Читать книгу The Gargoyle Overhead - Philippa Dowding - Страница 5

Candles by Daye, at Night

Katherine stepped off the Queen streetcar and down into the hot Toronto evening. She hoisted her yellow canvas backpack a little higher and turned to whisper into it, “Gargoth, are you awake?”

She heard a familiar snap and growl and felt a small, hot body wriggle against her back. A sharp claw jabbed her hard in the ribs. Gargoth never did like waking up.

“Barga memi soth,” a strange, growly voice said. But she heard it say, “Yes. I am now.”

“Good,” she snapped back. “We’re here.”

She walked past an old pub, with all the windows and doors open wide, and a tiny library. She never saw anyone at this tucked-away spot except old people and mothers with babies, but the library did have a nice roof garden with a goldfish pond and an ornamental crabapple tree.

Three stores over was her destination, Candles by Daye. It was an old, old storefront, bright red with a narrow green door. The front window was huge and overflowing with candles shaped like skulls and dragons, incense holders, healing chime balls, yoga and self-help books, crystals in every imaginable size and shape, and much more.

Katherine pushed hard on the old door, walked in, and locked it behind her. The air was heavily scented with cinnamon and years of burnt incense.

“Cassandra? Cassandra, we’re here!” she shouted as she lowered the backpack to the floor. Gargoth hadn’t felt that heavy when they’d started out, but by the time they’d crossed the city on the subway, then the streetcar, she felt like there were ten of him in the backpack.

He wriggled and complained a lot, too, which didn’t help much.

“Up here! I’m up on the roof,” came Cassandra Daye’s voice from what seemed like miles away. Katherine bent down to her backpack and realized she’d forgotten to open it. There were muffled grunts coming from it, and the backpack wriggled and shook as though it contained a miniature tornado.

She opened it quickly, and Gargoth’s leathery head popped out. He took a huge breath, as though he’d been suffocating for hours, and struggled out. Even if Katherine had wanted to help him, he wouldn’t have let her, so she stood with her arms crossed, looking amused.

“Come on, she’s upstairs,” she said, heading toward the steep staircase at the back of the store.

Gargoth started after her, his heavy arms nearly touching the floor at his scaly feet, his leathery wings held tightly to his back, and a small pouch bulging at his side. At the bottom of the stairs, he looked up at the open door to the roof, the stars beyond twinkling and inviting. He sighed deeply. There were twenty steep stairs to climb to get up to the rooftop, and Katherine had bounded up them in a few seconds.

He shook his wings for a few moments, and a look of concentration crossed his leathery face. His wings began to move, faster, faster, faster. He pushed his chin into the air as he worked his wings harder and harder, finally as hard as he could. His wings were fanning hard enough to blow dust across the floor of the store in little eddies and to gently move some of the closer crystals and bells hanging from the ceiling. They started softly ringing.

But nothing happened. He didn’t budge. He sighed and stopped fanning his wings. He started to climb the steps slowly, mumbling about giants.

And if you have ever seen a gargoyle struggle up a steep set of stairs, you know it is not a pretty sight.