The Last Gargoyle by Paul Durham

Author:Paul Durham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2018-01-09T00:00:00+00:00

I’m curled up at the foot of Hetty’s bed. I can tell by the gentle rise and fall of her comforter that she’s finally drifted off, her breathing quiet and steady. Traffic has died down outside and the noise machine churns along, doing an admirable job of filtering exterior distractions. I’ve been on high alert for hours, and yet nothing unusual has disturbed us. As ominous as the purple journal smelled, I’m fairly certain it’s not about to grow fangs and chew its way out of the desk drawer.

Hetty’s peaceful slumber is contagious and I find my eyelids growing heavy. I don’t normally sleep at night; my resting hours come after sunrise. It’s a bit of a job requirement. But I haven’t closed my eyes in several days, my excursions with Viola consuming my usual naptime.

It’s a good thing I’m a tireless guardian. An indefatigable sentry. Those are fancy ways to say I never sleep on the job.

So as you might imagine, I’m a bit flustered when I’m awoken several hours later by a strange clatter in Hetty’s room. I leap to my feet—or canine paws, actually.

Fortunately, the noise is just the old radiator. It rattles like mice in a metal exercise wheel, then hisses a puff of steam from its release valve.

Hetty is still in her bed, although her covers are rumpled in an untidy pile. My eyes dart around the room and I see that her bedroom door is slightly ajar. It seems she’s been up and about and I slept right through it.

My paws hit the floor silently and I wedge my nose into the crack of the door, easing it open just wide enough to squeeze through. As a precaution, I creep down the hall to investigate what she’s been up to, expecting to find the remains of a late-night snack or some other harmless evidence of her nocturnal wandering. Instead, I find something more troubling.

The apartment door is open, the dead bolt loose. Just like the other night when I discovered the Netherkin in the elevator. I quickly glance around the kitchen, but there’s no one else here. I peek past the door and find the building’s hallway empty too. Maybe the lock’s broken. Mamita should really have a word with the superintendent. Then again, is it possible Hetty opened it herself? Whatever the reason, I nudge it shut with my snout and head back down the hall.

When I’m halfway to the bedroom, my body tenses in alarm. The sensation of claws on a chalkboard crawls up my spine. I break into a run.

I burst inside. Hetty is still asleep, but she’s tossing and turning. Her bare feet have kicked off the blanket and sheets. The room seems empty, but it’s alive—dancing with a dangerous energy. I hear an unfamiliar sound. Not the radiator this time—it’s the electric noise machine. The steady scratch of its tone has gone choppy. Somewhere, hidden within the static of the white noise, is a low bass throb. Just a hint of a voice.

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