Burnt amber coated me, and I could feel myself start to sweat. “Pierce took my gun,” I said again, hoping he believed me this time. “I didn’t know he had it when he followed me. I forgot, I mean. I really did. Go ahead, search my thoughts. I’m telling the truth. Why would I want Pierce to kill you?”

Shock flickered in the back of his goat-slitted eyes. He let go of my wrist and pushed himself to a stand. It was too fast for me to get in a parting shot. Shaking, I straightened in my chair. Bis’s whimpering took on a shade of relief, and I looked for him, finding him curled into a ball beside my chair. My hand dropped to touch him, and he clenched into himself. “Bis, go home,” I said, and he looked up, his ears pinned to his skull, making his eyes look even bigger.

“Not again,” he said, tail uncurling from his feet as he shook. “I won’t run away again.”

We both jumped when Al looked at the ceiling and bellowed, “Treble!”

His gargoyle? I thought, excitement mixing with my fear and spent adrenaline to make me feel ill. Was he going to teach me now so I didn’t try again and kill myself? It would almost be worth the pain of pushing myself out of that line.

Bis shivered, and Al put his glasses on and turned to the lit fireplace as a gargoyle three times Bis’s size scraped from the flue, wings spreading submissively as she hopped to the hearth.

Treble had black tufts on her ears, long and flowing, where Bis had white. The lion tuft on the end was black, too, and her entire tail looked shorter in proportion than Bis’s. Stubby horns like an antelope’s were between her ears, and when her golden eyes landed on Bis, she hissed, wings spreading aggressively and black teeth bared.

“Manners, Treble,” Al said lightly as he rummaged in a chest to bring out a tin and a coffee press. “Bis is a guest.”

Bis hugged my leg, and I extended my hand, helping him up to sit on the arm of my chair, putting him even with the larger gargoyle. His ears were pinned, and his red eyes wild as he shook, his tail wrapped around my wrist like he was holding my hand.

Al’s posture was again his completely proper British nobleman, and I wondered if I’d been seeing him as himself earlier—which just made me wonder all the more. The tin opened, and the smell of burned coffee drifted out. Al’s back to us, he measured a portion of the grounds and tapped them into a dry coffee press.

“Bis, this is Treble,” he said, and the large gargoyle hissed all the louder. “When you’re older, she’s going to teach you how to properly jump the lines. Until then, you stay out.”