Stone cold monsters have always ruled my world.

And now one rules my heart.

All my life, an inanimate stone gargoyle has stood watch over my tiny house.
His eyes have watched me suffer as I carried the weight of others on my back.

And now he has come to life. To kill those who have tormented me.

Levias is a gargoyle who has heard my screams of anguish.
He’ll do anything to keep me safe.
Whether it's slaughtering my enemies or hiding me away, he won't hesitate.

But there's one thing he can't take by force. It's the one thing he wants more than anything.
I know that it's his anyway. He just needs to ask.
And what is it?

My heart.

Chapter 1

Chase

The crow of the rooster wakes me, though it’s not like it takes much. With eleven children in my care, I don’t know the last time I slept soundly. If it wasn’t the rooster, it could be a cough or a loud wind.

My eyes blink open tiredly. I don’t want to get out of my warm bed to face the cool autumn day, but I know there’s no use in putting it off. As always, there’s too much to do. Chores aren’t just something to pass the time around here – they’re essential to our survival, and laziness can only hurt us.

So, I shake myself awake, wincing slightly when my feet touch the cold floor. It’ll be colder soon, when winter comes. But it’s still a bit of a shock, initially, on my system, a startling way to leave my nice warm bed.

The house is still dark, as dawn is just now beginning to creep across the landscape. I fumble around to light a candle beside the bed, then carry it through the house as I rouse the older children for the day. We all have to chip in around here, to make ends meet.

It only takes a few moments for everyone to gather, knowing their role. Wendy and William, thirteen-year-old twins, will feed and water the chickens. Roger, who is fourteen and deafmute, gathers the eggs.

Roberta has a green thumb that's impressive at fifteen, and she helps me in the garden. Uri, the oldest of the children at nineteen, stays inside to make breakfast. She’ll also take care of the younger children as they wake up, making sure that they’re prepared for the day.

We split up, moving through our tasks with the precision that comes from a carefully planned routine. I work in the garden with Roberta. Distractedly, I pull weeds, but my attention is fixated on a little wall of brambles on the side of the garden.

Behind them is my favorite hidden spot in the garden. It’s a little secret patch of rare herbs and plants that only I know about. Most of our money comes from selling these plants in healing recipes and potions.

I keep them a secret, protective since we need them to survive. I can’t check them now, with Roberta here, but I still think about them while I work.

When everyone meets again for breakfast, the veneer of responsibility quickly fades. The children – young and old – start acting like children.

It’s something I hate to chide them for, as they get so few opportunities to be silly and carefree. But breakfast time tends to be an overdrawn affair, with twelve bodies crammed around a small table, and today is no exception.

Tony and Scott, brothers who are ten and twelve respectively, are jockeying each other and rough housing. They accidentally spill five-year-old Jessie’s drink. It runs off the table onto her lap. She screws up her face and screams tearfully.

The boys turn to each other, looking ashamed. 

“We didn’t mean to,” Scott defends himself.

“It was an accident,” Tony says, speaking over his brother.

Uri sighs, and the world-weary tone in her voice makes me sad. “It doesn’t matter what you intended,” she cuts off their apology. “Fix it. Get a rag and clean it up.”

“Come on, Jessie,” I say soothingly. “We’ll get you changed.”

I take her back to the bedroom, wincing at the idea of more laundry. By the time I return her to the table, in fresh clothes and wreathed in a sunny smile, two-year-old Tina has spilled her drink. Her plate of eggs is drowning in the liquid, and Uri stops eating to make her a new plate.

“I’s sorry,” Tina whispers, and my heart clenches again. It’s so unfair that even a minor struggle is a devastating loss in this house. Everyone is at the end of their rope, all the time, with so little room for error.

“It’s okay,” I say, trying to hold back the sigh that desperately wants to escape. “Uri, you eat. I’ll do it.”

I trade places with Uri so that she can at least finish before her eggs are cold. By the time I am done, kids are already scrambling away from the table. I try to coax up a few extra smiles for the younger ones, who are still eating, and scarf down my meal.

Wendy and William gather the younger children, taking them into the yard to play. The stone walls of the old dark elf strong house, where we reside, help keep us warm. But they’re not great for fresh air or sunlight, and the kids need to be outside if they can.

Haley, who is ten, washes the breakfast dishes. She has a hard time with the other kids, and I don’t think she minds missing out on their play.

Haley’s a bit of an odd duck – she’s more interested in dead animals than toys. I suppose I shouldn’t complain, since dead animals are easier for us to come by here. But it’s a little creepily morbid, even though Haley’s harmless. Still, it doesn’t make it easy for her to fit in with her peers.

I’m eager to get out to my garden, my preferred chore, and enjoy the company of my little stone garden statue. When no one is around, I like to vent and tell him stories. It might sound silly, but I’ve even given him a name – Stan. It’s something of a joke, because all he can do is ‘stan’d around and listen to me.’ I guess when you’re starved for adult company, you learn to make do.

But I don’t have time to pal around with Stan right now. Uri and I head out to the storehouse to fetch some of our picked goods. It’s an easy, cheap, and reliable way to keep our garden produce from spoiling so that it can last us over the winter, when food becomes scarce.

As we approach the heavy wooden door, my ear pricks up at an unfamiliar sound. I stop short, listening. Someone’s inside the storehouse.

Uri and I meet each other’s eyes. Hers are dark with worry. I’d imagine that my own expression must mirror hers. But I don’t want her to panic, so I try to act like I have everything under control.

I reach into my pocket for a curved blade that I found in the garden and had sharpened. It’s an old relic from the dark elves, but I’ve hung onto it for practicality. In this moment, I’m glad that I have it.

Uri’s eyes go wide when she sees it in my grip. She presses her lips together in a thin line and holds her breath, trying to look brave. I gesture for her to stand behind me, and slowly push open the door with one hand, my weapon poised in the other.

The first thing I notice is that everything is a mess. Items have been pushed around on the shelves haphazardly, and some are even scattered on the floor. I tense the hand holding the blade, ready to strike, when I see the offender.

“Thomas,” I shout in a voice that’s half a scold, and half a relieved exclamation. “You scared me silly!” My breath whooshes out of me, realizing that it’s just my own brother scavenging around. I pocket my weapon, feeling annoyed.

“Sorry,” he mutters apologetically. He does sound sorry, but also distracted. My brow furrows, wondering just what he’s up to this time.

He wheels around to face me, his eyes big and panicked. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he admits. “But I’m in big trouble. Big, big trouble. I owe the Bowler Street Brothers some gold. I was hoping I’d find your medicine here. I could sell just enough to cover my debts." He blows out a breath. "Or they’re going to kill me.”

I can feel the headache forming behind my eyes. Thomas is going to be the death of me. “How much gold do you owe?” I ask, trying to sound calm.

“100 pieces.”

Behind me, I can hear Uri suck in her breath, shocked by the sum. I grit my teeth, barely resisting the urge to do the same. The announcement is like a slap in the face. We’re barely getting by as it is. I don’t have the means to dig him out of this hole, even if I wanted to.

Even if I hadn’t spent the past few years digging him out of holes that he just keeps climbing right back into. At some point, I have to find a way to take away his shovel. Because I just don’t have the means to keep fixing his mistakes.

I rub my temples wearily. “I don’t have anything to give you,” I tell him slowly. It hurts me to say it because I do love my brother. I want more than anything to help him,

But we need that medicine to sell to cover our own needs this winter. I can’t take one more thing away from these innocent children. Thomas is a grown man. He needs to do better.

“Winter is coming,” I inform him, remembering how I could smell it in the morning air. “We don’t have many days left to gather, and everything that I have needs to last us. There’s no extra, Thomas. I have too many mouths to feed.”

His shoulders slump, and he hangs his head dejectedly.

“What is wrong with me?” he moans in a weary sigh. “The only sure thing in life is that I’m going to screw up. How can you keep everything together, run the house, take care of the kids, and I can’t even keep my own self out of trouble? Why am I a constant failure?”

It pinches something in my heart to see him give up. I do think that he means it. He always feels bad when the consequences catch up to him. It just seems as though he’s unable to stop and think ahead, to avoid the mess in the first place. He’s full of good intentions and the poorest execution.

I sigh and pull a loose brick out from the wall to find my secret money stash. I rummage in the satchel, pulling out a few coins.

I thrust it into his hands, wanting him to take it before I change my mind. “Take this and get out of here,” I instruct him. “Go to Camp Life. The Bowler Street Brothers won’t find you there.”

I try to ignore the pain I feel at the idea of losing my only brother this way. He’s the only family I have left since my parents died years ago. I’ve taken care of him for this long and already said so many goodbyes that another one feels unbearably cruel.

I don’t have time to fixate on that, though. I push the thought aside, reminding my practical side that this is the best move for everyone. I have to let him go, because I can’t take care of him any longer.

There are too many children who need me, and not enough of me to go around. Thomas will have to start fending for himself in Camp Life.

His face lights up, squeezing the money tight in his hand and pumping his fist. “Thanks, sis!” he exclaims, hopping like a little kid. Almost frantically, he throws his arms around me for a whirlwind hug, kisses my cheek, and darts toward the door.

He moves so fast that he nearly mows down Uri, who jumps to get out of his way. He pauses for a brief second at the door, somber again. “You really did save my hide,” he says. “This will be the last time, I promise.”

I’m not sure what to say. I’d like to believe that, but somehow, I also feel like if Thomas is in my life, I’ll always be bailing him out. If this is the last time, it’s because I never see him again, or he winds up dead. Neither of those ideas appeals to me.

Finally, I reply, “Be safe, Thomas.”

He grins again. “I’d rather be me.” And with that, he slips out the door, the heavy wood slamming behind him.

I stare in silence at the spot he just vacated, while Uri waits patiently. Then I shake myself out of it. There’s no time to waste.

 We’ll get what we came here for. Then while I work in my secret garden, I can tell my ‘friend’ Stan all about my morning.