Page 4 of When the Weaver Met the Gargoyle

“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 littlebeastie…”

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 sayyes?”

“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 dragonsnout 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.