Interview With a Gargoyle Read Free Page A

bad-boy ensemble. As he stretched to his full height, her gaze dropped to his silver belt buckle, which looked big enough to hold tea service for four. She wondered guiltily if he were compensating for a small…id. Nah. A guy like this had the goods to back up that swagger. No doubt about it.
    “I’ve been following it since sundown. I know it had the Cabochon, and I want it. Now.” His demand held no room for argument, and the commanding tone of his rich, slightly accented voice made Mel want to give him whatever he asked for.
    While Palmer postured, though, she slid another inch toward the door.
    “You’re welcome to search the remains, but trust me, there’s no cabochon here.”
    “I can feel it. It’s here.” DeWitt advanced, Palmer brandished his weapon and Mel bolted again, figuring she’d just be in the way when they came to blows.
    Rather than go for the armed opponent, though, DeWitt lunged for Melodie. Palmer ran interference, for which she was grateful, and she ducked inside the shop, cringing as a scuffle erupted behind her.
    Once inside, she turned to shove the door shut behind her, but a booted foot wedged in the sliver of space between the door and the jamb, preventing her from closing it completely.
    She screamed and thought about stomping on the intrusive instep, but her rubber-soled Keds wouldn’t do much damage, so she ran. The door banged open, and the clatter and clang of armed combat followed her through the kitchen.
     
    “She’s got the Cabochon, I can sense it. Get out of my way and you won’t get hurt, Van Houten.” Blake concentrated on keeping the door to the bakery wedged open while behind him, the demon hunter took aim with his still somewhat bloody weapon.
    The tip of the sword jabbed Blake in the ribs, and he momentarily forgot his preference not to harm humans in his quest. He whirled around, forgetting his prey, and wrapped his hand around Van Houten’s sticky blade. Ignoring the bite of steel into his palm, he yanked the weapon out of the demon hunter’s hands. It wasn’t a move any man could get away with, but Blake didn’t have to worry about scars, and physical pain had little meaning for him when his entire life was hell.
    Disarmed now, Van Houten reared back. His fancy boots found no traction in the spreading puddle of rapidly disintegrating Gogmar entrails, and he went down on his denim-clad backside with an embarrassing yelp. With a disdainful glare at his nemesis, Blake flipped Van Houten’s sword in the air, caught it by the hilt, and turned his attention back to the lissome brunette who, by the sound of crashing cookware, hadn’t gotten very far through the bakery.
    She possessed the Cabochon. Why and how were questions he could ruminate on later, when he was free. For now he had to get it from her before she had the chance to pass it on to a demon queen. He flung himself after her.
    She slipped away from him, swift as the wind, and dashed through the bakery’s stainless-steel kitchen on deft feet, her chestnut ponytail swinging.
    Blake lunged, grabbing for the silky rope of hair, but missed. She skidded on her rubber-soled shoes and swung herself through the narrow door that separated the kitchen from the front of the shop.
    He could have slung Van Houten’s confiscated sword at her legs and tripped her easily enough, but she reminded him too much of a frightened doe, both skittish and curious, graceful and untried.
    Even in his darkest hours since inheriting the Witch Hunter’s curse, he’d remained loath to hurt anyone unnecessarily. He didn’t want to consider what he might do if the day came when he had no choice.
    The Cabochon had been entrusted to demon rather than human caretakers for that very reason, so the men of his cursed bloodline would never find themselves in the position to kill or harm a human being to end their exile.
    Blake launched himself after his target again, but just as he rounded the counter that bisected the kitchen, Palmer