Myths and Gargoyles by Jamie Hawke (interesting books to read in english txt) 📕

“Good point,” I replied with a chuckle. “Oh, a day cruise to Catalina?”

“Now you’re talking. Let me know how it goes, so I can plan something like that soon, too.”

“Not tomorrow? Double date?”

“Nah.” He scoffed. “Me? I’m spending the day fucking—iced my dick and I think it’s ready again.”

“Perv.” I chuckled. “All right, it’s a deal. See you the day after tomorrow for some good nerdgasms.”

“Deal.”

I told him I looked forward to it, and hung up. After a quick rinse, I made my way back to the living room, where I found Pucky curled up on the couch next to Sharon. They gestured me over, and I plopped down between them, one arm around each.

“Everything okay?” Pucky asked.

“Aside from a crazy case of OC?” I asked.

She looked at me, confused, and I waved off the comment.

Leaning my head back, closing my eyes, and letting sleep start to take me, I said, “Life couldn’t be more perfect.”

THE END

BOOK 4: Stone Cold Mage

71

I had always envied my aunt in her large house atop a hill, until the day I had to move into it. Leaving my old life behind, my friends, Steph, all of it… fucking sucked. We’d only ever driven by it when staying in D.C., on our way to the cheapest hotels we could find on the southeast side. That had been enough of a taste to tell me I wanted more.

While I was starting school in the fall at Johns Hopkins University, my family didn’t have the money to put me up anywhere in the meantime. Well, when I say my family, I mean my parents, because apparently my aunt was loaded. But that didn’t translate over to my mom and dad, who were on the far side of the spectrum. I mean it—I still remember days spent in the rain of Portland, Oregon, wearing trash bags with holes cut out as we asked for money to catch the bus home. It fucking sucked. So I would look at pictures of Aunt Gertrude’s house and remember the times we’d driven past it the one time we’d gone to D.C. for my dad’s new job—the one that allowed us to move from our ratty apartment to our first townhouse—the way I had asked my parents why we couldn’t stay there, and how they had avoided the question.

Not even invited over once, and their excuse was that Aunt Gertrude liked to keep her place clean, not liking little kids. It wasn’t until much later that I learned she and my mother had both been in love with my father, and that they’d essentially sworn off their relationship.

So it was that I’d never even met her until that hot, muggy day of summer three months before school was supposed to start. Three months, because my father had apparently lost the job he’d come out here to get, so my parents decided they’d be taking that road trip around the U.S. they’d always been talking about.

Essentially, they were homeless and didn’t know what to do with me. There I was, dropped off outside this huge mansion, and staring up at the tall, arched windows with pillars on either side. And at the top, leaning out over the edge and staring down at me… were those gargoyles. I had to laugh, wondering who the fuck built houses with gargoyles. Even more, who bought them? There was no doubt, my aunt wasn’t only crazy rich, she was stupid rich. Why that was and where she got her money was a question neither of my parents could answer, and was something I meant to get to the bottom of during my stay. I was determined to be more like her, less like my parents—in the good sense, anyway.

Hell, even the air smelled richer out here. Pure, like someone had taken bottles of air from some tropical island and dumped them all over this neighborhood. For all I knew, that might’ve happened.

My phone buzzed and I pulled it out to see an image of Steph’s breasts, her text reading: Hop on and show me yours when you get into your room. I can’t be there, but we still have to christen it.

I frowned, glancing back to see my parents still in the car. They waved at me, and I waved back. My text in reply to Steph said: No way am I jacking off my first day in the new house. Especially not on camera. Sorry.

All that got was a sad face emoji, followed by the image of her tits vanishing. Not fair, I thought, not even knowing that you could delete images you sent. Maybe if I could figure it out, I’d send that dick pic she wanted, I thought with a chuckle. The pressure in my pants made standing there awkward, so I had to adjust myself and try not to think about the blowjob she’d given me that morning in her room before I left. Of course, trying to block out the memory made it worse.

I walked up to this huge house, overwhelmed by the curving wrought-iron fence, the white columns leading up to a patio above, and the black lantern hanging in front of the curved doorway. Statues of lions guarded the door on each side, and I had to pause to appreciate their intricate design. No, not lions exactly, I realized. These were the Okinawan ones I had learned about during a trip to a botanical garden that had a section devoted to the islands. Kind of like a lion mixed with dog, one with its mouth open, the other shut. I couldn’t recall all the details, but knew these shisa were meant to be wards that protected from evils.

The door opened without me even ringing the bell, revealing a woman in a black dress with her silver hair done up in a bun.

“Aunt—” I started, only to be interrupted as she cleared her throat.

“Your