Chapter Twelve
“The east tower is fucked.”
Redford stared at Malcolm’s text message, his coffee halfway to his lips. Outside, morning sunlight streamed through the cottage windows, deceptively cheerful after the storm from two nights before. Inside, his gargoyle stirred uneasily, already sensing something was wrong.
“What is it?” Damon appeared behind him, still rumpled from sleep, his hair sticking up in several directions.
“Malcolm says there’s damage to the east tower.” Redford set his coffee down, his appetite vanishing.
“What’s he even doing there? Didn’t he just have surgery?” Damon grabbed for the coffee Redford had already prepared for him.
“Apparently, he was worrying about it and decided he’d be ‘consulting’ on the repairs until he’s allowed to work himself. All I can think is he’s probably driving his wife nuts. But the tower…” Redford looked up, meeting Damon’s eyes. “Malcolm says it’s bad. We need to get over there.”
They dressed quickly and headed up to the castle. The path was littered with branches and debris, and puddles dotted the muddy ground. As they rounded the corner, Redford’s stomach dropped.
The east tower - the oldest and most historically significant part of Duncarrick Castle according to the stories told in the village - had taken a beating.
Large chunks of stone had fallen from the upper levels, scattered across the ground like broken teeth.
A massive crack ran down one side, splitting the tower from top to bottom.
The scaffolding they’d secured the night of the storm had held, but the tower itself...
“Hades’ garden.” Damon moved closer, tracking the damage. “That’s not good.”
Malcolm waited near the tower base, leaning heavily on crutches despite having surgery the day before. His wife hovered beside him, looking worried.
“You should be resting,” Redford said.
“I couldn’t stay away. I’ve been worried sick. You guys did a good job, but this…” Malcolm gestured at the tower with one crutch. “I’ve called Gordon – he’s the structural engineer we use for the tricky bits. He’ll be here within the hour.”
Redford’s gargoyle pressed against his skin, drawn to the damaged stone.
As he focused, it was as if he could hear the discordance in the stones.
Where there should’ve been harmony from the structure, now grated and clashed like a toddler banging on a dozen drum kits all at the same time.
He could feel the instability radiating through the structure.
“How bad is it?” Damon asked quietly, clearly picking up on Redford’s distress.
“Really bad.”
Gordon arrived forty minutes later, a stocky man with graying hair and sharp eyes that missed nothing.
He spent over an hour examining the tower, taking measurements, photographs, and core samples.
Malcolm and his wife left after the first half hour, Malcolm promising to return once he’d actually rested.
Redford and Damon waited in tense silence, watching Gordon work. Damon’s steady presence grounded Redford even as his gargoyle grew increasingly agitated.
Finally, Gordon climbed down from his ladder and approached them, his expression grim.
“Right, I’ll give it to you straight. That tower shouldn’t still be standing.”
Redford’s hands clenched into fists. “Meaning?”
“Meaning the storm didn’t just damage it - it revealed damage that was already there.
The foundation has been compromised for years, probably decades.
The mortar’s deteriorated beyond repair in several key load-bearing areas.
And that crack?” Gordon pointed at the split running down the tower’s face.
“That goes all the way through. The tower’s basically held together by luck and ivy roots at this point. ”
“Can it be repaired?” Damon asked.
“Theoretically, yes. But we’d be looking at extensive emergency stabilization first – steel supports, reinforcement beams, the works.
Then we’d need to essentially rebuild the tower from the inside out.
We’re talking hundreds of thousands of pounds and at least a year of work.
” Gordon shook his head. “And even then, I can’t guarantee it wouldn’t have issues down the line.
The foundation damage is genuinely that bad. ”
Redford’s gargoyle howled inside him. The tower, along with the castle, had weathered wars, rebellions, and centuries of Highland storms. And now, on his watch, it might fall.
“What’s the alternative?” Redford already knew the answer, but he had to hear it said.
“I would recommend a controlled demolition. It would need to be taken apart stone by stone, safely, before it falls down on its own.” Gordon’s voice softened. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but structurally speaking, it’s the safest option, and the most cost-effective by far.”
The cost wasn’t the issue, but knowing it could be a danger to others before it was fixed was.
After Gordon left with promises to send a detailed report within the hour, Redford stood staring at the tower.
The morning sun illuminated every crack, every gap where stones had fallen.
His gargoyle pressed insistently against his skin, desperate to touch the tower and to assess the damage for himself.
“You’re devastated.” Damon’s voice was quiet behind him.
“If I had come here sooner, if I’d paid attention when I first inherited this place…”
“Hey.” Damon moved to stand in front of him, forcing Redford to meet his eyes. “You inherited this castle five years ago and only just got here. The damage Gordon described? You heard him, it’s been building for decades. This isn’t your fault.”
“My gargoyle...” Redford struggled to articulate what he was feeling. “Stone is in our nature. We’re meant to protect it and preserve it. And I know this sounds totally weird, but this tower is singing all wrong. It’s in pain.”
“Then let’s look at it properly.” Damon glanced around to confirm they were alone. “Not as humans with human limitations, but as what we are.”
Redford’s gargoyle surged hopefully. “Gordon said it’s unstable. If we go inside…”
“We’ll be careful.” Damon touched his arm. “But you need to see for yourself, and I need to see what you’re seeing.”
The tower entrance was blocked by safety barriers Gordon had put up when he was investigating the site. Damon translocated them past the obstacles, and they stood in the dim interior.
Redford let his gargoyle rise closer to the surface, not quite shifting but allowing his senses to sharpen. Now he was focused on it, the tower’s song grew louder, and he could hear every discordant note, every place where stones had shifted out of alignment or mortar had crumbled away.
“Show me what you’re sensing,” Damon said.
Redford placed his hand against the wall, his senses flowed through the stone, tracing every crack and weakness. “Here. This section of wall…the foundation has settled unevenly. The stones are bearing weight they were never meant to carry.”
He moved deeper into the tower, Damon following close behind. “And here, the mortar’s gone completely. These stones are just...sitting on each other. It’s sheer luck they haven’t fallen before. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry when the storm was coming…”
“There’s no point in worrying what you might have done. Let’s deal with what’s in front of us now.”
They climbed the old spiral staircase, testing each step carefully. On the second level, Redford stopped at the massive crack they’d seen from outside. Up close, it was even worse. He could see clear through to the other side in places.
“This is where the tower’s trying to split apart.” Redford traced the crack with his fingers. “The two sides are pulling in different directions because the foundation’s unstable.”
“Can you feel how deep it goes?”
Redford pressed both palms against the stone, letting his magic sink deeper.
His awareness spread through the tower like roots through soil, following every fracture, every fault line.
The tower was riddled with damage, layers upon layers of it.
Gordon was right - it was a miracle the structure was still standing.
But underneath all that damage, beneath centuries of neglect and weathering, Redford could feel something else. The bones of the tower were still good. The original builders had known their craft. The stone itself was solid granite, so it was strong and meant to last. If they could just...
“What are you thinking?” Damon asked, clearly sensing the shift in Redford’s emotions.
“The foundation is the core problem. Everything else stems from that.” Redford pulled his hands back, his mind racing. “If we could reinforce the foundation properly and stabilize it, then the rest might be salvageable.”
“Gordon said the foundation damage was too severe.”
“For humans working with human methods, yes.” Redford turned to face his mate. “But I’m a gargoyle and stone is my element. And you’re a hellhound who can translocate materials from anywhere in the world.”
Damon’s eyes widened. “You think we could fix this ourselves?”
“I think...” Redford looked around the damaged tower, his gargoyle brimming with the possibilities instead of despair.
“I think I could use my magic to essentially knit the foundation back together. Realign the stones, seal the cracks, and restore the structural integrity. But I’d need the right materials – specialized mortar, reinforcement elements, maybe some replacement stones. ”
“Which I could source and translocate here.” Damon grinned. “No shipping delays, no delivery schedules. Just point me at what you need.”
“It would take time - weeks, maybe months. And we couldn’t let anyone see what we’re really doing.”