The Very Nearly Honorable League of Pirates #1 by Caroline Carlson Page A

blinking a few times in the sunlight and grinning at Claire, showing off his sharp stone teeth. “But she did kick me. Shall we run the scallywag through?”
    Claire gave a little shriek and backed up against the wall.
    Hilary clamped her hand around the gargoyle’s snout. “Behave yourself,” she told him. Then she turned to Claire. “I promise he’s not dangerous; he’s just had a long journey. He’s usually very pleasant.”
    Claire didn’t unpeel herself from the wall. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “but I didn’t expect you’d have magic.” She tugged on her hair ribbon. “He is magic, isn’t he?”
    Hilary nodded. “He used to be part of our house.”
    The gargoyle cleared his throat. “Don’t forget to tell her about the Enchantress,” he said through Hilary’s fingers.
    â€œOh, very well,” said Hilary. “He wants you to know that he was carved by the Enchantress of the Northlands herself. She fell in love with some long-ago Westfield, and she gave him the gargoyle as a gift—or that’s what the gargoyle says, at any rate. He’s quite fond of storytelling.”
    â€œHow romantic!” said Claire. “Is your house absolutely full of magic, then? I hear some High Society houses are.”
    â€œOurs isn’t,” said Hilary, “and Father complains about it constantly.” According to Admiral Westfield, Westfield House had been rather packed with magic long ago, before the Enchantress came along and took away his family’s entire stash of coins, cuff links, and goblets. She hadn’t taken the gargoyle, though, and no one knew exactly why. Hilary thought it was because the Enchantress was too polite to take back a gift she’d given, while the admiral swore she’d only left the gargoyle behind to annoy future generations of Westfields.
    â€œMy father complains, too. We’ve never owned a single piece of magic in our lives.” Claire took a few cautious steps toward the gargoyle. “May I talk to him? I’ve never met a gargoyle before.”
    Hilary removed her hand from the gargoyle’s snout.
    â€œHello,” said the gargoyle. “How do you do?”
    â€œHello,” said Claire. “May I pat you on the head?”
    â€œI don’t think that would be appropriate,” said the gargoyle. “Would you pat a human acquaintance?”
    But Claire had already begun to scratch behind his ears. “Oh,” he said. “Well, now. In that case.” He closed his eyes and leaned into the scratch.
    â€œYou’re not quite as—well, as golden as I thought you would be,” said Claire after a while. “Aren’t you made of magic?”
    â€œCertainly not!” the gargoyle said. “No self-respecting gargoyle would go about looking all polished and shiny. I’m Southlands granite from snout to tail—except for my heart. That’s the magic bit, if you must know.”
    â€œI see,” said Claire. “So you grant wishes, then?”
    The gargoyle drew back in horror. “Wishes!” he said. “If I could grant wishes, I’d have a heaping plate of spiders in front of me right now. And ,” he added, “I’d be wearing a pirate hat.”
    â€œHe’s only for protection,” Hilary explained, “and he doesn’t like being used. It makes his heart go all fluttery.”
    â€œThat’s a shame,” said Claire. “Protecting people is a very kind thing to do.”
    â€œIt can be,” said the gargoyle. “It depends on who’s asking. Thank you for the scratch.” He hopped over to Hilary. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m ready to go on my wall.”
    There wasn’t a slot for a gargoyle above the door, so Hilary balanced him on the bookshelf above her bed. The gargoyle seemed particularly happy about this arrangement