feeling of optimism when Stella began to laugh. “I suppose another glass of wine won’t hurt before I get back to work.”
Stella would have known her protector anywhere. She had stored up the memory of those curiously light eyes, that strong jaw, the perfection of his mouth. It was as if, in that brief instant of seeing him all those years ago, her mind had taken a mental photograph. That was how she knew the man at the beachside cafe was watching her. Not just ogling a random girl in a swimsuit. Not smirking with amusement as she struggled with the tie on her bikini top and almost flashed the whole Barcelonan beachfront as she emerged from the water. No, he was watching her because it was him, and that was what he did.
Although in his own form Stella’s protector stayed on the edge of her vision, she knew he sometimes came to her in human form. She would get that feeling—as if warm honey had been injected into her veins—and she would know. He was the lifeguard at the swimming pool when she slipped and hit her head. Or the electrician who fixed the faulty wiring in her apartment.
Once she had been jogging in the park when a dog ran toward her. She hadn’t been alarmed at first but, out of nowhere, a figure had streaked past her and wrestled the animal to the ground. The beast had clamped its jaws onto the man’s forearm, but luckily he wore padding so that its teeth did not sink into his flesh. Some sort of dog training exercise, Stella had thought as she ran past. Then the familiar soothing feeling had come over her and she had paused to look back. Although they had been there only seconds earlier, there was no longer any sign of either the man or the dog.
Another time, after a night out with friends, she had been about to get into a taxi when a line-jumper had shoved her out of the way and stolen her cab. Her initial fury had died away as the sweet warmth flowed through her. A collective gasp of horror had risen from the watching partygoers as the taxi pulled away straight into the path of an out-of-control truck. The cab had spun wildly, like a toy in the hand of a giant, before banging to a stop. Its rear end was crushed like a concertina. Stella had shivered in her thin party dress as she gave a witness statement to the police.
“There was no one else in the car,” the police officer assured her. “Luckily. Anyone in the backseat would have been smashed into a million pieces against that wall.”
The closest she’d got to actually seeing the real him was when she actually was involved in a car accident. She’d been sixteen. A rebellious, studiously unorthodox sixteen-year-old who jumped on the back of the motorcycle of her latest crush. When her protector pulled her from the wreck that time, the only precaution he’d been able to take was to pull his cap down low over his face. She supposed it was because he didn’t have enough time to do anything else before the gas tank exploded.
“Don’t keep hiding from me. I like who you are,” she had told him just before she lost consciousness.
That was what she said again now as she tugged a wrap over her bikini and marched up to the table where he sat.
“Huh?” He looked up in surprise as she took the seat opposite.
“I said I like who you are.”
“Thanks.” His grin was surprisingly boyish and shy. “I think.”
Stella’s heart did a funny little flip as if it had suddenly developed an extra beat. He looked so much younger than she’d expected. He hadn’t aged at all. They stared at each other.
Finally, she spoke again. “All this time.”
“I know.”
He was beautiful. It was not a word Stella usually associated with men, but it suited him. Despite the coiled muscular strength of his body, his face was artistic. If she didn’t know otherwise, she’d have guessed he was a painter, musician or poet. It was something about those high cheekbones, the narrow nose and strong jaw. Don’t keep staring at the gorgeous mouth, she told herself firmly. It was his eyes that drew her most strongly. They were every bit as mesmerizing as she remembered. In the shade they were the color of a faded eucalyptus leaf. As he looked away into the sunlight, they shone like silver coins.
Forcing herself to focus, she asked the first of the many questions that jostled for a place on her lips. “Why have you appeared to me now?”
That broke the spell. A slight frown creased his brow and he pulled his eyes away from hers. “Because you are in grave danger.”
She leaned forward excitedly. “Is this about that meteorite?”
“There was no meteorite, Stella.”
“I knew it! Never mind what Ezra said—” She broke off. “What’s your name?”
“My name is Cal.”
She studied him with her head on one side. “I thought it would be more dramatic. Gabriel, Raphael or something like that. But I like it. It suits you. So tell me about this meteorite that wasn’t a meteorite, Cal.”
“It was a gargoyle.”
Stella wrinkled her nose. “Like the statues you get on churches and cathedrals?”
“Some of them do spend their daytime hibernation crouching on buildings, yes.”
Stella watched him in fascination. Hibernation? Crouching? Those words ascribed a life force to something that could not be alive. How could he speak of something like that so calmly? Her mouth felt uncomfortably dry, and she decided to focus on the mundane rather than the bizarre. “I’ve left my bag down on the beach. Can you get me a bottle of water? I mean, do angels carry cash?”
He grinned and signaled to the waiter. “When I’m here, Stella, I do normal, mortal things. Plus some other stuff.”
“It’s the other stuff that’s starting to bother me.” Stella took a long swig of water. “Okay. How did a stone statue drop out of the sky into the garden of the casa the other night?”
“It glided.”
“Of course it did. Stone is well-known for its aerodynamic qualities.”
He started to laugh. “You’re so...you. Even though they have wings, gargoyles can’t fly. They glide. So it glided into Moncoya’s garden. I think they use the updrafts, the same way a bird does.” He mimed a gliding motion with his arms outstretched.
“Cal, are you seriously trying to tell me gargoyles are living creatures?”
“Not in the sense that humans are. Gargoyles are supernatural beings. During the day they are stone. At night they are flesh, blood, bone and muscle.” He tapped a fingertip against his temple. “Not much in the brain department, sadly.”
Stella exhaled slowly. “Okay, because you are you—and I’ve lived with the reality of you all my life—I’m going to suspend every rational instinct and try to believe you when you say that gargoyles can glide. So we’ve done the ‘how.’ Now the ‘why.’ Why did that particular gargoyle drop in on us the other night? Was it just a social call?”
“It had been sent to get you, Stella.”
“Sent to get me?” The word came out as an undignified squeak, and she fought to get her voice back
