Running Witch by T. Thorn Coyle

Author:T. Thorn Coyle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: T. Thorn Coyle

15

“How long is this going to take?” I asked, setting down my lemonade.

“When did you grow so impatient, Sarah?” Cecilia asked.

“Since I borked my ankle and a gargoyle showed up in my shop.”

Stefon patted my shoulder.

“Not running makes her grumpy.”

I fake-growled at him but had to admit he was right.

“I get that,” Cecilia said. “I get grumpy if I don’t get my car out on the open road for a stretch at least once a week, don’t I, Toby?”

The hob smiled and nodded.

That made sense. In our own way, Cecilia and I both needed a sense of speed.

Finally, the sprites returned and perched on the chair back again.

“We don’t like grigs,” the green one—Rowena—said.

“I’m getting that impression,” I said. “You don’t like grigs, or gargoyles. Is it that you don’t like creatures whose names start with G? Ghouls? Ghosts? Gremlins? Godzilla?”

The gold sprite tilted her tiny head at me as if trying to figure out whether I was mocking her. I kept my face placid.

Rowena looked as if she’d like to bite my thumb. But she just hmphed, and then spoke up.

“Grigs will tell you that they just want you to have a good time. But really, they are meddlers and mischief makers.”

“Troublemakers!” the gold sprite said, stomping tiny feet. “Trouble, trouble, trouble!”

“And have you seen one around lately?” Cyrus asked.

“Yes.”

My head snapped to the left so hard, I felt my neck crack. Because it wasn’t a sprite that had spoken.

It was the gargoyle.

The stone creature shrank back against Stefon, who patted it reassuringly.

“It’s okay, buddy,” he said. “Tell us what you know.”

The gargoyle cleared its throat and turned his big dark eyes Toby’s way. “Might I trouble you for a spot of lemonade?”

Toby nodded and headed to the kitchen, returning with a tiny cup that he filled to the brim. The gargoyle drink thirstily.

“Thank you, kind being,” it said. “The man was right about the market.”

“What man?” Cecilia asked.

“Carlson,” I replied. “Frisbee dude.”

I turned back to the gargoyle. “That’s who you mean, right? The surfer at the inn?”

The gargoyle nodded. “I know not whether he rides the waves. But yes, the man at the inn. The troubled one. The one with the faery dust essence crowding his aura.”

“Faery dust?” The green sprite shrieked, flying at the gargoyle’s head. It ducked against Stefon’s chest.

Rowena perched on Stefon’s arm. Poor guy, he was getting to be a piece of magical creature furniture.

“What do you know?” she said. “Tell us. Tell us now.”

The gargoyle shook its head. “Please,” it moaned.

The green sprite rose back into the air, buzzing angrily.

“Say its name! We must get our revenge!”

Stefon spoke. “It might help if you let the gargoyle tell the story in its own time.”

The green sprite settled again, this time on the arm of Stefon’s chair as if it wanted to keep a close eye on the gargoyle.

“The grig acted as a scout, I think,” the gargoyle said, “and the bad man was using us as lookouts.”

“Bad man!” Rowena bristled. “The bad man stole our dust!”

“What man?” Uncle Cyrus asked.

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