Chapter 6
Gavrel
Silence echoed through the manor house when I made my way downstairs at six, everyone still sleeping.
Except someone was awake.
Light spilled from under the kitchen door, and movement reached me from inside, the soft clink of dishes, the hiss of something cooking.
I pushed the door open.
Sammy stood at the stove, her back to me, her hair piled in a messy knot on top of her head with strands escaping everywhere. She wore leggings and an oversized sweatshirt that had seen better days, the kind of comfortable clothing people wore when they thought no one would see them.
She was humming a song I hadn’t heard before.
The scent hit me next. Eggs, butter, cinnamon. Something sweet and warm that made my belly rumble.
She twitched and turned. “Oh. You’re up.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine. I just…” She gestured at the stove with a spatula. “I wanted to make you breakfast as a thank you for yesterday. For helping with everything.”
I moved closer, noting the slices of bread soaking in a bowl of what looked like beaten eggs and milk. The griddle held two pieces already cooking, their edges golden brown.
“French toast,” she said, following my gaze. “I thought, you know, since you’re from France…” Pink stained her cheeks. “Which is silly. I know French toast isn’t actually French. Or if it is, I’m probably making it wrong.”
“It smells wonderful.”
“Really?” She turned back to the griddle, flipping the slices. “I added vanilla and a little orange zest. I hope that’s okay.”
“I’m sure it’ll be tasty.”
I watched her work, the confidence in her movements despite her uncertainty about the recipe. She’d gotten up early to cook for me. To thank me for things I’d wanted to do anyway.
The urge to touch her nearly overwhelmed me. What would she do if I stepped up behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and pressed my face into her hair to breathe in that floral scent?
Smack me, probably, and I’d deserve it.
Instead, I moved to the coffee maker. “May I make coffee?”
“Already done. First pot is finished.” She nodded toward the counter where two mugs sat waiting. “I remembered you take yours black too.”
I poured coffee for both of us, setting hers beside the stove where she could reach it. Our fingers brushed when she took the mug. That same spark shot through me again, the one that made my tail twitch against my leg.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
Footsteps thundered down the stairs. Corey burst into the kitchen still in his pajamas, his hair sticking up in every direction.
“I smelled cinnamon,” he said. “Are you making French toast? That’s my favorite.
Well, one of my favorites. I have a lot of favorites.
Hey, Gavrel. You’re up early. Do gargoyles need a lot of sleep?
I read that some animals sleep way more than humans, like cats sleep like sixteen hours a day, but other animals barely sleep at all, and—”
“Breathe, baby,” Sammy said, plating the French toast. “And good morning to you too.”
“Morning, Mom.” He climbed onto a stool at the counter. “Can Gavrel eat with us? Is there enough?”
“Of course there’s enough.” She brought over three plates, two with a couple of thick slices of French toast topped with butter and a dusting of powdered sugar, a third with four slices for me. A bottle of maple syrup followed. “Dig in.”
We sat.
Corey drowned his plate in syrup while launching into a story about something that had happened at school yesterday. I caught maybe half of it between bites.
The French toast tasted amazing. The bread had soaked up enough of the egg mixture without getting soggy, and the orange zest added a bright flavor that cut through the sweetness.
“This is excellent,” I said when Corey paused for a breath.
Sammy’s smile transformed her face. “You’re just being nice.”
“I’m being honest. My mother would approve.”
“Really?” She took a bite of her own food, chewing slowly. “I was worried it would be too sweet. Or not sweet enough. Or wrong somehow.”
“It’s not wrong. It’s very good.”
“You’ve got to make it this way all the time, Mom.” Corey kicked his legs against the stool. Maple syrup speckled his chin. “Mom knows how to cook everything. Even the frozen stuff if we’re in a hurry.”
“An impressive feat.”
“Right?” Corey grinned at his mother. “Are we going to tell him about the broccoli thing?”
“We are not.” Sammy pointed her fork at him. “That story stays in the vault.”
“But it’s funny—”
“Vault.”
He huffed, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. He turned to me. “Are you doing anything cool today? Are you going to carve more? Can I watch? Mom says I can’t use a chainsaw until I’m way older, but I could watch, right?”
“Corey, Gavrel might have his own plans,” she said.
I glanced her way. “I wondered if you might like to fly you to school this morning.”
Corey’s fork clattered to his plate. “Oh, yeah, that’s so sick. Can he fly me, Mom? Please, please, please? Riding in the car is boring.”
Sammy’s expression flickered, and I swore hurt crossed her face before she smoothed it away. “If Gavrel doesn’t mind, then yes. That would be fine.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
“Yes.” Corey pumped his fist in the air.
“This is going to be so sick. Wait till Jake hears about this. He’s going to be jealous.
Can we fly really high? We flew kind of low yesterday, and it wasn’t as fun as it could be.
I’m meaning all the way to the clouds. I want to touch them.
How fast can you go? Do you ever get tired and crash on the ground?
Or fall in the ocean. You’d get wet. Can gargoyles fly when their wings are wet? ”
“Finish your breakfast,” Sammy said. “You still need to get dressed and brush your teeth. Get your backpack ready.”
He shoved the rest of his French toast into his mouth and bolted from the room.
“Chew,” Sammy called after him. She shook her head. “Sorry. He gets excited.”
“It’s endearing.”
“That’s one word for it.” She picked up her coffee, cradling it in both hands. “You really don’t have to fly him. I know you’re being nice, but I’m sure you have other things to do this morning.”
“I want to. Truly. I was like him at that age, constantly wanting to run and fly with my brother. He…was more patient with me than I deserved.”
“I see.” She glanced down before looking up again. “He can’t have only me forever. It’s good for him to have other people in his life. Friends. Male influences.” She took a sip of coffee. “It’s really kind of you to spend time with him.”
I wanted to tell her she was enough. But the words stuck in my throat. How could I say any of that without crossing lines I wasn’t sure existed?
She set down her mug and got up to clear the plates. “I should wash the dishes and get ready too. The café won’t run itself.”
“I’ll clean up.”
“You’re taking Corey to school.” Her gaze shot to the clock. “I could help.”
“Let me.”
She blinked a moment before nodding. “Alright. Thanks.”
When Corey thundered back downstairs in his school clothes, she was waiting in the front hall. She kissed his forehead and reminded him about his homework folder. Then she stood in the doorway and watched us leave, her arms wrapped around her waist.
She looked small. Alone.
My wings rustled with the urge to go back, to pull her close and promise I wasn’t trying to take anything from her.
But I spread my wings and launched upward with Corey securely in my arms.
“This is amazing,” he shouted, his voice nearly lost in the wind. “We’re flying again. Look how small everything is. There’s our car. There’s the café. Mom looks tiny from up here.”
I glanced down. Sammy still stood on the porched, one hand raised in a wave. The distance made it impossible to read her expression.
“Is she okay?” Corey asked, following my gaze.
“She’s fine. Just watching to make sure you’re safe.”
“Oh.” He settled against my chest, his chatter resuming.
“You’re the coolest, you know that? Like, the absolute coolest. Can you teach me how to fly?
I know I don’t have wings, but maybe there’s a way?
Or could you just carry me places? That would be almost as good.
Will you stay forever? Because that would be awesome too.
You could fly me to school every day and help Mom with stuff, and we could all live together and be a family. ”
His words hit me square in the chest.
Forever. Family. As if I belonged in their lives permanently, not as a temporary guest passing through.
And the terrifying part was how much I wanted that.
I wanted to fly Corey to school every day. Then help Sammy with irrigation maintenance and heavy lifting and anything else she needed. Wake up to her humming in the kitchen, to Corey’s endless questions, and to the intimacy of shared meals and morning routines.
This wasn’t attraction, and I doubted it was simple desire or the novelty of a new place. This was something deeper, and it felt inevitable.
I landed in front of the school with five minutes to spare. Other kids were streaming in, but several stopped to stare at us.
“Whoa,” one boy said. “You got dropped off by a gargoyle?”
“This is Gavrel,” Corey said, his chest puffed with pride. “He’s my friend.”
Two simple words that made my throat close off tight.
I wanted to be his friend. No. I wanted to be more than that, a person he could count on, one who showed up and stayed.
“That’s so sick,” another kid said. “Can he do tricks?”
“I’m not a performing animal,” I said.
Corey laughed. “He’s funny too. Okay, I’ve got to go or I’ll be late. Thanks for the ride, Gavrel. Can you pick me up after school too?”
“If your mother approves.”
“She will. She likes you. I can tell.” He waved and ran toward the building, a cluster of kids trailing behind him.
I stood in the parking lot, watching until he disappeared inside.
She likes you. I can tell.
If only it was that simple.