Impressed, Jenks raised his eyebrows. “You got all that from tasting it?”

Smirking to show his black teeth, the kid pointed a claw to a second sign. “Just the high-quality part. There’s a plaque.”

Vincet sighed, and Jenks’s wings went red.

Wheezing his version of laugher, the gargoyle hopped to the spot of light on the sidewalk. “Seriously, something is wrong. Both statues are on the ley line running through the park. No one puts two statues on a ley lines. It pins it down and weird stuff happens.”

“There’s a line?” Jenks asked, seeing Vincet looking understandably lost. “Where?”

Bis pointed at nothing Jenks could see, cocking his ugly, bald head first one way, then the other as he focused on the flower beds. “Lines don’t move, but they shift like the tide under the moon—unless they’re pinned down. Something is absorbing energy from the line—right between the statues where it’s not moving.”

“It’s the statue,” Vincet said, glancing at the shadowed hole beside the dogwood tree where his family lived. “It comes alive when the moon is high and the pull is the strongest. It’s possessing my daughter!”

“I don’t think it’s the statue,” Jenks murmured, hands on his hips again. “I think it’s something trapped in it.” Puzzled, he stared at nothing. His partner Rachel was a witch. She could see ley lines, pull energy off them, and use it to do magic. Bis could see ley lines, too, which made Jenks doubly glad he’d brought Bis with him. “You can see it, huh?” Jenks asked.

“It’s more like hear it,” Bis said, his big red eyes blinking apologetically.

“It’s almost time,” Vincet said, clearly scared as he glanced up at the nearly full moon with his fingers on the hilt of his sword. “See? As soon as the moon hits that branch, it will attack Vi. Jenks, I can’t move my family. We’ll lose the newlings. It will break Noel’s heart.”

“That’s why we’re here,” he said, putting a hand on Vincet’s shoulder, thinking it felt odd to give comfort to a pixy not of his kin. The pixy buck looked too young for this much grief, his smooth features creased in a pain that most lunkers didn’t feel until they were thirty or forty, but pixies lived only twenty years if they were lucky. “I won’t let any of your children die tonight,” he added.

Bis cleared his throat as he scraped his claws the sidewalk, silently pointing out the danger in making promises that he couldn’t guarantee. Vincet’s wings drooped, and Jenks took his hand from his shoulder. “Maybe I should go to sleep,” Jenks said softly. “If you kept all your children awake, it would have no choice but to attack me.”

“Too late.” Bis made a shuffling hop to land on the bench’s seat, wings spread slightly to look ominous. “The resonance of the line just shifted.”

“Sweet mother of Tink,” Vincet whispered, wings flashing red as he looked at his front door. “It’s coming. I have to wake them!”

“Wait!” Jenks flew after him and caught his arm. Their wings almost tangled, and Vincet yanked out of his grip.

“They’ll die!” he said angrily.

“Wake the newlings.” Jenks’s hand dropped to the butt of his sword. “Let the children sleep. I’m sorry, but they’ll survive. I’ll protect Vi as if she was my own.”

Vincet looked torn, not wanting to trust another man with his children’s lives. Panicked, he turned to a secluded knoll and the freshly turned earth of his newling’s grave, still glowing faintly from the dust of tears. “I can’t…”

“Vincet, I have fifty-four kids,” Jenks coaxed. “I can keep your child alive. You asked me to help. I have to talk to whatever is trapped in that statue. Please. Bring her to me.”

Hesitating, Vincet’s wings hummed like a thousand bees in the dark.

“I promise,” Jenks said, only now understanding why Rachel made stupid vows she knew she might not be able to keep. “Let me help you.”

Vincet’s wings turned a sickly blue. “I have no choice,” he said, and trailing a gray sparkle of dust to light the dew-wet plants, he flew to his home and disappeared under the earth.

Watching him, Jenks started to swear with one-word sentences. What if he couldn’t do this? He was a stupid-ass to have promised that. He was as bad as Rachel. Angry, he fingered the butt of his sword and glared at the statue. Bis edged closer, his eyes never leaving the cold stone glinting in the moon and lamplight. “What if I’m making a mistake?” Jenks asked.

“You aren’t,” the gargoyle said, then stiffened, his glowing eyes widening as he pointed a knobby finger at the statue. “Look at that!”

“Holy crap, what is it doing?” Jenks exclaimed, the heartache of a child’s death gone as the moonlight seeping through the branches brushed the statue, seeming to make it glow. No, he thought as a gust of wind pushed him back. The stone really was glowing, like it had a second skin. It wasn’t the moonlight!

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Jenks said, dropping to land beside Bis on the bench.

“Yeah.” The kid sounded scared. “Something’s trapped in that stone, and it’s still alive. Jenks, that’s not a ghost. This isn’t right. Look, I’ve got goose bumps!”

Not looking at Bis’s gray, proffered arm, Jenks muttered, “Yeah, me too.”

Across the street, three TVs exploded into the same laugh track. The glow about the statue deepened, becoming darker, less like a moonbeam and more like a shadow. It stretched, pulling away to maintain the same shape as the statue, looking like a soul trying to slip free.

“Fewmets!” Bis barked, and with a ping of energy Jenks felt press against his wings, the shadow separated from the statue and vanished. “Did you see that? Did you freaking see that!” Bis yelled, wingtips shaking.

“It’s gone!” Jenks said, unable to stop a shudder.

The bench shook as Bis hopped to the sidewalk and tucked under the slatted wood. “Not gone, loose,” he said from underneath, worrying Jenks even more. “Hell’s bells, I can hear it. It sounds like bird feathers sliding against each other, or scales. No, tree branches and bones.”

Uneasy, Jenks slipped through the slats of the bench to alight beside Bis on the sidewalk where the heat of the day still lingered, watching the same empty air that the gargoyle was staring at. A thin lament rose from the small hummock of Vincet’s home. The sound hit Jenks and twisted, and he wasn’t surprised when the glow about the door brightened, and in a glittering yellow pixy dust, Vincet emerged with a small child in his arms.

She was in a white nightgown, her fair hair down and tousled. Two wide-eyed children clung to the door, a matronly silhouette beside them, crying and unable to leave the newlings.

The memory of the past night’s torment was on Vincet when he joined them under the bench. “It’s Vi,” he said, grief-stricken. “Please, you said you’d help.”

Jenks awkwardly took another man’s child, feeling how light she was, stifling a shudder when the girl’s unnatural, silver-tinted aura hit him. A piercing wail came from her throat, too anguished to be uttered by someone so young. Bis’s ears pinned to his skull, and Jenks shifted his grip, binding her swinging arms and tightening his hold on her.

“Please make it stop,” Vincet said, touching his daughter’s face to wipe her dusty tears.

Though it went against his instincts, Jenks brought the girl to his shoulder. Like a switch, the child’s wailing shifted to an eerie silence. Bis hissed and backed up, the scent of iron sifting over them as his claws scraped the sidewalk until he found the earth.

Jenks shivered. Not knowing what he’d find, he pulled the child from his shoulder and held her at arm’s length.

At the shift of her weight, the child opened her eyes. They were black, with silvery pupils—like the sky and the moon—and her weird-ass aura.

“Trees,” whispered Vi, clearly not Vi at all. Her voice was wispy, like wind in branches. “This cold stone is killing me.”