And totally unharmed.” His fingers curled under themselves, and I looked away. “Where is my coffee!” he bellowed, and I jumped.
Jenks darted from my shoulder, wings rasping. “Bis is comatose without his soul,” Jenks said, hovering belligerently in front of Al. “But yeah, she’s unharmed. You demon weenie.”
“Bis?” Al said, and steeling myself against the heartache, I looked down at him curled in my lap. He looked as if he was sleeping, and it hurt.
Damn it, I’m not going to cry in front of Al, I thought as I pulled myself together. “His soul is right here,” I said, focusing on the blue bottle instead. “It’s mixed up with the baku’s. Bis dragged it in there with him. Is there any way to separate them?”
Al peered at me over his glasses, a familiar, angry glint in his eyes. “You caught it by sacrificing your gargoyle?”
My chin lifted. “Seriously? You seriously think I asked Bis to do this? He did it on his own before I could tell him to stop.” I hesitated. “Is there any way to separate them?”
Hope stirred, but it was short-lived as Al looked at the bottle, his goat-slitted eyes unreadable as he touched Bis’s head with a finger and shook his head. My throat grew a lump. “His body slumbers. Curious.”
I stifled a flash of anger, but it was Jenks who rose up, almost snarling. “Curious, hell. Can you separate his soul from the baku or not?”
Al shot a peeved look at Jenks, then softened. “I don’t know. The baku makes things difficult. You won’t find anyone in the collective eager to try. We’ve all lost kin to it. Ah, here’s my coffee. Thank you . . . Zack, is it?” He grinned, but it looked forced. “I do enjoy being served by elves. It makes one feel so alive.”
Frowning, Zack backed up, returning to the counter as Mark called for him.
“Don’t listen to him, Rache,” Jenks said, again on my shoulder. “We’ll get Bis back.”
I blinked fast as I shifted my hand, and Bis’s tail tightened about it.
Al cocked his head, clearly surprised at the band of white around my finger. “Keep him safe. I’ve never seen such a reaction from a body without a soul.”
“I will.” My hand curved more protectively about him.
“We both will,” Jenks added, and Al sat back, apparently satisfied as the door chimes jingled and Ivy and Glenn came in.
“Rachel, I’m sorry about Bis. I should have spelled Weast with his own magic and made him listen,” Glenn said as he and Ivy crossed the coffee shop. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Thanks, no,” I whispered, and my shoulder went warm from Jenks’s dust.
“Condolences are not required,” Al said as Ivy sat at the far end of the table and pulled her coffee close. “The world breaker lives. We will find a way to bring his soul home.”
I grimaced, but damn my dame if I didn’t feel better with Al’s thin promise. “I don’t know what I’m going to say to his father,” I said.
“Etude?” Al’s eyes tracked Mark bringing Glenn his coffee. “Tell him you’re working on it. Bis is stronger than he ought to be because of you. But I think Etude will thank you.”
A surprised burst of dust slipped down my shoulder, and I almost choked on my drink. “For letting his son sacrifice his soul to save me?” I blurted, and Ivy slipped me a napkin.
Al’s shoulders lifted and fell as his gaze went distant out into the sunny parking lot. “It’s long been a question if gargoyles—having been created by demons—possessed a soul. Bis has proved that they do. If he didn’t, the baku would have not been snared and bottled.” Al’s eyes came back to me, and I read the truth in them. “Bis has given his entire species a great comfort. And as I say, we will work to free him.”
I took a slow breath, feeling it shake as I exhaled. Al thought it was possible. Hell, he thought it more than possible. And until then, I would keep him safe. Both Jenks and I would.
“No one in the collective will help.” Al stared at Bis’s tail for a moment, then returned his attention to his coffee. “Still, there are texts lying about no one has looked at for thousands of years.” He hesitated, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Hodin might.”
“Really?” I blurted, and then Al pushed back from the table, standing to slam his fists on the top to make Jenks ink