For a moment, just a moment, I think Jaxon is going to follow up on the feelings I don’t even try to hide, his midnight eyes turning to a deep, unrelenting black as his jaw goes tight.
But then the moment passes, and I can see him make the choice to let the tension, and everything that comes with it, slip away.
I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed. Probably a little bit of both. But when Jaxon takes a very deliberate step back, physically and emotionally, it seems only fair to go with it.
“So.” He grins down at me. “What sound does a gargoyle make when he sneezes?”
“A gargoyle joke? Seriously?” I roll my eyes at him.
He laughs. “What, too soon?”
He looks so pleased with himself that I can’t deny him anything. “No, go ahead.”
“What does a gargoyle say when he sneezes?”
I eye him warily. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Stat-choo!”
“Oh my God. That’s awful.”
He grins. “I know, right? Want to hear another one?”
“I don’t know,” I answer, skepticism ripe in my voice. “Do I?”
“You do.” He squeezes my hand. “Why don’t gargoyles go out during the day?”
“I don’t want to know.” I brace for his answer.
“Because they’re too stoned.”
“Oh my God!” I make a face at him. “That one was bad.”
“It was awful,” he agrees.
“And you obviously loved it. I’ve created a monster,” I tease, shaking my head in mock horror as I lean into him.
But Jaxon’s eyes are shadowed now, the laughter slipping away as easily as it came.
“No.” Jaxon watches me with an intensity that shakes me to my very bones. “I’ve always been a monster, Grace. You’re the one who’s made me human.”
My stomach sinks like a stone.
Because while Jaxon is definitely becoming more human…I’m deathly afraid that I’m turning into the real monster at Katmere Academy.
23
Saturday Morning
Cartoons Never
Prepared Me
for This
Jaxon’s words stay with me all day, melting me whenever I think about them. About him. Making me more determined than ever to find my way back to him, fully.
With that thought in mind, I decide to skip lunch—both Jaxon and Macy have study-group plans anyway—and head straight for the library, where I’ll have a couple of hours of uninterrupted time to research gargoyles.
To research myself.
Which I really, really need to do, considering my knowledge on the subject is incredibly limited. And when I googled them last night, all I got was an architecture lesson when what I really need to know is why I am apparently prone to bloody attacks and amnesia.
I should probably set up an appointment with Mr. Damasen, see what information he can give me on gargoyles that doesn’t involve pages upon pages about how they’re really good waterspouts and gutters.
I mean, I didn’t know that much about vampires, dragons, or witches when I got here, but I had a basic understanding of what they were and how things worked for them—though Jaxon, Macy, and Flint have still blown my mind on several occasions.
But gargoyles? I’ve got almost nothing. Except that they don’t seem to like vampires much.
In fact, the extent of my knowledge about myself pretty much comes from studying the Cathedral of Notre-Dame in art class and from what I can remember of the Gargoyles TV show reruns I watched when I was little. My mom always got a little agitated when she found me watching that show… Now I can’t help but wonder if it’s because she and my dad knew what was coming.
It’s a horrible thought—the idea that my parents deliberately kept who I really am from me my whole life—so I shove it to the back of my head and force myself not to think about it. Because learning that I’m a gargoyle is bad enough. Learning that my parents didn’t care enough to prepare me for this? That’s unforgivable.
Or it would be if they were alive. Now that they’re dead…I don’t know. Something else to go in my growing “Shit I Don’t Have Time for Today” folder. Because dwelling on it now definitely isn’t going to help me.
Instead, I paste a huge smile on my face—a smile that I’m far from feeling right now—and walk straight up to the circulation desk in the center of the library.
Amka is there, thankfully, and she smiles at me just as widely—hers looks genuine, though, which is nice. “Grace! It’s so good to have you back.” She reaches across the desk and squeezes my hand. “How are you?”