When a Gargoyle Awakens (2 page)

“Ahem!” Kylie exclaimed, deliberately.

He held up a finger as he continued to speak quietly and rapidly.   She had an urge to break the offending digit.  Instead, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot, her ire rising in degrees the more his finger bobbed up and down as he talked.  She didn’t bother to listen to him; she was more focused on her annoyance.

Finally, he threw the phone on the passenger seat and stepped out of the vehicle, forcing Kylie to take a step backwards.  She lost her footing and almost careened into some stinging nettles.  Would have done, too, had it not been for some strong hands that clutched her arms and righted her.  She found herself staring into the amused and quite gorgeous face of the stranger.  And what witty exclamation did she come up with?

“Shit balls!”

The stranger barked out a laugh as Kylie turned crimson.  “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

“Not at all,” he replied, smoothly in a cultured, if perhaps a tad snobby, voice.  “My fault.”  He released her and righted her clothes, allowing his fingers to graze over her breasts.  Uh-huh.  She rubbed her arms where his fingers had dug into her flesh and fought back the urge to slap his face.

He looked her up and down, blatantly.  He wasn’t horrified by what he saw, but, breast fondling aside, he hardly seemed thrilled.  She felt like a prize pig on display.  He thrust his hand at her.  “Andrew Hardcastle, how do you do?”

Kylie shook it limply, trying not to wince at his grip.  He didn't exactly have a powerful build, but she could tell that he worked out, and he almost seemed pleased by the slight discomfort on her face.  “Kylie Summers.”

Andrew cocked his head on one side, and Kylie wished to god, she had worn something a little more… more… provocative than a loose fitting skirt and a peasant blouse.  Teamed with her tasseled purse she looked like a reject from the ‘70’s.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked, doubtfully.

“I’m here to deliver something to Professor Hardcastle.”

He smiled genuinely and her coochie – the traitor – quivered.  “My uncle.”

“Ah.”  She fidgeted with one of the tassels on her purse.  “So are you driving up to the house or what?”

Andrew’s cheek ticked, almost imperceptibly.  “I’m waiting for the gates to be unlocked.”

Kylie blinked and noticed that sure enough the ancient, ten-foot high gates were shut.  She’d never seen them shut before.  Every time she’d ever come here they’d been open, and she’d sailed right on past them.  The professor generally didn’t require locked gates to keep people out.  It was a matter of pride that his personality and the rumors about him eating children did all the work for him.  What would make him lock them now?

“Oh, have you tried the intercom?”  She’d never used it, but it was there so it must be usable.

“Yes,” he hissed as his smile slipped a little.  “My uncle… he seems to be having a little difficulty opening them.”

Kylie nodded, uncertain about what was happening.  Perhaps they were estranged.  Perhaps the professor didn’t want to see his nephew.  Ooh, perhaps there was some deep, dark scandal.  The nosy part of Kylie was intrigued, but the tired part of her just wanted to unload the hideous antique mirror and get the hell out.  The old guy was not the sharing kind, and that was absolutely fine with Kylie.  The professor’s familial life was a complete mystery to her; she had no idea he had any family until this moment.  At least she was taking Andrew’s word for it that he was family.  She couldn’t believe that any rational person would claim the professor as a family member unless they were forced to.

“Let’s, ah, try it again,” she said diplomatically.

Andrew shrugged, and Kylie pushed the button next to the gate, gritting her teeth at the loud, mechanical whine.  It was followed by a familiar, crusty voice.  “What?!”

“It’s Kylie Summers, Professor Hardcastle.  From The Birds and the Bea’s Antiques,” – she had nothing to do with that name -, “here to deliver…”

“Yes, yes, yes.  Is that wastrel still out there?” demanded the disagreeable voice tinnily over the intercom.

“Uh…”  Kylie glanced back at Andrew, who was scowling fiercely.  “I wouldn’t know about that, but your nephew’s here.”

The professor harrumphed.  “Don’t suppose I have a choice,” he muttered as the gates let out a disturbing creak and started swinging open with painstaking slowness.

Andrew grinned triumphantly and jumped into his Porsche, ready to burn rubber up to the house.  Kylie shook her head and stretched before ambling back to her own mean machine.  There was no rush; she figured they had another ten minutes before the gate was done.  Plus, she thought it might be a good idea to give the uncle and nephew a few moments alone.  She had a love/hate relationship with confrontations, but a morbid part of her actually wanted to see it.  However, Hardcastle was her aunt’s best customer and actually seemed like a friend to Bea.  Embarrassing him wouldn’t help Bea, and Kylie owed her a lot.  So instead, she took a leisurely drive up to the house, hoping that the majority of fireworks were over by the time she got there.

Chapter Three

As she parked her little compact and lugged the fugly mirror out of the passenger seat, an eerie quiet had settled over the house.  The house was called Lucifer’s Hall for some unexplained reason.  Kylie had once tried to ask Bea what the significance was, and if the Hall was actually supposed to belong to the devil.  Bea had just waved her hand airily and changed the subject.

The place had scared the bejeezus out of Kylie at first.  It was like an amalgamation of every haunted house from every bad movie ever made.  The Addams family had nothing on this baby.  It wasn’t exactly a house or a mansion in the strictest sense of either word.  It was more like a hodgepodge.  Like someone had constructed it from whatever debris they could find.  Which was most likely the case.  Parts of it appeared to have been formed from ruined English castles, others from old French Chateaus and there were even hints of medieval churches in there.  When you first looked at it, the word monstrous sprang to mind.  However, after repeated visits, and promises that it wasn’t actually haunted, a certain charm could be discerned, and if you squinted really hard, you might even mistake it for a fairytale palace.  Naturally, that depended on your level of alcohol consumption at the time.

At first Kylie had found the overhanging gargoyles, flaring their cold, stony eyes at her, a little off-putting.  But she was used to them now, even going so far as to give them a friendly salute whenever she made her way into the house.  Rather than frightening ornaments she looked on them more as valiant guards.  Their fierce countenances could scare the hardiest of burglar away.

Kylie gave the obligatory nod to the two gargoyles over the door; she had affectionately named them Clint and Eastwood.  Apparently they were rescued from some kind of Transylvanian church. 

She hauled the heavy mirror up to the house, grunting and muttering about the lack of help she was receiving.  The diminutive and humped Professor Hardcastle was about ninety pounds wet through, but he did have staff members who usually came out to help.  Where was all the love?

The front door was ajar slightly.  Balancing the mirror with a raised knee, she tapped on the door.  It groaned as it limped open.  She took a step inside, puffing and panting, at the weight she was carrying.  “Hello?  Anyone there?”  She groaned at the distinct lack of response.  “Irritated lady trying to deliver a mirror here,” she mumbled.

Unhurriedly, and with the normal blank look he always adopted, Gustave came into view and marched toward her.  Gustave was the only full-time staff member that Hardcastle had.  He didn’t really have a title, but Kylie figured he was like Alfred to – snigger – Hardcastle’s Batman.  Gustave was a middle-aged and solid looking man who seemed to have lost the ability to smile a long time ago.

“Miss Summers,” he droned in his bland voice.  “May I take that from you?”

“Indeed you may,” she grumbled, happily handing over her heavy burden.

“Professor Hardcastle is in his study.  If you’ll follow me.”

With that, Gustave set off at what he probably thought was a gentle speed, apparently completely unaffected by the mirror he carried.  However, with his long legs it actually took a vigorous trot for Kylie to keep up with him.  Gustave was an old fashioned kind of member of staff, who wouldn’t take offense if you called him a servant.  As far as Kylie could tell he was a butler-valet-chauffer who dabbled in cooking and cleaning.  He was also very reticent and uninterested in small talk, not that this stopped Kylie.

“I met Andrew Hardcastle in the driveway,” she puffed while regretting ever giving up on aerobics.

“Yes, Miss,” came the near automatic reply.

They vaulted down corridor after corridor filled with various antiques and horrifying stuffed animals.  If Kylie had thought about it at the time, she would have actually paid attention to the route they were taking.

“Will he be staying here?”

“I am not privy to Mr. Hardcastle’s plans.”  It could have been a haughty reply, but it wasn’t, it was just honest.  That was the thing about Gustave, he wasn’t friendly, but he wasn’t mean either.

Kylie hitched up her skirt as they clambered a narrow staircase.  Unperturbed by the blood from a stone reaction, she persisted in her grilling.  “Does he visit often?”

“His visits are sporadic.”

“I’ve never seen him here before.”

Gustave stopped in front of a massive – presumably oak – door.  It had a handle in the shape of a bear’s head.  He fixed her with a typically stormless gaze.  “No.  Mr. Hardcastle usually visits when Professor Hardcastle is in his New York home.  I understand that Mr. Hardcastle has an abode there.”

Kylie blinked at him in pleasurable surprise.  That was surely the most information Gustave had ever imparted to her.  She knew that Professor Hardcastle was wealthy and travelled fairly often, but she had no idea he had a home in New York.  Gustave opened his mouth as if he was about to impart a further nugget when a crotchety voice floated through the door.

“Are you going to stand out there boring the young woman to death, Gus, or are you going to show her in?”

Other than a pinking of the ears, Gustave didn’t react.  He pushed open the door, and motioned for Kylie to follow.  It was a room she had never seen before and, therefore, she couldn’t hide her gasp.  If she thought the corridors were cluttered with knick-knacks and curios, it was nothing compared to this room.

Professor Hardcastle’s study was indeed inundated with furniture, suits of armor, statues, and more horrific stuffed animals that would make Bates Motel envious… it was a wonder that anyone ever made it out of there alive.  Surely there were lost tribes living in there somewhere.  It took her a few moments to actually spot the professor.  It was like looking at a really tricky picture of Where’s Waldo.  At least Waldo was kind enough to wear a stripy shirt; the professor usually wore a ragged, brown jumper.  With his nut like face, browned from too much sun and wrinkled from too many birthdays, he was generally camouflaged against any piece of furniture he happened to be standing next to.

The professor looked up from behind an enormous ornate desk, carved with dragons.  It looked like it belonged in an opium den.  He gave her a sneer.  His friendly sneer, though.  It was the one he reserved for people he liked, and he didn’t like many people.  Oddly enough, Kylie numbered in the few.  She didn’t know why, but she suspected it was because she didn’t pretend to agree with him on any subject under the sun.  Plus, she could be pretty darn bitchy when she wanted.  He seemed to enjoy that.  She wasn’t a bitchy person or an argumentative one as a rule, but she tended to be honest and her tongue could be pretty darn wicked especially when you caught her at an emotional time of the month.

“Is that it?”  He nodded his head at the package the silent and stoic Gustave was holding.

“Yes, that’s it,” she replied with a slight mocking lilt.  “I didn’t just bring another mirror out for the sheer joy of taking it for a walk.”  Honestly, she wouldn’t be so rude if she didn’t know that he enjoyed it so much.  She once snapped at him in a PMS mood, and they hadn’t looked back.  Course these snide little remarks were few and far between; she generally only worked up the courage for a couple each day.

The professor snorted a laugh that became a wheeze.  “Set it down over there.”  He pointed with what looked like a chopstick in the direction of a wingback chair.  The chair already contained the head of a white lion, which was soon deposited on a wobbling pile of hardback books.  Carefully and precisely, Gustave pulled away the wrappings.

“Thank you, Gus,” muttered the professor, absently as he maneuvered his way around numerous piles of – the only name she could give it was - paraphernalia.

“Sir,” droned the enormous man as he carefully made his way out of the room.

Kylie bit her lip.  It shouldn’t be funny, but the huge, detached man did not look like a Gus.  That was a mouse that helped Cinderella sew a gown.

She shuffled from foot to foot as Hardcastle surveyed the mirror through – above all things – an eyeglass.  He muttered barely audible things to himself, and Kylie didn’t bother to ask him to speak a little louder.  If she asked, he might actually do it.  Not a mistake she was going to make twice.  She really didn’t need to know the ins and outs of taxidermy.