Page 25 of Petrified

That’s when I stop looking for a gargoyle, even though my brain keeps wanting a recognizable body, a shoulder against the wall, a wing, a face, something obvious enough that I can point at it and feel stupid for missing it before. I force myself away from that and look at the limestone itself instead.

Once I do, the surface stops being one wall. There are hundreds of small differences I ignored the first time. Fine dust has collected more heavily in some grooves than others. Old water stains darken narrow sections near the base. Tiny mineral flecks catch the afternoon sun differently depending on the angle of the stone, and cracks that look random from a distance form patterns when I let my eyes stay on them.

I flex one finger slightly and watch the illusion break for an instant before my magic adjusts around the movement. The edge of my knuckle becomes visible, then disappears back into the wall when I go still again.

Something clicks and I pull my hand away slowly, but I don’t step back or start scanning. The stone texture remains over my fingers and forearm while I keep my attention fixed near the bottom of the limestone.

Dust has settled across most of the lower wall in a thin, pale layer. Near one section, though, the coverage changes. It thins along a shallow curve before gathering more heavily around the outside of it.

I stare at that area long enough that the urge to dismiss it fades.

Then the light catches my attention.

The afternoon sun strikes the limestone from the side, reflecting off little mineral grains scattered through the surface. Most of them answer the light in the same general direction, but a small section near the disturbed dust sits slightly wrong. The reflection breaks at a different angle before returning to normal farther up.

I lean forward a fraction and hold there. “Wait.”

Neither Rowan nor Amand moves closer.

I lift one stone-gray finger and point toward the bottom of the wall. “Look at the dust. Not the whole wall. Right there where it curves.”

Rowan studies it for several seconds before answering. “It’s thinner.”

“Yeah, but it isn’t wiped clean.” I narrow my eyes and follow the interruption along the stone. “Something pushed it outward. It settled around whatever was here instead of over it.”

Amand shifts only enough to change his viewing angle. “And it hasn’t settled back evenly yet.”

I nod, keeping my attention on the wall while the shape begins to make more sense. The disturbance isn’t dramatic enough that any of us would have noticed it while moving through the quarry two days ago.

Now that I know something was there, I can see where the environment still remembers it.

I trace the curve with my eyes and find another mismatch higher up, where the reflected light breaks differently across a narrow ridge. A little farther over, one of the mineral seams stops when it should keep going, then picks back up just slightly out of line. My pulse jumps at the realization, and the stone texture across my skin flickers with it before I force myself still again.

The gray settles back over my hand and wrist as I breathe out slowly. “Fuck.” I keep my eyes on the wall while Rowan moves a little closer, careful not to step into my line of sight.

“What?” he asks.

“I see where he was.” The words come out quieter than I expect. I follow the disturbed dust upward, and now that my brain knows what it’s looking for, the shape begins pulling itself together from everything that doesn’t quite belong. “Shoulder here. Wing folded down this side. One leg bent near the bottom.”

Amand comes up on my other side but stays back enough not to crowd me. “How sure are you?”

I point toward the seam without looking away. “That pattern should keep going, but it shifts right there and then picks back up. The dust collected around this section instead of settling over it, and the light is breaking differently along the edge.” I move my finger lower, following the outline that wasn’t visible to me two days ago. “There’s too much wrong in one place for it to be random.”

Rowan studies the wall for several seconds before his attention settles where mine has. “He was pressed against it.”

“Yeah.” I crouch slowly, letting the camouflage fade from my hand as I pull farther away from the stone. Patches of gray still cling to my wrist and along my jaw, but I barely notice them when Amand lowers beside me and points toward the base of the wall.

“There’s another mark here.” He keeps his hand off the ground and angles his head instead. “The grit is compressed.”

I shift closer and see it once he points it out. Fine dust and gravel have been pressed into a shallow line along the limestone, subtle enough that I would’ve walked straight over it before. Now it fits the rest of the shape too well to ignore.

“He was here.” I sit back on my heels and stare at the empty section of wall, irritation mixing with something much more satisfying. “He was actually right fucking here.”

Rowan lowers himself beside us more carefully than he would have a few days ago. “How recent?”

“Not today.” I look over the dust again, following where it has started settling back into the disturbed space. “Too much has moved since then. But not long enough ago for the wall to erase all of it.”

Amand glances toward me. “So the method works.”