“That line right there,” I said angrily, pointing. “The one that you are all clustered around like it’s the last fire on a never-ending night! Right now, Bis is in the ever-after playing patty-cake with a psychotic demon who is trying to destroy the ever-after. He’s trying to learn all the lines in an ungodly short amount of time so we can save your fuzzy asses!”

“Rache?” Gargoyles were winging in from all over, their black shadows landing menacingly in a large circle.

“If your son is the world breaker, I’m going to see him through it!” I shouted.

Shaking, I dropped back, suddenly aware that glowing red and gold eyes watching me were backed by strong muscle that could wring dust from a rock like water from a sponge. But I wasn’t done yet. “Now you all can stay in my graveyard because I know the lines suck right now, and if they are giving me a headache, you must be in agony. But if you ever call Bis a lob-winged klutz again, I’m going to hunt you down at noon and chip your ear off!”

“Ah, Rache?” Jenks warbled.

“What do you want, pixy?” I snarled, my knees shaking as I stood with my hands on my hips.

“Never mind.”

Etude was eyeing me, his big red eyes assessing, and my arms somehow got tangled up over my middle. I knew it made me look afraid, but I was trying for pissed. I was both. “Perhaps,” Etude rumbled, his ears perking forward at me, “my son made a wise decision after all in his choice of weaponry. Can you keep him alive?”

His voice had changed, becoming respectful. I took a breath, hearing it shake as I exhaled. “I intend to,” I said softly, believing it. Everyone wants me to protect someone. Who’s going to protect me? “Down to my last breath.”

Etude looked me up and down again. Rising to his full stature, he gestured to someone behind me. I couldn’t stop my instinctive half step back, but Etude was smiling a savage black-toothed grin at me when he looked back. “In that case,” he said, shifting his wings behind him, “what do you want us to do with these two? We found them skulking about and think they’re up to mischief.”

“No fairy-farting way!” Jenks exclaimed, and I felt my face flash hot.

“Nick,” I said, not surprised, all my bile and anger distilled into that one word. I couldn’t help my smirk as I looked at Nick hanging between two gargoyles, his toes inches from the soggy, chill earth. Jax was sitting on the palm of another gargoyle, his wings tattered and his back to us, clearly wishing he was somewhere else. The hand of the gargoyle holding him was radiating a visible gentle heat, and seeing him, Jenks swore loud enough to make his son’s shoulders come up to his ears.