Home for Horny Monsters: Romancing the Stone - The magic screen, deserted fountain, and the mandragora. (part 4) By writerannabelle.  Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. A chill went up his spine at the thought of the banshee. He needed to make nice with her, and he thought he had a good way to do it. He placed his hand on the top rail of the stairs, looking down the rest of the hall. Two doors on each side of the hall and a tall, ebony wardrobe with a silver handle. Had that wardrobe always been there? The sound of breaking glass startled him. He ran down the stairs and into the kitchen to see Tink frowning at a busted bowl on the floor. She blushed when she saw him. “Tink got startled,” she explained, eying the bowl. “But Tink can fix.” “Don’t bother.” Mike grabbed a broom and swept up the glass. “Bowls are easily replaced.” Tink nodded at this, following him into the kitchen. Mike pulled the box of Eggos out of the freezer. “Are those good?” Tink asked. Mike nodded, shoving them in the toaster. “Eggos? The best, as long as you know how to dress them up properly.” Pulling a tub of butter from the fridge, he set syrup and peanut butter next to it. When the toaster popped, he stacked the Eggos on his plate, slathering them first in butter, then peanut butter. He topped them with some syrup, handing them to Tink. “Try that and let me know what you think?” Tink took the plate, sniffing at the Eggos. “Tink not so sure,” she informed him before picking up an Eggo. She bit into it, syrup and peanut butter running down her chin. “So what do you think?” Mike asked. “Tink think goblin husband learn to cook.” She handed the plate back to Mike. “Tink need real food.” She opened the fridge, standing on her tiptoes to see to the back. Her double nipples perked up under the cold air. “Tink like pizza.” “Well, we’re out of pizza, but maybe this will help.” Mike pulled a bag of pizza rolls out of the freezer. “We can cook these up in a hurry.” “Use oven. Microwave is lazy.” Tink took the bag from him, reading the instructions. “Tink can do this. Mike eat Eggo things.” “Fair enough.” Clearly, he and Tink had different tastes in food. He made a pot of coffee, which Tink happily shared with him while they waited. Tink unceremoniously dumped the whole bag onto a pan, and Mike sighed inwardly. When he had bought food yesterday, he hadn’t accounted for another mouth to feed. Tink found a pad of paper in one of the drawers and was busy jotting notes to herself as the pizza rolls cooked. Mike dug through a collection of inbound emails, mostly job related, when he saw one from the Historical Preservation Society. Curious, he clicked the link. The writer of the email laid out all sorts of reasons why they wanted to buy the place, but Mike didn’t bother reading it. He trashed the file after only a few sentences. “Show Tink.” The goblin appeared between him and the laptop, her head blocking his view. “Show Tink how to use magic screen.” “I’ll show you later. What did you put on the list?” Tink handed him the paper. Her handwriting was surprisingly elegant, a cursive lettering that made him think of wedding invitations. Scanning the list, Mike felt a hard lump form in his throat. Every line of the paper was full with something that needed fixing. “You found all of these things wrong already?” “Tink know some from before.” The oven beeped, and Tink left his side to retrieve her breakfast. Mike couldn’t help but watch her as she inspected each roll carefully between her claws before popping them in her mouth. “Before big sleep, Tink keep journal on broken stuff, but Emily not always buy Tink supplies. Bad ladies won’t let her, she tell Tink.” “Bad ladies?” Mike thought of the email. “Oh, the historical society. Yeah, we have to be careful doing repairs, apparently. This place is on a national registry, and we have to follow the rules or…” Or what? That was a question for Beth, obviously. What was to keep him from doing whatever he wanted to the house? Some of the items on list were simple enough, and he didn’t see any harm in letting Tink work on them. “Hey Tink.” Tink, her mouth full of pizza rolls, tilted her head at him. “This thing right here. I’m planning to take care of that.” Tink nodded her head, swallowing pizza rolls. “You do good job, or Tink be mad.” “Yeah.” He didn’t need any more people mad at him. “Do we have the supplies for this?” “Tink show you.” The goblin led him out to the garage, where he once again navigated the maze of boxes. “Are these books yours?” he asked. “No. Tink read sometime, but not these. These belong to-” Tink stopped walking, her eyes going blank. “That strange. Tink forget.” “Not that strange,” Mike muttered. Tink led him down to her dwelling beneath the garage. Mike tilted his head to fit, listening carefully as Tink described her organization system. She opened various drawers and boxes, showing Mike how everything fit together like a Tetris game from hell. Opening the third box, Mike held up a hand in surrender. “Tink, you don’t live down here anymore. If it’s possible, could we take these things out of the boxes and use the very nice tool benches upstairs?” “Tink make trade. Mike move books out, Tink move tools back.” “Deal.” He kissed Tink on the forehead, the little goblin’s face turning a darker shade of green. “But that’s a job for a different day. Right now, I need some WD-40, a couple of screwdrivers, and those shears I bought.” Tink dug through the boxes, pulling out the things Mike needed, and stuffing them into a small toolbox she slid out from under her own bench. She threw in some extra items, then handed it to Mike. “You go fix, Tink check pipes.” “You got it.” Mike left the goblin behind, smiling at the sound of Tink humming a little song to herself. He cast a look back, briefly watching her assemble her own box of tools. He picked his way through the garage, briefly wondering if the garage door would even open if he tried. Deciding that he wasn’t feeling adventurous enough to chance it, he took the long route through the house, stepping out into the real world on the front porch. The swing swayed back and forth, squeaking incessantly, but an actual breeze was passing through, which meant Mike had no idea if Cecilia was there. There was an easy way to find out. “Hello? Cecilia?” He moved closer to the swing, fighting the urge to shut his eyes. It was like watching a scary movie, and knowing that the scary part was coming. “Are you out here?” The swing swayed gently, no sign of slowing down. If the banshee was gone, that would make the process that much easier. He approached the swing, grabbing the chain and unhooking it from the frame, lowering it to the ground. When nothing bad happened, he inspected the eye hook at the top of the chain. Sure enough, it had managed to wiggle partially free, the surface rusting over. Staring at the useless screwdrivers he had chosen, he found the wrench that Tink had tucked away for him. He laughed, using the wrench to twist the eyehook. Barely moving, he used a few sprays of the WD-40 to help move things along. It took him a few minutes, but he managed to yank it free. Using a rag in the toolbox, Mike gave the screw a good cleaning, scraping the rust off as best he could. Inspecting the screw, he looked inside the hole of the frame. It was caked with rust as well. He used one of the screwdrivers to clean it out as best he could, knocking loose quite a bit of rust and dirt. Sticking the eyebolt back in, he twisted it tightly into place. He gave it an experimental tug, and it held fast. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered, picking up the chain. Lifting his arm to reattach it, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck lift as the temperature dropped. Spinning in place, he saw that she was only a foot from him, her body hovering inches off the ground, both hands balled at her side. Her face a twisted mask, Cecilia took a deep breath and opened her mouth. “Wait!” Mike cried, dropping the chain and holding his hands in front of him. “Just hear me out!” He knelt down, lifting the chain and the bench, hooking it back through the eyebolt. Keeping a cautious eye on Cecilia, he sat down gently, wincing as he gave a gentle kick of his legs. The porch swing was silent, gliding back and forth with just the soft rustling of the frame above it. “I know that you like this swing, so I thought I would fix it for you.” Cecilia’s ghostly features softened, her hands reaching out to touch the moving chain. She glided gently around Mike, sitting down beside him on the swing. The air by her skin was cool, and she closed her eyes, letting out a sigh. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft with an Irish lilt to it. Milky eyes staring into the distance, her hand felt along the bench, resting on his knee. “I appreciate it.” “You’re welcome. My name is Mike, by the way.” Mike tried to stand, but Cecilia squeezed his leg, holding him in place. “I’m sorry about before.” She turned her sightless eyes toward him. “Please stay with me for just a bit. I haven’t had anyone to talk to in quite some time.” Mike could think of several things he wanted to do instead, but Cecilia’s demeanor was not only drastically different, but he couldn’t help but notice just how cute she was. “Okay, sure. I can stay for a bit.” “Thank you.” Cecilia rocked on the swing next to Mike, saying nothing for several minutes. Mike stared at the banshee, more than curious. Her white clothing was simple, but tailor made for her body, and her curls were as white as she was, though they terminated in eerie spikes that spread out around her as if she sat on a Van De Graaff generator. The chill of her hand was intense through his jeans. Uncomfortable, he slid his hand beneath hers, lifting it slightly. “I hope this is okay,” he told her, as a slight grin crossed her face. “You’re the first man to hold my hand in many years,” she informed him. “The last one to do that was-” Her entire body flickered, like a shock had gone through her. “-someone whose name I can’t remember.” “Yep.” Mike couldn’t help but notice how soft her skin was. The longer he held her hand, the warmer she felt. “Now that you’re not pissed at me, you don’t seem very banshee-ish.” This elicited a frown from Cecilia. “A banshee is what I am, not how I act. It used to be something I was proud to be, a job I was proud to do.” “A job?” Cecilia nodded. “Every family had its own banshee. It was my job to guide them into the afterlife when they passed. Nobody loves a banshee for what they represent, but they needed us for what we did. Our wails of sorrow were to announce our coming, and we would guide the spirits into the ever after.” “So… the afterlife is real?” Cecilia nodded. “Very much so. When Emily passed, I was allowed to guide her soul to its resting place.” “That’s, wow.” That was something to chew on, for certain. “What’s it like?” Cecilia smiled. “You’ll find out someday.” “To be honest, I try not to think of it much.” Mike winced. “I had a close call when I was younger.” “I can tell. Your soul has a certain polish to it.” Cecilia’s face broke into a wicked smile. “Tell me, do you-” Cecilia flickered, vanishing from view at the creaking of the front steps. A woman in her forties walked slowly up the wooden stairs, accompanied by a much younger woman. Her long black hair was wound tightly in a bun, but there was plenty left over that it had been fashioned into a long braid beneath it. She wore a simple gray skirt with a modest white blouse. Her dark eyes found Mike, and she paused at the top of the stairs. “Are you Mr. Radley?” Her tone was formal, the question almost a command. “That’s me.” Mike stood, walking across the porch. He was going to shake her hand, but his stomach clenched suddenly, sending pain through his gut. He grabbed the railing instead. “My name is Elizabeth. This is my daughter Sarah.” Sarah’s dark hair scattered along the fabric of her red suit jacket, contrasting nicely in the sunlight. Her skirt matched her jacket, and a low cut top was accentuated by a shimmering blue stone pendant that dangled perilously between her large breasts. “We are from the Historical Preservation Society, and I was wondering if we could have a word with you.” Mike found his mouth inexplicable dry, his forced smile twitching. Something about Elizabeth made him more than uneasy, a gut feeling that he couldn’t ignore. “Um, sure, I guess.” “Excellent, Mr. Radley.” Elizabeth stayed where she was, her eyes locked on Mike. Mike saw Sarah staring at the door of the house. “Maybe it would be best if we went inside?” Mike immediately thought of Tink wandering around the house in just a shirt and goggles. “I would prefer we speak out here, actually. It’s a bit stuffy inside, and I wasn’t expecting company.” “We can talk out here then.” Elizabeth held up a folder, and Mike immediately recognized it as identical to the one Beth had taken away with her yesterday. “I was informed yesterday evening by the estate agent that you declined our offer to buy this property without even looking at it.” “Um, yes, I did decline the offer.” It was odd, but he couldn’t help but notice that Elizabeth stood on the top step of the porch rather than the actual porch. “I’ve decided to live here.” “By yourself?” Sarah asked, her predatory eyes scanning the windows. If Elizabeth was giving him a mad school principal vibe, then Sarah was a cop who had pulled him over and was ready to bust a taillight. “I’ve been by myself most of my life.” The feeling in his gut manifested now as a cold ball of ice. What the hell was going on? “I’m not sure why it would change anytime soon.” “Well, this is a pretty big place for just one man, Mr. Radley.” Elizabeth’s smile didn’t make it to her eyes. “And I can’t help but be offended that you didn’t even consider looking at our offer.” Sarah had taken a step back from her mother to get a better view of the second floor windows. “Why are you so interested in this place?” Mike asked, leaning against the rail. “It was one of the first homes built in the area,” Elizabeth told him. “Constructed by a mysterious architect, and paid for by an unknown benefactor. This home is a mystery hiding in plain site, and the Historical Preservation Society is interested in not only answering these questions, but preserving the home’s original beauty.” “Well, if that’s your primary concern, then you should know I have no intention of changing anything about this house.” “But caring for such a place will be hard for a single person, don’t you agree Mr. Radley?” Sarah had backed down the steps all the way, squinting at the shadows under the porch. “I’ve already got someone to help with that.” Mike crossed his arms. “Can I help your daughter with something?” Sarah was crouched down, inspecting the bushes Mike had fallen into yesterday, gloved hands gently touching their branches. Surprised that Mike was watching her, she stood up suddenly. “She’s been fascinated by this place since she was a little girl,” Elizabeth informed him. “I would like for you to actually look at our offer this time, Mr. Radley. Strongly consider it. I promise you that this home will only become a burden, one that the women of the Society will be more than happy to take on.” She held the folder out. “I’ll look, but no promises.” Mike took the folder, and Elizabeth’s finger briefly touched his. He felt a tiny spark, and suddenly Elizabeth’s smile finally reached her eyes. “We’ll be in touch,” she told him, moving off the steps and down the walkway to the street. Sarah smirked, following her mother out to a sports car parked partially on his driveway. He didn’t bother waving as they roared back out of his driveway. The cold feeling in his stomach faded, leaving him alone with his thoughts. “What a couple of fucking weirdos,” he muttered, staring at the paper in his hands. He opened the file, revealing a set of legal documents and a monetary offer that was entirely too large. Mike couldn’t help but notice that the offer they had supplied him pertained to the contents of the house as well. “Okay, gotcha.” Mike closed the folder and walked inside the house. Naia had made it very clear that there were people who wanted the home for its inhabitants (however many of them there were), and the odd behavior of Elizabeth and Sarah now made perfect sense. Well, almost. Obviously, Sarah was hoping to get a peek at one of the inhabitants, and her behavior had been anything but normal. Elizabeth acted pleasant enough, but he had recognized the mask she wore all too well. His own mother had donned it every time they needed a new place to sleep for the night, every time she needed to bargain just another week on the couch. This was a woman who was used to getting her way, and Mike wasn’t playing along. He sat at his computer, pulling up the website for the Historical Preservation Society. There were several members, and a little digging revealed that Elizabeth and Sarah were indeed high ranking members. He frowned, staring at their smiling faces. Looking again at the folder, he tossed it in the trash. If those two knew there was more to the house than he was letting on, he needed to figure out how to divert their attention elsewhere. That could wait, however. He walked back out front, hoping to strike up another conversation with Cecilia, but the banshee didn’t appear. Grabbing his toolbox, he wandered back through the house and out into the garden. The fountain was flowing freely now, and several small birds were bathing in the upper basin. Naia, floating in the water, had one hand in the air with two small finches chirping happily to her on her fingertips. “What are they saying?” Mike asked, setting down the toolbox. He couldn’t help but notice that Naia’s fountain was clean, but the surrounding area had been covered in dirt and muck from her blowing out the lines and overflowing the fountain yesterday. “They’re telling me about the visitors you had,” Naia said, giving her hand a flick. The birds took flight, landing in the basin to join their brethren. “You felt sick around them, yes?” “Yeah. How did you know?” “That touch of precognition I told you about. Those women were trouble, and I could sense your apprehension.” Naia sat up, the water pushing her into a seated position. “What did they want?” “They want to buy the place. I think they know something is up, because one of them kept trying to peek in the windows.” “She wouldn’t have seen anything if she had. Unless you invite someone in, the Gaes protects us from outside observation. Tink could stand naked in the doorway of the house, and it would appear empty to them.” “Spooky.” Mike sat on the edge of the fountain. “Yeah, when they wanted to come inside, I felt super uncomfortable.” “That’s from the magic. Listen to it always.” Mike nodded. “Don’t worry, I will. Oh, I talked with Cecilia. She didn’t shriek at me this time, and we chatted a bit. That was kind of cool, not having the shit scared out of me.” Naia nodded. “Emily always told me that Cecilia was very kind.” “Yeah, well, it was nice to talk to her. Are all the monsters here like that? Are you all friendly?” Naia shrugged. “I want to say yes, but I can’t say for certain. It would make sense that we all respond well to be taken care of-this was meant to be our haven, our stronghold. Gone are the days when monsters roamed the world freely. For many of us, that’s a good thing though. Several of us treated mankind as a food source, or our playthings.” “Well, humans do the same thing to each other, actually.” Mike scowled at the water. “Like your mother?” Naia asked. Mike nodded. “In the worst way. I spent years thinking that she would one day love me back, accept me, show me kindness. I’m glad she’s dead, but that makes me feel bad, so it’s a cycle that can’t really be broken. I’ll never get that closure, so…” Mike shrugged. “It is what it is.” Naia sat next to Mike, running her hands down his arms. “I can think of a way to take your mind off of it,” she suggested. Mike laughed. “That sounds like an amazing offer, but if I’m going to take care of this place, I actually need to do some stuff first.” He pointed at the mud and dirt surrounding the fountain. “This is just gross, by the way.” “Trust me, I know. Having all of that stuck in the lines of my spring was like a sinus infection. Blowing it free was so refreshing.” “Do nymphs get sinus infections?” Mike asked. “No, but I’m inside your head. I know what one would feel like, lover.” She kissed his neck. “By the gate, there is a drain located beneath the bushes that leads out to the street. If you get a push broom, I’ll flood the place again, and you can try and push it all over there.” “That’s a pretty good idea, actually.” Mike checked the garage, finding what he needed almost right away. Tink may have squirreled away most of the tools, but the bigger things were all grouped together in their holder. Pulling down the large broom, he stepped back into the garden. Naia was doing her best impression of a leaf, floating in circles as the birds took turns landing on her fingers and chirping at her. “Are you ready?” She asked. “Not quite.” The statue tucked near the door had caught his attention again. “What do you know about this?” “Not much. It’s buried in creeper vines.” Naia stood on the edge of the fountain. “It seems familiar though.” “Yeah. I bought some clippers.” Mike pulled them from the toolbox. “I’ve always had a fascination with statues. When I was a kid, there was a park with a bunch of sculptures, surrounded by a lake. I would go out onto this little island that you got to by a footbridge, and sit beneath the statues there.” Mike examined the vines, cutting them near the base of the statue and then unwinding them. “We would move all the time, so whenever we were close enough to the park, I would stop by and just sit with them for a while. There was one set of statues, three figures standing and a space between them as if a fourth one was missing. Sometimes, I would stand in that empty spot, willing myself to turn to stone for a hundred years and see where mankind ends up.” Mike worked quickly, cutting the vines free and peeling them off. It was almost half an hour before he had freed the statue from its leafy prison. It was a woman, head bowed and eyes closed. Her lower face and entire body was covered in a robe that clung tightly enough to her figure that he could run his hands across her breasts, the only indicator that she was a woman. “Well?” Naia asked. “Um, it’s a statue.” Mike moved away so she could see it. “She’s pretty, but whoever carved her didn’t feel like fucking around with details. Still, at least she’s freed from all this crap.” He tossed the vines into a pile. “What kind of plant is this anyway?” Mike held the free end of one of the vines he had cut, scrutinizing the tiny leaves growing off of it. The garden was full of random shrubs and mostly dead flowerpots, and they didn’t match the vine he held. Strangely, the vine didn’t seem to come from any of the shrubs either. Instead, it had wound its way around several of them to grow along the statue’s surface. He gave the vine a tug, trying to follow it back to where it came from. The garden extended along the back of the house. The vines were pressed up against the house too, hidden behind the bushes growing along the outer wall. Walking farther, he stared up along the house’s sides. He was fairly certain he was looking at the master bedroom window. The yard opened up, revealing a large grassy area. Vines were sprawled everywhere, pressing against the concrete wall that bordered the property and running up the side of the house. They all came from a greenhouse positioned in the corner of the property, three of its panels shattered out and allowing the vines through. “Ah geez.” Mike shook his head. How the fuck had he missed seeing a giant greenhouse? The tour Beth had given him on the first day hadn’t been comprehensive by any means, but he figured even just a cursory glance out the window would have revealed this mess. The greenhouse was roughly the size of the garage, and each of the intact glass panels were smeared in dirt from the inside. No time like the present. MIke approached the door, the earth smells from inside making his nose wrinkle. The greenhouse door had a large, silver lever. He gave it a twist, frowning when it wouldn’t budge. Rattling the door, he was frustrated when it wouldn’t budge. Crouching for a better look, he saw that a key was needed. “Of course,” he muttered. He contemplated the creeper vines, wondering if he should chop them up or stuff them back in the greenhouse. On the one hand, chopping them up would be easy. On the other hand, he could kill the plant, and the thought of simply slicing up the vines gave him that weird feeling again in his gut. One of the vines twitched, flexing like a snake awakening from its nap. “Oh fuck!” The bundle of vines spasmed, recoiling enough that they spread across the lawn. Mike sprinted across the lawn toward the house, giving the vines a wide berth. Coming to the narrow gap between the wall and the house, he saw that the vines were withdrawing, spreading out and coiling around everything they touched. He hopscotched his way through them, timing his jumps to avoid touching them. The fountain came into sight, and Naia stood at its edge, her face a mask of concern. “What’s going on?” she asked, her eyes on the retracting vines near the fountain. Her eyes met his just as the vines sprung up, a pair of them catching his legs. “Shit!” Mike pulled the shears from his back pocket, cutting at the vines that had ensnared him. Slicing himself free, more vines whipped around him, closing in and knocking the shears free from his grasp. He made it to the edge of the fountain just as his feet were pulled from underneath. Naia grabbed onto his wrists, trying to pull him into the water. Fingertips clutching the fountain, more of the creeper vines found him, spiraling up his legs and waist. “Mike!” Naia cried, his grip loosening on the fountain’s edge. She held tightly to his arms, but the vines were simply too powerful. Yanked free of Naia’s grasp, he was pulled across the yard, his fingers scraping at flagstones and dirt. Twisting on his back, he saw the greenhouse looming closer, hungry vines twisting in anticipation. “Help!” Mike screamed, grabbing the vines with his hands. They spiraled around his arms, pinning him in place. He was yanked through the windows of the greenhouse, the busted panes cutting his arms. “Fuck!” The foliage obscured his vision, and then suddenly, the space opened up. Opening his mouth to scream, it lodged in his throat when he realized that he was not so much inside the greenhouse, but somewhere else entirely. A brilliant, dark blue sky was above him, and the walls of the greenhouse terminated, revealing an entire jungle in every direction. Leaning forward, he saw that the vines were pulling him toward a rocky ledge. This was it. His brain had finally blown its last fuse. Was he even really here? Was he in bed? Was he in a mental institute, the weird guy who jerked off while pretending to fuck goblins and nymphs? The world filled with the sounds of shattering glass, and Mike heard something heavy hit the ground behind him. Crunching footsteps approached quickly, and the light above vanished behind a dark figure. The edge of the cliff loomed closer, the creature above him frantically swiping at vines with razor sharp talons. Vines whipped up at his savior, who didn’t even flinch as they struck skin. Mike’s arms were suddenly free, and he grabbed the figures ankle tightly. He was surprised to fill the cool, rough texture of stone beneath his skin, but couldn’t care less. Right now, the person above him was winning. “Cut the ones down by my feet,” he said, pulling at the figure with both hands. More vines were whipping over the edge, grabbing at them both. “There are more coming up.” One foot was free, and then suddenly, the other. Yanked to his feet, they tried to run from the ledge of the cliff, but the creeper vines had created a wall of branches behind them, cutting off their escape. “Merde!” His savior swore, wrapping stony, feminine arms around him. He was lifted easily from the ground, and she jumped off the cliff, clutching him tightly. Wings, nearly twenty feet across, caught the air as they soared into the impossible sky. Mike gazed at the jungle below, easily miles across in every direction. “What is this place?” He shouted into the wind. His savior was struggling to climb into the sky, so they soared along the edge of the cliff toward a massive waterfall. Several rocky ledges traversed the falls like giant steps, and they landed quietly on one of them about halfway down. “It is the greenhouse.” Her voice carried a thick French accent. She released him, and he stepped back from her. Her giant wings wrapped gently around her stone body, her talons retracting into her hands. Her wings became a cloak, covering her naked skin. Her face was feminine, save for the wide set nose flattened against her face, her eyes dark like obsidian. Short, jet black hair was pulled back behind her slightly pointed ears. With her cloak back in place, Mike recognized the statue he had cleaned off. “Not the kind I am used to,” he said, pointing at the jungle. “This place is absolutely impossible.” “Not impossible. Improbable.” She crossed her arms. “And now, I must ask who you are and why you are here.” “I’m Mike. I inherited this place from my Great Aunt Emily.” Mike took a seat, the adrenaline finally wearing off. “I’ve only been here a couple of days.” “You are the new guardian? I see. That explains so much.” She looked across the cliffs at where the vines were hungrily whipping around, trying to find their prey. “That is the Mandragora. It must be pretty hungry to have broken out of the greenhouse. You will need to feed it soon.” Oh god. “What the hell does it eat?” “Meat, mostly. It also enjoys wine and cheese.” “How does a plant… you know what? It doesn’t matter. Thank you for saving me.” “You are welcome.” She bowed her head at him. “My name is Abella. It is my job to protect the grounds of the house. When Emily died, I fell into a deep sleep, and apologize for not greeting you sooner.” “You were all wrapped up in the Mandragora vines,” Mike said. Abella frowned at him. “That explains why I did not awaken at your arrival. The Mandragora was draining me of my life essence. This is not good. It means I have been asleep for far longer than I thought.” “I thought the plant ate meat?” “What better way to absorb life essence? The Mandragora could not eat me nor move me, so it fed on my energy through my skin.” “What are you, exactly?” Mike’s legs were suddenly numb. He rubbed them, his muscles tingling beneath his fingers. “My kind have many names, but your kind would know me as a gargoyle,” Abella replied. “Doesn’t water have to run out of your mouth or something?” Mike asked. “If you sever my head and mount it to a building, yes.” Abella frowned. “Anyway, I-” Abella’s legs suddenly collapsed beneath her, and she fell to the ground, panting for air. “Are you okay?” Mike asked. “No, I am not.” Abella crawled over by Mike, laying down on the rock beside him. “How long ago did Emily die?” “A couple of years, actually.” “I told her that she needed to have a successor ready. The Mandragora has taken too much of my life force. I must rest for some time before I can get us out of here.” “That’s ok. I’m just happy to be alive.” Mike moved closer to Abella, his legs tingling beneath him. “Can I do anything for you?” Abella remained silent, her eyes closed. Now that she was by his side, he realized that she was only about five feet tall. Her feet were large, three giant toes with talons on them, and she had a thick, muscular tail that was hidden beneath her wings. Mike held tightly to her, feeling the slow rhythm of her breathing beneath his arms. Mike had only closed his eyes for a few seconds, or so he thought. The sky above them was growing black, distant storm clouds building giant thunderheads in the distance. Sitting up, he was delighted to discover that his limbs were no longer tingling, that full of sand finally gone. “Mike?” Abella’s voice was no louder than a whisper. “Yeah, I’m up. Didn’t think I would sleep for that long.” He stood up and stretched. “Ow, shit, I’m sore. How are you feeling?” “Not good.” Abella rolled to a sitting position. “I don’t like the look of that storm, either.” “It can’t be that-” A flash of light blinded him. Several seconds later, the thunder that chased it boomed against the cliff. “uh, bad.” Mike finished. “My kind is made to weather storms. Yours is not.” “I guess I could just climb out of here.” Mike stared at the sheer walls above him. “After someone installs a ladder.” “I do have an idea, but you will not like it.” Abella was staring at her feet. “I’m pretty open to living. What do you have in mind?” “I am a being of stone. It will take me some time to recover. You, however, have already recovered. Humans are fountains of life, its why they make such a good food source.” “You’re not selling me on your solution so far,” Mike muttered. “If you were to, give me some of your essence, I would have enough energy to fly us out of here.” Abella’s fingers were pressing down on wrinkles in her wings, watching the folds pop back up. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Are we talking magic, a blood pact, what?” Please don’t let it be a blood pact, Mike thought to himself. “It’s kind of like magic. Old magic.” Abella looked away from him. “You could give me your essence like, like a human man would give to.” “Are you talking about sex?” Mike was surprised to see Abella shrink in on herself. She nodded, her eyes on the distance. “My kind and your kind have a hatred for each other, but I want you to know that I am different. It is why I was saved, and brought here to protect this house. And while I am sure you would rather be with a hundred different human women before you would consider a hideous creature like me, I think… I think it would work.” To be continued. By  writerannabelle for Literotica.