Chapter 47

And in December there were no pesky bugs trying to snack on him. Io often thought that as a gargoyle he should be off the menu. Apparently, that was wishful thinking. Then again, maybe gargoyle blood acted like a drug, an addiction, calling them back for round after round.

“What are these?”

Io blinked. Ellis stood before a rack of cooling cookies. Good thing the ghost passed through anything he tried to touch because he may very well have thrown the sweet treats on the floor. Io admitted the batch of gingerbread fell short of his brilliant idea, but he thought for a first attempt they were executed fine. Next year they would be even better.