point my finger once more. “Send an apology to Rom now. I’m going to watch you do it.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she says. “I guarantee he adored every second of it.”

I swallow, imagining the way he had touched himself while partially cloaked in the skirts of my dress. “Doesn’t matter. You broke a law. You broke our trust.”

She waves her hands in the air as if my words are nothing more than annoying gnats. “I’m doing it. Calm down.”

I trail her to a roll-top desk in her receiving room. Using a peacock quill dipped in blood-red ink, she pens a quick note to Rom .

I apologize for the naughty tea. I hope you can forgive my gift of a lovely evening with your crush.

Tully

“Tully, no. That isn’t—”

She has her wand out and is flicking a spell across the note before I can say another word. The note is gone.

“You’re impossible.” I march out of her house, refusing to listen to her pleas and half-arsed apologies as I walk out of shouting distance.

During weaving breaks over the next day or so, I rummage through the delightfully tattered and worn-soft recipe book I took from my childhood home. I asked my sister if she minded me taking it the day I finally left the farm for good to walk through the Blessed Stones that led to the realm beyond the Veil. She didn’t even respond; our final argument had been heated. I don’t feel bad about claiming the cookbook because my sister always just knew inherently how to cook. She does not need it, and she has plenty of Mother and Father’s things around her at the farm to hold their memories close.

Flipping pages carefully, I stumble on a recipe for shepherd’s pie around which someone drew a quick charcoal ring. Probably Father. He was a sucker for a good crust. I mark the page with a spare length of wheat-hued woolen thread. In the dessert section, I spot a sticky toffee pudding that looks fantastic. The pudding might be tough. I’ve never tried to make a dessert like that, and I doubt Rom has either. But he is full of surprises, so maybe he has.

Spark appears at my feet, his eyes narrowed. He yips up at me, fluttering his wings.

“All right, hold on.”

I let him out the front door, but he only circles the area in front of our house and returns to sitting and yipping at my feet. I lean down to smooth the fox fur between his ears, and he shuts his eyes, apparently enjoying the touch.

“What is wrong, Sparkly?”

He nuzzles into my hand, then takes off out the still-open door. I watch as he heads for the backside of town. Shrugging, I return inside to finish what I started.

I allow Spark to run around as he sees fit because he is more feral than a maplecat, but he doesn’t usually alert me or whatever he was doing. Maybe he’s feeling ill. I’ll take him to the healer tomorrow if he still seems off.

Using a fresh piece of parchment, I jot down the recipes and add a note to Rom on the bottom.

Good morning

No, that’s too formal after what happened right on this very table. I swallow, heat flushing my cheeks and then shooting down my body.

Hello

Ugh. No. That’s just dumb.

Maybe no greeting at all. Yes, keep it simple.

I found these two recipes. What do you think?

Laini

That works. I fold the note and reach for the bottle of sparkling notewater. Tully made this potion for me. I grit my teeth. So many of her concoctions sit around my house and shop. I blink. Even the turquoise potion in the water closet. Do I still trust her enough to continue taking that potion? If she wanted to, she could have crafted it wrong, and then I’d be at risk of growing pregnant the next time I take a lover. My mind forms images of Rom’s horned head between my thighs. No, Tully wouldn’t go that far, would she? That’s too much mischief even for her. Then again, is it? I wouldn’t have guessed she would sneak a love potion into my tea, and yet she did. I’ll have to confront her about this. Today. I can’t hide here. She still owes both Rom and me a better apology.

I sprinkle the notewater over the parchment. Sparks similar to my dragonfox’s spits of fire crackled over the pale and folded page. Wings burst from the sides of the note, and I hurry to open the window so it can fly to Rom, wherever he is at the moment. I lean out the window as the note soars high, aiming for the watchtower. I squint against the late afternoon sun, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but the tower’s top is too dark with shadow. I shut the window and get back to my tapestry .

Am I being stupid not trying to have a relationship with Rom? He is so kind, helping me avoid Leo at the bakery without bothering me with lectures about it or further questions, even though the curiosity and anger in his eyes were unmistakable. When Rom is around, I feel safe, cared for. Being in his presence was calming and exciting—some magical combination I haven’t experienced before meeting him.

Spark returns, acting excitable, but that’s nothing new. I give him a new tangle of wool to play with, and he rolls around at my feet until he falls asleep. With Spark snoring at my feet and occasionally tickling the fire out of me with that fox tail, I weave and hum a tune I heard at the tavern last week. The weft slides smoothly in and out of the warp threads, and before I know it, I’m finished!

I crack my knuckles and study the colors, making sure nothing is out of place and no reworking needs to be done. It’s great, though.

The snowcapped mountain that sits beyond Rustion’s fields—Mount Pinehawk—towers over my rendition of Leafshire Cove. Thatched roofs, a gurgling town fountain, winding cobblestone streets, the river, and Rom’s tower are all there. I wove the piece in softer hues, pink instead of red and shades of blue, green, and gray that give the town a dreamy appearance. A witch hurries through the market. I imagine she’s on her way to apologize to Rom. Hmm. Goblins and orcs meet at the fountain. A baker is chatting with a gargoyle—my last addition. Everyone I’m close to is there on the tapestry. My heart warms to see them there, all in their own specific hues and shapes. I hope Rom likes that I included him. I stand up and grin at my masterpiece. I don’t like to be too cocky, but I’m good at this work. It’s one of the many reasons I love it.

Spark is up again and circling my feet.

“What is your story lately, buddy?”

He wags his tail and then goes to the door. I let him out, shaking my head. He’s definitely worked up about something. I shut the door, and my stomach growls.

Before I can head to the kitchen, tapping at the window tells me that Rom has returned my note. I open the latch, and the sparkling, winged parchment zooms inside to land on my table. I open it quickly, taking small joy in the fact that Rom just touched this note with those gorgeous, taloned hands of his. Hands that have explored my body, have drawn ecstasy from me. A pleasant shiver rolls down my back.

Laini,

These are perfect. I will head to the market in the morning to fetch the supplies. Are we still on for tomorrow here at my place? Maybe after lunch hour?

Rom

Yes, and thanks for doing the shopping. I have to take Spark to the healer tomorrow morning, so that’s a big help.

I send the note, and it’s back again before I finish making a pot of chamomile and lavender tea.

What’s wrong with Spark?

I write back quickly.

He seems antsy. I just want her to check him out.

I hope he is all right. Let me know if you want a friend to join you. For anything you might be doing today or tomorrow. I can talk to Rustion if you need me.

A friend. That label hits like an arrow to my chest. But it shouldn’t. I write him back telling him I’ll be fine. He’s likely also referring to my statement that I would confront Tully. Pushing all those worries away for a bit, I make some cucumber sandwiches. to go with my tea. At the table, I dig into my little meal and watch the dancing flames in the hearth. I’m impressed that Leafshire has cucumbers this late in the year, but it has been a mild autumn, so I guess it makes sense.

When I’m finishing up and tidying, a scratch sounds at the door. It’s Spark. He’s back and looking messy but not unwell in any way. He runs a circle around my legs but then, panting, heads for his pile of quilts.

“You’re puzzling me, Sparkly Sparkson. We are going to the healer tomorrow to make sure you’re not sick. All right? ”

He huffs as if he thinks this is a dumb idea. I toss him the crust of my last sandwich, and he catches it neatly. He tosses his head as he gobbles it down. That’s normal for him, so maybe I’m fretting over nothing.