Chapter Twenty
Calisa heard Mulligan before she saw him: humming a dirge, mixing and stirring.
Entering the kitchen, she found him at the butcher block island, creating a new concoction.
She was fully aware she was dragging her feet on calling her moms—they were not going to be happy that Calisa didn’t know where Auntie Zee was or that she’d kept it from them for so long—but despite all that, she smiled when she saw Mulligan. “Another attempt?”
“I had an idea! A new, brilliant, glorious idea that came as if on the wings of night, gliding softly over the mountains, to roost in my mind. If I can re-create the exact drink that Zef and I shared on the night we first met, he might wake.”
“I think that’s a beautiful idea.” She waffled for a half second, wondering if she was overstepping, but then placed the bottle from the Night Market on the counter anyway.
“I bought this for you. A new ingredient, possibly? I don’t know if it’ll work, and if you don’t want to try it, I promise that’s fine. I won’t be offended or anything.”
He lifted it up to the light and squinted at the liquid inside.
“The vendor who was selling it says it holds an emotion, specifically regret.”
Mulligan lowered the bottle and stared at Calisa.
Calisa felt herself flushing. Weakly, she said, “I was thinking of you and how you said you just needed to make Zef understand it was a mistake, and I thought you could combine it with your hot chocolate or love drink or whatever?”
He swallowed, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob in his thin throat.
“Or not.” She shouldn’t have bought the potion at all.
This really, really wasn’t her business.
She’d way overstepped this time, and she knew it.
It had been one thing to try to fix the inn when Auntie Zee thought it was pointless; it was another to meddle in a guest’s personal life, especially when it involved magic.
“It was just a thought. I don’t know how magic works or, really, anything about anything. ”
Mulligan let out a little chirp-squawk noise, bustled around the counter, and enfolded Calisa in his robe-clad arms. She felt as if she were being hugged by a giant bat.
His limbs were thin and bony, but the robe was voluminous.
When he released her, tears were streaming down the hollows of his cheeks.
“This will work,” he said. “I feel it.”
She felt herself smile. His intensity was…intense. “How can I help?”
Following his instructions, Calisa hand-shredded fresh mint leaves. He scurried around the kitchen, singing tunelessly and happily, as he gathered more ingredients: strawberries, sugar, club soda…He puréed the strawberries, forcing them through a mesh strainer.
“Tell me about Zef,” Calisa said as she inhaled the scent of mint and strawberry that filled the kitchen. “What do you like about him? I mean, when he’s not a gargoyle.”
Mulligan smiled, his eyes misty. “Zef, my Zef. He’s kind and gentle.
Once, a bat flew into our home, and he spent hours coaxing it down from the rafters with offers of fresh berries and aged cheese.
That bat dined like royalty.” He chuckled at the memory.
“It was only later we learned that the bat was royalty, third in line to the throne of Umbre. The succession line in that realm is based on prophecies, which means their rulers are occasionally animals. They use regents for the actual ruling, of course, but the bat or wolverine or hawk or what have you is given a luxurious life.”
“Huh.” So many questions.
He topped off the drink and then carefully poured it into a test tube–size vial of club soda.
“I believe it is nearly ready.” Holding it steady, he added the few drops from the purple glass bottle.
Only three drops. They swirled into the vial.
“I shall save the rest for a second attempt, if necessary.”
He then stared at the vial for a moment longer.
“Do you think it will work?” Calisa asked.
“If it does, I owe it all to you,” Mulligan said with a smile. It was a sad kind of smile, and she realized that in his heart, despite the tears of joy, he didn’t believe it would work. He’d tried so many times…but he kept trying, even with only the thinnest sliver of hope.
Softly, she asked, “How long has it been? Since Zef…” She trailed off, realizing she didn’t know the word for what had happened to his partner.
“Eternity.”
Oh.
He carried the vial out of the kitchen, and she, unsure if it was okay for her to follow, hesitated by the counter. From the lobby, he called, “If you would like to lend your support, I shall be glad of it.”
She hurried after him, passing Portia, who was curled up on the registration desk. The cat opened one eye as Calisa trotted by, then closed it.
“I didn’t know if you wanted privacy,” Calisa said to Mulligan.
“I have had too much of privacy.” He climbed the stairs. “It is companionship that I have missed. Zef and I…We used to be inseparable.”
With a half bow, he opened the door to his guest room and welcomed Calisa inside.
Thick black shades were drawn over the window, which—combined with all the black on the walls and the bed—made the room feel like a cave.
She wondered at the bat story and how Jack had said that Mulligan admired Dracula.
It was all a bit on the nose. She thought about asking if he drank blood too but decided that would be rude, especially after she’d clearly seen him drink hot chocolate.
Also, she’d seen him in the sitting room at teatime, which had made her previously dismiss the vampire theory, but had he ever been in direct sunlight?
Mulligan crossed immediately to the gargoyle, who was positioned beside the hearth on top of a golden pillow. “Zef, my love, it’s time to try again. Wake for me, please, I implore you. This is not the life I wanted for either of us. This is not what’s meant to be.”
Calisa saw the firebird float down the chimney and lower itself onto the logs. It burned silently, watching. She wondered if it observed everything that happened in the inn—and why. It felt a bit like a wordless, fiery cheerleader, urging them on.
The firebird crackled encouragingly as Mulligan lifted the vial to Zef’s fanged stony lips and poured. Calisa expected the liquid to drip down the gargoyle’s stone face, but it pooled in the cracks between his teeth and then was absorbed.
As the stone drank, the firebird held still, its feathers draped over one of the bits of wood in the hearth as if clutching it in anticipation. How many times had Mulligan tried, and how many times had the firebird served as witness? Please work, she thought at Zef. Wake up.
Mulligan rocked back on his heels. His hands were clasped in front of him, so tightly that she could see his knuckles and the veins raised blue against his pale skin.
Calisa studied the statue. She’d expected him to transform, like the Beast into a prince, or the frog into a prince, or Pinocchio into a real boy.
He did not.
But he did thaw.
The gray of his stone softened, and the pebbly surface seemed to smooth until it more closely resembled flesh.
The gargoyle’s clothes brightened into scarlets and emeralds as they changed from stone to cloth.
His face stayed gray and still looked caught between a monkey and a bat.
But his eyes, which were once blank and gray, changed: a black iris and white around it. His eyes fixed on Mulligan’s face.
Mulligan was sobbing silently. His shoulders shook. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Zef,” he croaked. “My Zef. I am so sorry. Please…I am so sorry. I have missed you so much, my friend, my love, my joy, my life.”
“Well then,” Zef said, his voice as gravelly as Calisa could have imagined, “you should have said so.”
Mulligan threw himself forward, his arms and robe wrapping around Zef.
The firebird flew up the chimney, and Calisa backed out of the room with a smile on her face. She felt dampness on her cheeks and lifted her fingers to touch tears.
I need to tell Jack.
We have a new guest.
She wished Auntie Zee were here to see this.
—
Calisa found herself standing in front of Auntie Zee’s door. She knew that the innkeeper wasn’t inside, but she wanted to knock anyway. Her great-aunt had missed Melidor planting her seedlings and Mulligan’s reunion with Zef. Who knew what she’d miss tomorrow? “Come back, please.”
It was time to call her moms. Way past time.
She’d delayed long enough. But it wasn’t like there was anything they could do—their most likely response would be to make Calisa come home, which wouldn’t help anything.
Calling them felt like giving up on not just Auntie Zee but also Jack and the inn and all the guests and all the potential future guests who could someday need this place.
She wished she could think of something else to try, some other way to reach Auntie Zee… .
“Ah, you’ve discovered the disaster too,” a clipped voice said behind her.
Calisa turned and saw Kendra at the top of the stairs.
Water was sloughing off her, pooling at her feet and then cascading down the staircase—far more water than if she’d come straight out of the shower.
It seemed to be emanating from her, as if her pores were faucets.
It welled up from her skin and flowed down her face, neck, and arms. It dripped off her fingers.
“I assumed it was merely my portal,” Kendra said, as if she weren’t a living fountain flooding the stairs. “But now that I see you here, in a near panic, I must surmise that mine is not the only portal that will not open.”
“What?” Calisa said.
It was, she admitted, not her finest reaction—but considering a guest was literally gushing water from her skin, it was the only one she could summon.