“And?”
“I told Styx to keep his meddling nose out of Commission business.”
She hid her hands behind her back so Siljar couldn’t see she was clenching them in frustration.
“Which, of course, was the perfect guarantee to make sure he meddles,” she murmured softly.
“Naturally.”
Nefri didn’t miss the hint of satisfaction in her companion’s voice. “What is it that you’re not telling me?”
“In good time.”
“Siljar.”
Intent on discovering what disaster she was being forced to walk into, Nefri nearly lost her legendary calm when two small shapes abruptly appeared directly beside her.
Good . . . lord. There’d been no shift in air pressure that would warn of an opening portal, or a prickle of heat that usually went along with magic.
Just two creatures stepping out of thin air.
Taking an instinctive step back, Nefri assessed the danger of the intruders. One was obviously related to Siljar. Actually, she was nearly a replica with the same heart-shaped face and large black eyes. Only her hair was blond rather than silver and her eyes lacked the solemn wisdom of the Oracle.
Her companion, on the other hand, who was barely three feet tall, was obviously a gargoyle despite the fact he had large, gossamer wings that shimmered in shades of crimson and blue with gold veins. His features were suitably gargoyle-ish with gray eyes and a pair of stunted horns.
This had to be the infamous Levet, she silently acknowledged.
The gargoyle who’d been vital in destroying the Dark Lord while she’d been unconscious. Although at the moment he looked more like a petulant child, with his wings drooping and his tail twitching while the younger version of Siljar shook a finger in his face.
“I told you that it’s too soon for you to leave your bed,” she chastised, clearly continuing a long-standing argument. “Mother, would you tell him?”
The Oracle heaved the sort of sigh that could only come from a mother. “Yannah, how many times have I warned you not to interrupt when I have company?”
So, this was Siljar’s daughter, Nefri realized, her unease shifting to a wry amusement.
Yannah turned her head to glower at her mother, but her finger remained pointed in Levet’s face. “He won’t listen to me.”
“Well, dear, he is a male,” Siljar soothed. “They rarely listen to good sense. It has something to do with their unbalanced hormones.”
The gargoyle’s long tail snapped at the insult. “Hey, I am standing right here.”
Siljar sent him a confused glance. “Yes, I know. You are not invisible.”
Levet sniffed. “I am also not un bébé.”
Yannah turned back, her hands planted on her hips. “You were nearly killed.”
“And now I am well.” Levet lifted his hands. “Voilà.”
“You’re still weak.”
“Weak?” The gargoyle went rigid, manly outrage tightening his ugly features. “I have the strength of a . . . of a . . . very large and very dangerous demon. And my magic is formidable .” He lifted his hands. “Shall I demonstrate?”
“No!” Siljar and Yannah cried in unison.
“Fine, then stop saying that I am weak,” Levet muttered.
Belatedly accepting that the tiny gargoyle possessed the same bullheaded temperament as every other male, Yannah allowed her lower lip to quiver. “Why don’t you just admit the truth?”