you give a lesson in gargoyles.”
“Relax. That thing’s not gonna hurt you.”
The burning in Cole’s scars grew hotter, but not quickly. Cecile was either circling the town or trying to approach without being seen.
Jessup stepped up to the statue and ran his fingertips along the smooth patch on the horse’s back. “See, gargoyles are lurkers. They can hide damn near anywhere and you won’t ever find them unless you know exactly where to look. Just because you see a sculpture that looks creepy don’t make it a gargoyle.”
“This cold in my scars tells me they’re here, right?”
“Yep.” Drawing a hunting knife from a scabbard hanging from his belt, Jessup drove the tip into the smooth patch of rock along the horse’s back and started chipping it away. “But the tricky thing is that they’re damn near impossible to chase, so you gotta make them come to you. Can you guess the one thing a gargoyle don’t like more than anything else in the world?”
The club in Cole’s hand grew into a short stake before the bottom end extended and split into something that resembled a thick forked tongue. Not even noticing that he’d instinctually created a smaller version of his spear, he circled around to get behind the statue and said, “I would imagine they hate it when someone comes along to jam a knife in their back.”
“Well, yeah, but remember what I said about them bein’ lurkers. What every lurker wants is to hide and lurk in peace. What they hate is when someone knows they’re there. And this stuff right here,” he said, after the tip of his blade chipped off a piece of the statue that fell away like a small section of eggshell, “is one of the things that lets them know they’ve been found out.”
Cole tightened his grip on the club. His eyes were fixed upon the statue, waiting for it to move or balk at getting a piece of its back torn off. When that didn’t happen, he inched in for a closer look at the damage Jessup had done. Whatever the thing was, it sure as hell wasn’t a statue. Beneath the chipped portion was leathery muscle covered in a slimy layer of thick, pungent slime.
“Aw shit,” Cole grunted as the putrid smell of rotten meat and spoiled rust hit him. “That’s blood, all right.”
“It sure is. What’d you expect?”
The burning in his scars was growing, but not quick enough to mean that Cecile was on her way to the cemetery using anything close to a direct route. In the distance to the north, the sound of screeching tires, honking horns, and shouting voices rolled through the air.
“God damn it,” Cole said while bringing the club up to a defensive position. “You think she found Frank? What if she lost control and took out some locals?”
“She could’ve done that with or without us lookin’ after her,” Jessup mused. When a whistling shriek drifted overhead, he didn’t even bother looking up.
“What the hell was that?” Cole asked.
“Just stand still and wait for them.”
Cole wished he had the gun from Jessup’s glove compartment. As the screeching came again, it raked all the way through his body.
The chipped statue was bleeding.
Shrieking came from several different angles in the sky. Sunlight was fading into a dull glow that gave the other statues an aura.
“I think that one just moved!” Cole said, pointing the club at a nearby dog statue.
“No it didn’t.”
The shrieking grew louder.
“What is that crap you dug out of that thing’s back, Jessup? Is that gargoyle going to wake up or not?”
“Shut up! I told you we need to wait for them. They won’t come if we’re looking for them.”
“Spare me the predator prey bullshit and just tell me what the fuck these statues are supposed to do for us!”
“Shut up so I can listen, dammit,” Jessup barked.
“Are there more cemeteries around here?” Cole asked. “Or churches? Where else do you find gargoyle perches? Just tell me what I need to know!”
“What the hell is wrong with you, Cole?”
Cole’s blood surged through his veins in a sporadic mix of fast and slow rhythms. It pumped in time to his heartbeat at first, but the longer he paid attention to it, the more he realized it was moving at a pace all its own. His first thought drifted to the tendrils still wrapped around his insides, and when he looked down, he realized he was pointing the sharpened end of the club at Jessup.
The older man’s