When I do, I can’t help but see all the different threads inside me, each one a string that leads to a different piece of me, a different person or thing that makes me.

On the plus side, all I have to do is lay hands on the individual strings to realize what I’m dealing with. Bright orange for my love of reading. Soft blue for the ocean. Turquoise for my mother’s laugh. Hot pink for Macy. Black for Jaxon, along with a single two-toned thread that starts as a medium green and keeps getting darker and darker until it fades into black. One look and I’m nearly positive that this is our mating bond, though I don’t know how I know that. Red for my art. Brown for Saturday-morning walks with my father. There’s even a brilliant emerald-green string, almost shimmering, it’s so iridescent. I start to reach for that one, but a voice warns me to stay away from that string. Before I can really give it more thought, I get distracted by a gorgeous cerulean string, which I instinctively know is my mother. A deep russet string, my father. Even an aquamarine string for La Jolla.

The list goes on and on, and so do the colored strings, and I sort through them all—even ones I don’t recognize yet—until I finally find a shiny platinum one buried deep in the middle of all the others.

Instinctively, I know this one is it. My gargoyle.

Not going to lie, I’m a little scared of it and what it can do. But being afraid never got me anywhere, and it’s definitely not going to solve this problem, so I just reach for it, breath held and heart beating way too fast.

The moment I touch it, I feel something resonate deep inside me, kind of like I did with Hudson’s magic earlier. But this is deeper, stronger—a tidal wave where that was just a drop—and I can feel it sweeping over me. Roiling around me. Burying me in its power and its presence.

There’s a part of me that wants to pull back, that wants to protect myself more than it wants anything else. But it’s too late. Everything is crashing in on me now, and all I can do is hang on and wait to see what happens.

It doesn’t take long, maybe a second or two, though it feels like an eternity. It starts in my hands and arms, a heaviness that feels completely foreign and yet completely right all at the same time. Once it reaches my shoulders, it spreads like wildfire down my torso to my hips and legs and feet before finally sweeping up my neck to my jaw and cheeks and the top of my head.

At the same time, there’s a burning in my back, and it scares me a little until I remember—my wings. Of course.

And then it’s done and I’m standing in the middle of Katmere’s laundry room in my gargoyle form—and nothing has ever felt so weird. Really, really weird.

Now that I’ve shifted, I keep holding on to the string deep inside me, but I let go when Hudson tells me to.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as he grins down at me. And, on a side note, can I just say how goddamn unfair it is that I’m short, even as a gargoyle? I mean, I just turned to stone for God’s sake. Can’t I at least grow a few inches along with the transformation?

“You’re never going to stop complaining about that, are you?” Hudson asks.

“Never!” I answer immediately. But I’ve got bigger things than my height to worry about right now. “Why can’t I hold on to the string?” I mean, it’s no big deal—it’s not like it’s burning my stone hands or anything. I’m just curious.

“Because I’m pretty sure the longer you hold the string, the more like a statue you become. But shifting to right here, to this point, lets you move and walk and fly,” he tells me.

“Oh! So pretty important, then, huh?” I joke, right before I decide to see if Hudson is right.

Turns out, he is. I can walk. I can also dance and spin in circles and jump so hard, I shake the whole floor. And it is absolutely amazing!

There’s a part of me that wants to see if I can fly—I’ve already wiggled my wings and they work—but there are a couple of problems with that. One, we’re inside, and if I can’t stop, I really, really don’t want to explain to Uncle Finn why I’ve either knocked myself senseless or crashed through one of the castle walls.

And two, which is really just a sidebar of number one, I have absolutely no idea how to work these things. I’m pretty sure one day in my Physics of Flight class does not qualify me to operate wings, even if they are on my own back.

Suddenly, I remember the pic Macy showed me and I reach up… Sure enough, there are the horns. Sigh. At least they don’t feel that big.

I don’t know how long I walk and stomp and twirl around as a gargoyle, but I know it’s long enough for my laundry to grow cold and wrinkle.

Long enough for Hudson to give up chasing me and slump down in the corner to watch, a non-sarcastic grin on his face.

More than long enough for my muscles to grow tired and shaky. Turns out it takes some serious effort to move this much rock.

I don’t want to turn back yet, though. I don’t know why or how, but there’s something ridiculously freeing being in this form. I thought I’d feel trapped or weighed down or claustrophobic, but instead I just feel…content. Like I’ve found a giant piece of myself that I didn’t even know was missing.

Eventually, though, I know I have to turn back to my human form. It’s late, Macy will probably be back from girls’ night soon, and I don’t want her to think I ditched her just to go hang with someone else. Plus, I have an early day tomorrow—we arranged to meet on the practice field at nine, and I want to get some sleep, maybe give myself a chance not to make a total fool of myself. Plus, Jaxon will be worried if he thinks I’ve disappeared again.

“Jaxy-Waxy keeps a tight rein on you, huh?” Hudson says, sarcasm back in full force now that he’s used up his decency quotient for the year—maybe even the decade.

I don’t answer him until I’ve changed back to human form—a process as easy as reaching for a bright gold string, which must be human Grace, and willing myself into my human body again. My clothes, which had turned to stone, shift back to cloth as well. “Jaxon worries ever since half the school, and his brother, tried to kill me.”

Hudson yawns. “To be fair, I was trying to kill him. You just got in the way.”

“Wow, I’m sure that makes both of us feel so much better.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t know making you feel better was my job.”

And just like that, I’m totally exasperated with him again. Also very confused. I mean, what was going on in his head earlier, when he burst in here and twirled me around the room like we were best friends or something? And what’s changed to bring him back to his oh-so-un-lovable self?

Not that I’m complaining. This Hudson I know how to handle. The other one completely freaked me out.

“Huh.” Hudson snorts from where he’s leaning a shoulder against the wall. “That’s what I get for being nice.”

“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t do that,” I agree. “It’s not a good look on you.”

“Please. Everything’s a good look on me and you know it.” He emphasizes the point by giving me what can only be described as a “male-model catwalk” look.

I burst out laughing—I can’t help it. And though Hudson pretends to be thoroughly disgusted with me, I’ve gotten to know him enough to recognize the gleam of humor deep in his eyes.

“I’m going to bed,” I tell him when I finally stop laughing.

“Is that an invitation?” he asks.

Suddenly my cheeks are burning and everything feels too hot. “To not be a total douche for the next six hours so I can sleep? Yes. For anything else? Not a chance in hell.” And with that parting shot, I pick up my laundry basket and head back to my room.

“Good. I didn’t want to break your heart anyway.” But he’s whistling as we make our way up the stairs, and it’s only after we get back to my room that I realize the tune is Flo Rida’s “Good Feeling.”

I don’t know why that makes me smile, but it does.

Which is probably why, when I slide into bed a few minutes later, I whisper, “Thank you, Hudson. I really appreciate all your help today.”

There’s a long silence, so long that I would think he’d fallen asleep if I couldn’t see his eyes. Eventually, though, he sighs and says, “Don’t thank me, Grace.”

“Why not?” I roll over so I can get a better look at his face as he leans up against the side of my bed.

“Because,” he tells me, indigo eyes burning hotly with a myriad of emotions I can’t begin to decipher, “if you do, I’m going to do something that you’ll regret.”

58

Always Look on

the Bite Side

“What do you get when you kiss a dragon?” I ask as soon as Jaxon answers his door. I reach up and idly twist the pendant he gave me in my hand. I’ve been wearing it nearly every day since I got back, but this is the first time it’s not buried under a ton of clothes.

He looks at me with sleepy eyes and says, “Nausea?”

“Close. Burned lips.” I hand him the tumbler full of blood I picked up for him at the cafeteria. “Here. Drink up.”

He takes it, a small grin playing around his lips. “Thank you.” Then he leans forward and takes my mouth in a short but powerful kiss. “I think I’ll skip the burned lips and kiss a gargoyle instead.”

“Good plan.” I put my own hot-chocolate-filled tumbler on the table next to his door, then wrap my arms around his neck as I pull him down for a longer, more satisfying kiss of my own.

Jaxon makes a sound deep in his throat as he moves closer. He kisses the corners of my mouth, then drags his tongue along the line of my lower lip before wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close. “What about Hudson?” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear.

“He’s still asleep. It’s why I decided to meet you up here instead of in the foyer.”

“I like the way you think,” Jaxon tells me, even as he turns us so that I’m sandwiched between him and the wall. Then he runs his lips along the edge of my jaw and down my neck until he gets to the hollow of my throat.