I swallowed hard, glumly forcing myself to keep moving forward. “And his sword,” I said, thinking it was a lot to put on the kid. “What does that make you?”

“It makes me the landlord!” he said in satisfaction. “Hurry up, will you? It’s cold.”

Unable to see the humor in it, I inched onto the small patch of unsanctified ground, marked by a red slab of cement and Pierce’s grave. Six large gargoyles, male and female, lurked on the surrounding stones, their wings draped over their backs. Behind them, dozens lurked, watching as well. A huge gargoyle was perched on the angel statue, his claws leaving delicate scratches on the angel’s face like tears.

Nervous, I scuffed my feet, and his big red eyes narrowed at me. It was obvious they didn’t like being this close to the ground, but it put them nearer to the one line in Cincinnati that was humming instead of screaming. “Uh, hi,” I said, pulling one hand out of my jeans pocket to give him a little wave, and the rest of them shifted their wings in a leathery hush. I have two of the world’s most powerful rings in my pocket, and I’m in danger of being squished. “Ah, you must be Bis’s father.”

“I’m Etude,” the gargoyle on the statue said, his vowels grinding together low and deep in his throat. He shifted his claws, and a flake of stone broke from the statue, hitting the cement to shatter. His ears flattening for a second, he flushed a deep black. Suddenly I felt more relaxed, having seen Bis do the same thing when embarrassed.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I never liked that statue much. This is Jenks.”

Jenks made a burst of dust but stayed on my shoulder. “I’m here to make sure none of you hulks hurt Rachel,” he said loudly, and the gargoyles around us murmured, sounding like a distant avalanche. “I’m just warning you, is all,” he finished, and I lifted my shoulder to get him to shut up.

“Ah, about me losing Bis in the ever-after—”

“Bis?” the old gargoyle said, and I sighed at the interruption. “Yes. Ah. Can I talk to you?”

“Sure . . .” Confused, I stuffed my hands back in my pockets, not knowing what was going on anymore. This wasn’t what I had expected.

“There seems to be some confusion,” Etude said, gesturing to the gargoyles surrounding us. “Everyone seems to think Bis is going to do this great thing. But this is my son we’re talking about. We all know the mistakes he’s made, the errors he sings.”

The gargoyles watching nodded, their eyes showing impatience. Not liking their attitude, I cocked a hip. “He’s saved my life more than once.”

“All I’m saying is that it’s a lot to put on someone so young,” Bis’s dad said. “He’s only forty-seven.”