“I should’ve just done this in the beginning,” I said. “My peripheral vision is much nicer this way.”
“Without that dirty bugger by your side, you mean?” Niamh looked around me. “Yes, I did mean you.”
Austin resumed his place at my side, now allowing Ulric into the circle. “Beer?” he asked the smaller man.
“Bud, thanks. Now, miss—”
“You can call me Jessie,” I said.
“Mr. Tom was pretty clear about what you should be called.” Ulric grinned at me. “The fact that it annoys you is just a bonus.” Niamh huffed out a laugh. “I’m sure someone has told you natural female gargoyles are immensely rare, and have been throughout history. They can be created magically by a powerful mage sacrificing a male gargoyle and…whatever spell they use to transfer his magic to a female mage or Jane, but the transformation of species doesn’t enhance the power. In fact, it shrinks the wings and hinders the ability to fly.”
“And they did this why?” I asked, but the answer came to me in a flash of intuition. “To try to breed more natural female gargoyles.”
“Based on the records, that was the reasoning behind creating the female version—they hoped a male and a female gargoyle would have a better chance of producing a natural female specimen than waiting for the genetic lottery. Maybe if the mages engaging in this practice had been female, they would’ve gotten things right and the female gargoyles they created would’ve been able to reproduce. But they didn’t understand the complexity of female anatomy, so they were left with sterilized versions of male gargoyles who couldn’t fly half as well.”
“Who do gargoyles typically mate with that might create a female version? Humans, mages…?” Austin asked.
“Who we mate with doesn’t seem to matter with the outcome of our kind. A male child will typically turn out to be a gargoyle, and the female will inherit their genes from their mothers, except every once in a great while.” Ulric waited for Niamh to hand his beer across the counter. He took a sip. “It’s very rare, as I said, but the females are everything those mages were hoping to create. They do have smaller wings, but it’s a tiny grievance considering the power at their disposal. Every single female gargoyle in history has been mighty. They are more powerful than mages, hardier than shifters, more cunning than gremlins, and better leaders than all the famous battle commanders throughout time. Or so it is said.”
“But I’m not natural.” I palmed my chest. “I was magically created.”
“Tamara Ivy was a natural female gargoyle,” Ulric said, his voice taking on a storyteller’s cadence and rhythm. “Her power was legendary, drawing the most powerful magical workers in the world to call on her. She wanted for nothing, ever. Eventually a handsome young mage caught her eye, one powerful and great in his own right, but his ambitions got the better of him. Or maybe it was his jealousy.
“While he was great, Tamara was exceptional and truly rare. She was sought after above him, had more power, more prestige. After a while, it began to chafe. He wanted the prestige. He wanted to be the most powerful in the land.”
“Swap this for beauty and you have Snow White,” I mumbled. Niamh nodded.
“He reckoned that if he could harness the power of her magic, combining it with his own, he would be unstoppable. She fell into his snare because she trusted him, but he had underestimated Tamara’s might. As he drained the life from her, intent on stealing her magic, she used the last of her strength to pour her power, everything that made her great, into the foundation of the house she loved. The house she’d built. She gave it a piece of her soul too, and it’s that piece that chooses the heirs of Ivy House—each of them a woman sound of heart and logic, filled with fire and strength of character.” He bowed at me. “A person just like you.”
“Right, okay, but why did she transfer the magic to the house instead of using it to kill him?” I asked. “It seems like a missed opportunity.”
Ulric paused in sipping his beer. “I don’t know? Maybe she didn’t realize what her beau was doing until it was too late, and by then he’d siphoned enough energy or power to render her incapable of getting herself out of it? Love sometimes makes us do stupid things. Maybe she couldn’t bring herself to kill him even to save herself.”
“And so maybe the house was waiting for a jaded spinster who just wanted to get laid once in a while,” Niamh said. “That solves that. No history repeating itself there.”
“Well, maybe you’re not far off,” Ulric said, and before I could poke him, he continued. “A spinster was a weaver back in the day. A woman, since sewing and whatnot was considered a woman’s job. A spinster could make enough money to set herself up without a man. Everyone gives spinsters a bad name, but they were smart, if you ask me. They were career women who didn’t need to marry to have all the things they wanted, including their own money and free license to spend it as they wished.”