Valor (A Greystone Novel)

  Chapter Three

  Before I fell asleep, I decided Valor must be staying with a family who knew me. The houses are spaced pretty far apart where I live so we don't know too many of our neighbors but there were at least five kids I knew in the surrounding area; they were on my bus route. In fact, Josh Saxon lived right around the corner…about a quarter-mile away. In addition, I babysat for two families nearby.

  I figured someone must have mentioned my name to Valor, though I couldn't imagine why. But if he'd gone for a walk in the open space park that borders our property on one side, somebody might have warned him he might run into Hooligan when he reached the cliffs at the west end of the trail. And they might have mentioned my name in connection with my impressively large dog.

  My ankle felt a lot better in the morning and I could walk with only a slight limp. The rest of me was a mass of purple bruises but I could cover them easily enough with pants and long sleeves. I put a little more care into dressing than I had the day before and wore my new bone chinos with my pale blue pullover.

  I spent quite a bit of time in front of the bathroom mirror. I fought with my hair for a while, tied it back, pinned it up then gave up and pulled on my knitted hat. Too nervous to eat, I skipped breakfast and rushed my eye makeup then headed out to the garage with Hooligan, who loped away into the woods as soon as I opened the garage doors.

  "Don't kill anything," I yelled at Hooli, not that I believed he would. Even though he looked lanky, Hooligan was a well-fed dog. He wasn't any more likely to kill a rabbit than a deer and, although the breed can be protective of their owners they're exceptionally gentle around children. It's almost as if they know how big and strong they are.

  The day was cool but pleasant. The sun hung low in the sky and streamed through the trees into the garage as I turned toward the wooden crate. I wanted another look at the stone sculpture before Valor got there. When I'd first seen it yesterday, I thought I was looking at the most beautiful guy I'd ever seen. But today I was certain the statue couldn't be as handsome as Valor. I just needed to get another look to prove my theory.

  The top panel came off the crate easily this time, the nails loose in the holes. Humming the last tune I'd listened to that morning, I propped the flat square of wood against the garage wall and turned back to the tall packing box.

  But the box was empty. The statue was missing.

  I couldn't believe my eyes. I reached inside the crate and felt through the bubble wrap, which only confirmed the bad news.

  It wasn't there.

  My pulse thundered in my ears with a dull, roaring sound and I pressed a hand against my stomach, feeling sick. Although it was the last thing on earth I wanted to believe, I couldn't help but suspect Valor.

  I should have known his apparent interest in me was too good to be true.

  Panic stricken, I reviewed the signs I'd overlooked yesterday. Valor had shown up right after the crate was delivered. He'd only asked me if I had a boyfriend to make sure that no guy was going to show up and interfere with his plans to steal the statue. Then he'd offered to clean the garage and close up the crate for me while insisting I stay inside. He must have used the opportunity to move the statue out of the garage. After he left for the afternoon, it would have been easy to drag the sculpture downhill to the road and load it up on a truck.

  It looked like he didn't care about me or my ankle. It was the statue he wanted! I felt like an idiot for being taken in by him. Greg had tried to tell me the contents of the crate were valuable but I hadn't listened. Now the fabulous sculpture was missing.

  But that wasn't even the worst part.

  Because when Valor had followed me into the house yesterday, he'd overheard my conversation with Greg and he knew another shipment was scheduled for delivery today. When the other two sculptures arrived, he'd probably want them too. To top it all off, I'd brainlessly volunteered the information that my mother was out of town. He knew I was alone.

  I needed to call the police. Actually, I needed to get inside the house first, then call the police. But before I had a chance to do either of those things, I heard Valor's voice behind me.

  "How's your ankle this morning?"

  I almost jumped out of my chinos.

  I spun to face Valor then backed away from him. Strangely, he wore the exact same costume as the day before, bare feet and all. He stood with one shoulder propped against the side of the open garage door. And my Irish wolfhound was right beside him, wagging his tail cheerfully. It looked as if Hooligan had run into Valor on the driveway and it was clear my dog thought he'd brought me a great prize.

  Tears of betrayal stung my eyes when I thought how easily we'd both been fooled. "Exactly who are you?" I demanded. "And what have you done with the statue that was in this crate?"

  "Statue?" he hedged while Hooligan sat down and gave me an uncertain look.

  "Don't try to act innocent, Valor—assuming that's really your name. I want to know what you've done with the damn statue!"

  He looked at the crate and sighed as he returned his gaze to me. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice the box was empty until the others got here."

  The others? I didn't know if he was talking about the other crates or if he meant he had a bunch of accomplices lined up to help him steal the rest of the statues. I hoped he was talking about the crates because the alternative was just too scary to handle. "The other statues? You plan to steal them too? How did you even know about the shipment in the first place?"

  He smiled as if he wasn't a lying thief, as though everything was going to be fine when I felt like nothing would ever be right again. I wasn't just angry. I was hurt and humiliated and just plain devastated. He wasn't a nice person at all. He probably thought I was a pathetic joke, because I had fallen for his flirting and his pretending to care about my ankle.

  "It's hard to explain, MacKenzie."

  "And how do you know my name?" I yelled. I'm not normally much of a crier but I was so upset I had to press my lips together to stop my chin from trembling. I didn't want to appear helpless or weak—or hurt—in front of him.

  "Actually, that might help me with my explanation," he mused without removing his gaze from my face.

  So far he wasn't explaining anything and I was starting to feel like I should be more worried. But even though I was angry and upset, I wasn't afraid he would harm me—which was probably a mistake. I figured a smart person would have been scared witless, especially since my guard dog had apparently changed sides.

  I glared at Hooligan. Why was my big, huge dog that was supposed to protect me, still sitting at Valor's side like they were best friends? I took another step backward toward the door that led to the house and called, "Come, Hooligan."

  Hooligan looked at me then up at Valor.

  Valor straightened. His expression was resigned as he said, "Go to MacKenzie, Hooligan."

  Obediently, Hooligan stood and padded toward me.

  Great! My guard dog was taking orders from the bad guy. "I'm calling the police," I threatened, locking my fingers in Hooli's collar as soon as he reached my side.

  "That won't be necessary, MacKenzie. I can explain everything."

  I desperately wanted there to be an explanation. His tone was so calm and his expression so sincere that I was tempted to listen to him. But I figured he was just pulling the same crap he'd pulled yesterday. And I was determined I wouldn't be fooled again.

  "But first, why don't you tell me about this missing statue," he suggested.

  "What do you mean?" I snapped.

  "Describe the statue to me, lass."

  Lass? Who used that word anymore, other than senior citizens in Scotland and Ireland? I decided he was just trying to keep me off balance. I tucked Hooligan behind me so he couldn't desert to the other side and I planted my fists on my hips. "You must have seen the statue last night when you closed the crate."

  "Aye, I saw it. It was a…male."

  "Yes, it was a male," I spat. "He was tall with shoulder
-length hair."

  "Like mine?" he asked evenly.

  I stared at his hair for a split second but refused to be distracted. "And his arms were crossed over his chest."

  "Like this?" he queried, and folded his arms in front of him.

  "Yes," I answered angrily. As if he didn't know! "And he was made of gray stone."

  Valor nodded solemnly.

  "And he had wings!"

  Valor uncrossed his arms and took a step backward, into the sun. As his hands dropped to his sides, the leather vest that wrapped the front of his body lifted away from his chest. The two sides of the vest rose above each of his shoulders and tilted gracefully backward. And with a snap of sound like the wind filling a boat's sails, the black leather expanded into two huge wings.

  My knees went jelloid as I leaned sideways and gripped the heavy workbench that stood against the garage wall. "But he was made of stone," I claimed in a faint voice.

  "Like this?" he asked, just before he changed. The warm coloring of his skin, the intense blue of his eyes and his ink-black hair all shifted to pale gray.

  "This isn't possible," I whispered as I stared at the scowling statue of Valor.

  The color returned to his skin in a warm rush as he changed back to living flesh and blood. He sent a wry smile in my direction. "I heard you give your name to man who brought me here. That's how I knew your name was MacKenzie."

  I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to think. I wasn't sure I wasn't dreaming! And I was so stunned I didn't have enough sense to be afraid. But more than anything, I was so relieved Valor wasn't a lying thief or a bad guy. "What on earth are you?" I croaked when I found my voice again.

  "Have you never seen a gargoyle before?" he asked as his lips curved into a sharp smile.

  Yeah, I'd seen gargoyles before, and not only in pictures. I'd seen them carved into stone buildings in England when I'd visited my cousins over there. There were a ton of them in Oxford. "But gargoyles are ugly," I insisted as I grasped at any argument that might dispute his claim.

  "You think I'm ugly?" he asked, one of his dark eyebrows tilting upward.

  "No, I don't," I answered as I searched his features for any hint of imperfection. "That's the problem. I've seen gargoyles before and they're ugly."

  "You've seen gargoyles?" he asked as his eyes narrowed in interest. "I assumed they had all died out. Are there any who live around here?"

  "Live?" I was having a hard time keeping up. "Died out?"

  "In my time there were several thousand gargoyles living on the island you call Great Britain."

  At that point, I was so rocked by everything I'd seen and heard that I couldn't grab onto a complete thought. "Your time? You have a time?" I lifted my hands behind my head and leaned back to look at the rafters in the garage. I took a deep, steadying breath. "Okay," I said, without looking at him. "When was your time, exactly?"

  "I'm not sure of the year by your calendar," he answered. "But I'm fairly certain it was at least eight hundred years ago."