Grim Discovery by Amanda M. Lee

Author:Amanda M. Lee [Lee, Amanda M.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Occult, Horror, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: WinchesterShaw Publications
Published: 2015-10-05T07:00:00+00:00

“HOW was dinner, Bug? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it, but I had a couple come in for a wedding consultation and they were clueless.” Jerry sat on the couch, his eyes trained on the television, his feet – pink toe separators in place – resting on the coffee table. He’d obviously just given himself a pedicure. “Is Aidan on his way?”

“I’m sure he is,” I said, holding the door open so the gargoyle could pad inside. On all fours he looked like some horror movie monstrosity. I couldn’t hold a conversation outside in case someone saw it and thought I was mistreating a dog – or doing horrible human and fly mutations in the basement – so I had no choice but to let him into the house.

“What are you doing?” Jerry asked, tilting his head to the side. “What are you looking at … oh, holy hell, what is that? Tell me that’s not a bat!”

“It’s not a bat,” I said, dropping my purse on the table and hobbling into the living room. My already-sore hip throbbed after I had been yet again tossed to the ground. I started to think I would need a hip replacement by the age of thirty.

“Why does everyone think I’m a bat?”

“It talks!” Jerry pointed at our guest, his finger shaking. “How can a bat talk?”

“If you call me a bat one more time I’ll mess up that pretty nail polish you’re trying so hard to keep neat,” the gargoyle snapped.

“Don’t threaten him,” I warned, flicking the gargoyle’s pointed ear and cringing. He felt kind like mushy stone. “Are you the same kind of gargoyle I see on top of buildings and in front of those dilapidated old hotels down in Detroit?”

“Stop encouraging that … bat … to talk,” Jerry hissed. “You can’t keep that thing, by the way. We agreed when we moved in together: No pets.”

I made a face. “If I remember correctly, I made that rule because I was convinced you were going to adopt some rat dog and dress it up in sweaters,” I reminded him. “Trust me. I do not want this creepy little … gargoyle … to be a pet. Although … do you do tricks? I’ve got a lifelong nemesis who I would love for you to dive bomb.”

“Shoo, little bat,” Jerry said, waving with his hands as he steadfastly refused to move his feet. “I’m sure there’s some nice farm in the Upper Peninsula where you could find a permanent home.”

“I’m not bat, you … poof!”

“Hey! Don’t you dare call him that,” I snapped. “It’s not his fault. We’ve never seen a talking dog-owl.”

“I’m a gargoyle!”

“You keep saying that, but I’m pretty sure they’re not real – except as architectural details,” I said, moving toward the refrigerator for a can of soda. “Do you want something to drink, Bruce?”

“Who the hell is Bruce?” The gargoyle sounded like my father after spending twenty minutes arguing politics with me. He was just that irritated.

“You look like a mutant bat,” I said.

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