Mated to the Gargoyle: Mated to the Monster

Chapter 1

WhenI saw a lady frantically trying to access the special collections room, I marched over. What did she think she was doing? The sign read, “Restricted. StaffOnly,” and the library was small enough that I’d know if she worked here. The blonde with the messy bun continued to press random buttons on the keypad and turn the door handle, but the door didn’t budge. Of course not, it was locked. Did she think it would magically open on the next attempt?

Ihuffed as I reached her. “Excuse me, can I help you?” My tone was more a reprimand than an offer to help.

Sheturned to me with a book clutched to her chest and a panicked expression. Beneath her black glasses, her pale green eyes fixed on me and widened.

“Are you Anya?” she asked, her voice trembling and barely above a whisper.

Irecoiled in surprise. How did this stranger know my name? “Yes.” I tilted my head as I studied her. I’d swear I’d never seen her before, and yet something about her was familiar. She was approximately in her mid-twenties, like me. “DoI know you?”

Hergaze darted from one end of the library to the other. She thrust the book into my arms. “Hide this in a safe place. Please. It’s very important.”

“What?” I gaped as my hands wrapped around the heavy book. As she rushed away from me, I called after her, “Hey. Who are you? Where did you get this from?”

Shepaused and glanced over her shoulder, her fear-filled eyes imploring mine. “I can’t explain now. Don’t let him get it. I beg you.” Then she rushed out of one of the library’s massive doors.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered.

Iglanced down at the leather-bound book in my hands, which was carved with spiral designs and decorated with multicolored gems that sparkled beneath the overhead light. No title, no author, no description on the back cover.

WhenI opened the book, my mouth dropped open. It wasn’t what I expected with typographic printing, as I’d seen printed on the pages of thousands of books. No, this one was unique. The parchment appeared delicate, and the ink added by hand. Illustrated pictures were drawn in different colors. And what was written on the page appeared to be—spells.

Thatcouldn’t be accurate, could it? I carefully flipped through more pages and gaped at instructions written in different languages, and I only recognized some of the words. With the steps involved and the accompanying illustrations of hearts, amulets, and other various objects, I guessed them to be spells for love and protection, among other things. The vibrant ink itself seemed to almost hover above the parchment as if it, too, was—magic.

Whateverthat strange woman’s reasons for bringing it here, no doubt this book was valuable. It might require special handling. It deserved to be locked up in the special collections room until I had a chance to examine it in more detail. The library was closing in an hour, and I’d take a closer look then.

Ipunched in my code to access the temperature-controlled room and then turned the handle. It opened. Fancy that, it responded to the proper credentials rather than the frantic number punching the blonde woman had tried.

Onceinside, I inhaled. I loved the scent of old books. Many were stacked upright on long floor-to-ceiling bookshelves where we could only access the upper shelves using a rolling ladder. Some were so old and fragile they were locked under glass. Where should I shelve this for now? I scanned for an empty space and found one on a low shelf near the entrance that I could easily retrieve the book after closing.

WhenI returned to my desk on the second floor above, my supervisor, Robert, was busy with patrons at the reference desk. I wanted to tell him about the woman and the book, but didn’t get a chance. He liked to talk, so his conversations lasted much longer than necessary as he generally turned a quick question and answer into a long discussion. I helped patrons with requests and soon enough, it was time for me to announce the library was closing. Robert locked the doors, and we did a quick sweep to make sure nobody was still in the stacks or bathrooms.

“Vacation mode activated!” he declared. He nodded toward the front door. “Come on, Anya, I’ll walk you out.”

Robertwas over two decades older than me, with more gray in his dark hair and beard than brown and a twinkle in his eyes. He acted like a father figure, which I appreciated since I grew up without one. AlthoughI felt fairly safe living here on the outskirts of Montreal, it was still a city and not free of crime.

Ibit my lip, bursting to tell him about the book, but that wouldn’t be fair to him. He was ready to start his vacation, celebrating his twenty-fifth anniversary with his wife. IfI told him what happened, he’d be as intrigued as I was—but he had a date with his wife tonight, and I didn’t want to interfere with that. For all I knew, the blonde woman was pulling a prank to mess with the librarians. People did the weirdest things to get their kicks. Wasn’t that the way with online trolls who tried to make themselves feel more important by being unnecessarily cruel to others?

Icould take a look at the book on my own, and if I found anything interesting, I’d share the details with Robert after he returned from his vacation. Until then, I was in charge of the library, which was housed in a gothic style building on the edge of a small, private university campus.

“Go on ahead, Robert. I have a few more things to take care of,” I replied.

Hefurrowed his brows. “It can’t wait until the morning?”

“You know me.” I tipped my head and smiled. One of the things I couldn’t handle was procrastination. The urge to get the thing done would gnaw at me, and I wouldn’t be able to rest until I took care of it. Oh, how I envied people who could let things go. Not me. I had bonded with anxiety like pages bound to a book, and I couldn’t seem to shake it.

“Ah, right. Well, I have to run. Marie and I have a reservation for dinner. I better not be late—or I’ll be hearing it for the next twenty-five years!” He chuckled.

“Happy anniversary,” I wished him again. “And please tell MarieI said so as well.”

“Will do.” He nodded. “Don’t work too late,” he admonished with a wag of his index finger.

“I won’t, I promise.” He knew of my tendency to stay here after hours. It wasn’t always work. Having this grand library with all these amazing books and exquisite art to myself for an hour or so was bliss—so much nicer than my tiny apartment.

Thewoman who owned this library, AdelaideLebonne, had died before I had the chance to meet her. Adelaide was a legend in both the arts community and literary circles for creating an oasis on the outskirts of Montreal that housed both with incredibly valuable collections. She’d amassed this incredible collection and had specific guidelines for how it was to be handled after her death, the details of which were a mystery to most of us who worked here. She must have been quite a character. Not only did her collection contain antiquarian and contemporary books but also significant artworks that adorned the library, from impressive paintings in gold-filigree frames to marble sculptures.

Andthen there were the gargoyles.

Threemassive stone gargoyle statues were perched inside this gothic building, and two flanked the roof outside. They were magnificent.

Visitorsremarked on them often, stating how lifelike they looked. I’d smile and tease, “Maybe they are.” They’d often look at me with a perplexed expression before grinning at my joke.

Itnever got old—to me, at least.

Perhapsit wasn’t something I should joke about—not with the whispers about this library being haunted. Staff noted hearing the sounds of footsteps after hours. Nobody had ever reported seeing a ghost, but they did talk about the sense of being watched. I’d felt it too. It was a peculiar sensation. The skin on the back of my neck would prickle with awareness, and I’d spin around. Nobody would be there. No ghosts or any other spiritual being that I could see. Only the cold, hard gargoyles perched motionless on their stone mantles.

Forsome reason, these statues made me feel like I wasn’t alone when I stayed here after hours. They stood like silent companions, which was more than I had at home. UnlikeRobert, I didn’t have a spouse waiting for me. WouldI ever find love, the long enduring kind, the way he’d found? WouldI one day celebrate a quarter of a century anniversary with my special someone?

Notonly did I not have anyone at home who’d be waiting for me, but I didn’t even have a pet to care for because my landlord didn’t allow them. No one to care if I returned home or not. One day, maybe that would change. I’d have a home filled with books, and pets, and love, and perhaps my own romantic love story. It was a dream, an escape from my otherwise uneventful life.

Untilthen, books were my vicarious gateway to a more exciting world. Each one of them could be a portal to an adventure, a secret world, or an unforgettable romance. They were the only place I’d had any luck finding true love. My last relationship had only made it two months, but the emotional scarring lingered much longer. My ex had cheated on me and didn’t understand why I couldn’t let it go. He’d mocked me, saying I was nothing special and good luck finding anyone willing to sleep with a plain, frumpy librarian. That hurt, especially since he knew about my childhood growing up in foster homes, where I felt like a burden. After being with that master of manipulation, it was safer to be alone. What was the point of putting myself out there only to have my heart crushed and end up feeling bad about myself? I was better off with my books—and my gargoyles.

Well, one gargoyle in particular—the massive stone piece of art perched closest to my desk.

OnceI’d retrieved the leather-bound book from the special collections room on the first floor, I brought it upstairs and sat in a plush, blue velvet chair near the gargoyle. I raised the book to show it to my silent companion. “This is some book, isn’t it?”

Sincewe’d spent many long hours here together, I often spoke to the statue like it was a confidant. With him nearby, I didn’t feel so alone. “What do you think we’ll find in here, Pierre?” Yes, I gave an inanimate object a name, a tongue-in-cheek one since this massive stone figure was hardly what the name meant—little pebble.

Sigh.Sad, I know. MaybeI should make some real friends.

Thatwasn’t easy for me. I’d only lived in Montreal for four months since getting this job in the library and moving here from the suburbs. I wasn’t outgoing enough to quickly make friends. People who could walk up to a group of strangers at a party and introduce themselves had a superhero level of confidence I’d never be able to summon. Well, introverts had a place in the world too. We should be more highly valued in a world where people talked, yet often said nothing of truth or value. Some of those gabbers might be better off if they closed their mouths and opened a book once in a while.

Ispread the leather-bound book on my lap, and anticipation surged through me—far beyond the excitement I often felt when starting a new read. I opened it and flipped through the pages, staring at intricate illustrations and spells that were written in various languages, from OldFrench to Latin to modern French and English. The air in the library seemed to thicken.

WasI imagining it? I blinked several times to clear my vision. The ink seemed to settle back onto the pages. AsI scanned the pages of this extraordinary book, my mouth dropped open. It was absolutely stunning. I snapped it shut just in time before I drooled on the page, marring such a unique book.

Thestrange blonde woman had begged me to hide it. Why? And from whom? She’d said not to let him get it. What was in this book that she had been so adamant about protecting?

WhenI reached the last page, I checked the grandfather clock that loomed against the far wall. How had almost an hour passed without me realizing it?

Ineeded to figure out what to do about this book, but for now, I had to lock it up safely. OnceI returned to the special collections room, I searched for a spot where it would be better hidden.

Higherwas better. I slid one of the ladders over to where I could access an empty space on an upper bookshelf. I climbed it with the book in hand.

Aloud thump outside the room startled me. I paused and listened, my heart pounding faster.

Wassomeone out there?