Chapter 3
Winona
I’m a flesh ball of anxiety when the harpy unloads me at the entrance of Slate Manor a week later. Part bird, part woman, the monster arrived at my home that morning saying she was under instructions to transport me. “Lord Avandair’s orders,” she proclaimed with a lopsided smile.
Papa scrunched his nose at her in disgust. He doesn’t like her kind ever since one of them disfigured his chest with her claws when he tried to force her into sexual intercourse with him in the red-light district.
“Take ‘er and be gone.” He pushed me to the creature who banded her arms around me, mouth spit in a sharp smile, her teeth protruding over her lips like white knives. Without warning, she bulleted upward, dragging my body with her. The journey was short, scary, and nauseating, thanks to the speed.
Harpies are monsters, too, but they’re not as powerful as gargoyles.
Due to their ability to fly, they can transport people and objects to the high perches that gargoyles seem to prefer.
The harpy works for Lord Avandair. The silver plate hanging around her neck bears the crest of the Avandair family, exhibiting her loyalty to the clan.
Every noble family employs at least a few harpies to ensure the seamless movement of goods and people to their homes.
“That was quick.” I rub my grown, trying to get dirt off it. The harpy hurled me into the dusty ground the moment we landed.
“You’re smart to be scared.” She cackles in a grating voice. Angling her beak-like nose upward at the huge windows of the mansion, she adds, “A fussy gargoyle, that one. Who knows? He might behead you if you leave dust on his precious statues. Make sure you clean well.”
Her laughter crescendos. Tears drip from her eyes like she’s amused at her own prediction. The worst part is, I can’t tell if she’s serious or not.
“I’ll do a good job,” I say. It’s not like I didn’t cook or clean before. I’m used to the chores. However, I imagine it will be quite different here since Slate Mansion is twenty times as big as my house used to be.
I sigh, following the harpy’s silhouette as it descends down the mountain. I’m left standing alone at the peak, inches away from my new home.
The monolith of gold-veined black marble intimidates me with its towering height.
Windows have been carved out of the stone, and thick glass placed in holes cut out as part of a larger pattern.
They resemble cathedral windows, grand and arched.
The door is wooden, but it’s as long as my entire house used to be.
The gargoyle-shaped golden door knocker is thick and heavy.
I lift it with great effort, then allow it to slam with a loud bang. My presence announced, I wait for somebody to open the door and let me in.
I never expect that person to be Lord Avandair himself.
Up close, he’s equal measures menacing and awe-inspiring.
His skin is smooth with no blemishes or discolorations, only gray stone polished to smooth perfection.
Magic and myth run through his veins, causing his whole body to glow with an otherworldly radiance that bursts through the gray stone skin. I’m captivated by the glow.
His face bears an astonishing array of delights, from the thin aristocratic nose, the delicate philtrum, and handsome cheekbones to the full, luscious lips that are arranged in a cold, formal line.
But it’s his eyes that I can’t get over.
Honey-hued and bright, they contrast against his skin, adding to his mystical appeal.
Every pore in my body registers that I’m the presence of something that’s not human, a creature that’s part of fairytales.
A gargoyle.
The automatic parting of my lips doesn’t surprise me. Who could retain their cool composure when faced with a monster so breathtaking?
My sharp inhale morphs into a cough when cold air stabs my throat. I melt in humiliation. It’s my first meeting with Lord Avandair and I’ve coughed on his face.
“Sorry I didn’t mean to,” I apologize in a distressed voice, drawing back with my hands clasped in front of me.
“Go in,” Avandair urges in his raspy voice that sounds like flint scratching against flint.
His body pulls back to create enough space for me to enter. I brush past him. An electric current seizes me. His presence is like a cloud of smoke that follows me around. I can’t ignore it.
Shrinking myself, I pass through the space, emerging into the opulent interiors of Slate Manor…which are not as opulent as I thought.
The mansion is mostly bare, though it’s unimaginably vast.
“We are short-staffed.” He answers my silent question. “Townspeople don’t care to work for me. That’s why I had to resort to buying maids.”
There’s a faint edge of humor underneath the heaviness, a trace of sorrow that pulls at my nerves. I don’t relax or attempt to respond. For better or for worse, Lord Avandair is my employer now, and I must make sure he’s satisfied with my work.
I stand there, looking around, listening for the inhuman echoes in the hallways of the giant mansion. It’s bare and stark with no signs of softness. No carpets. No cushions or velvet upholstered sofas and divans. Nothing to lessen the severity of the stone.
Only golden busts and sculptures of his gargoyle ancestors are arranged in neat lines along the hallway breaking up the monotone of black. Each statue carries a lighted candle, illuminating our path.
“Well, at least it will be easy to clean this place since it has no furniture,” I muse.
Lord Avendair stills. “You thought I’d make you clean the whole manor? That would make me a real monster.” He swings his head up and down. “You’re one a tiny woman. This house requires an army for its upkeep.”
My worry morphs into confusion. “Then what do you need me to do, my lord?”
“Cook,” he replies. “Two hot meals a day. I wake up too late for breakfast but I’ll expect supper at one and dinner at seven. If you have time left over, then you can try replacing the candles on the statues.”
I clutch my skirts tightly, taking comfort in the rough cotton fabric. It’s the only familiar thing in this unfamiliar world that I’ve stepped into. Though I’m his maid, I have never been around monsters much so I lack awareness of basic things, like what they eat.
“What sort of food do gargoyles prefer?” I inquire, genuinely intrigued.
“The same kind humans do,” Lord Avandair replies. “The harpies I employ will deliver fresh meat, fruits, vegetables, and groceries every morning. If you provide them a list, they’ll arrange for the items by the next day.”
“I’ll have to start planning the menu, then,” I mutter, mind whirring with ideas. Lord Avandair is wealthy which means I can use premium ingredients and make dishes that I could only have dreamed of cooking.
My pulse gives an excited jerk at the thought of expanding my culinary expertise and playing with new recipes.
Compared to cleaning and ironing, I love cooking.
It suits my creative temperament as well as my desire to nourish myself and other people.
Despite how stingy Papa is with compliments, he always praised my food.
I hope I can impress Lord Avandair tomorrow. I’m going to make a big splash with a grand menu. I’ll start off with leek and ham soup coupled with potato pudding. Then for the mains, I’ll serve roast chicken, fish pie, curried parsnips, honey-glazed potatoes, and plum pudding.
I follow Lord Avandair as the stalks through the exalted corridor. We turn, and he opens the first door.
“This is your room. It has a bed and other amenities you might need. You can bathe and relieve yourself using the copper bathtub and chamber pot inside.” He waits for me to step in before he shuts the door. “This will be your home now.”
I drag in a shaky breath. Reality has suddenly hit me. I’ve been exiled from the only home I’ve known, sent out to serve a gargoyle lord until I’m old and dead.
But the room before me is hardly a prison. In fact, it’s utterly luxurious. Too much for a maid. The bed is big enough for two. Thick, soft mattresses and quilts are laid on top, their covers embroidered with yellow flowers. Not even my covers back home had any embroidery.
There’s a wooden desk beside the bed, stocked with paper, inkpots, and quills. I wonder what Lord Avandair expects me to write. His correspondence, perhaps?
What shocks me, though, is the huge, grand bathtub made of copper that occupies one side along with a chamber pot. I could have long, luxurious baths here if I chose to. Though I imagine my days will be eaten up by work.
“My lord, you are truly generous,” I say.
“It’s the least I could do considering you’ve left your family to come here.”
When he says that I realize I don’t miss my family. Not at all. Papa was more of a burden than a source of comfort and living in fear of his frequent drunken outbursts was starting to become tiring. At least here I will enjoy solitude.
But…the tiny string of hope in my stomach tightens.
Even though I have no friends, no bonds, no connections tethering me to the town, I always hoped that someday, I would be able to find a dashing, kind man who’d fall in love with me.
We’d build a happy family together full of healthy kids and the sort of adoration for each other that only exists in fairytales.
As long as I stay in Slate Manor, that dream will never come true.
Serving the gargoyle lord must come first. Robbed of the ability to freely move around town, my chances of meeting and falling in love with my dream gent are slim.
“Something wrong, Little Butterfly?” he whispers, my silence betraying my inner turmoil.
“Nothing, my lord.”
“If you need anything, you only have to ask me. I’m not cruel. I won’t deny you anything.”
“Then can I go to town?” My throat flexes. “To hand-pick the best produce for your meals, of course. I don’t trust the harpies.”