Bladder was still grumbling as Sam climbed back on the roof, Nugget in his arms. She played with the collar of his jumper.
‘Gargoyles sleeping, Sam! Sleeping, for goodness sake! Wheedle looks exhausted. Can’t just petrify the way we’re supposed to, he says. Can’t turn to stone cos it might wake the baby, might hurt the baby, might scare the baby. Up all day and awake all night. It’s just “Nugget, Nugget, Nugget”. As soon as she followed you, Wheedle actually petrified, solid. Finally. You really breathed her wrong.’
Sam sighed.
Bladder sighed too. ‘Oh, Sam, I’m sorry, you know what a grump I can be.’
Sam did, but he was surprised. He couldn’t remember Bladder apologising before.
* * *
Sam remembered the sneeze that had hatched Nugget’s bead. She’d arrived far too small and almost completely wordless. Her first word had been ‘Mama’ as she peered into Wheedle’s adoring face, and ‘Dada’ as Bladder’s bottom jaw hit the ground with a clunk and a piece of his lower mane fell off. She also knew ‘Tham’, which was odd. Poor Spigot was just ‘Birdie’, but he didn’t seem to mind as he gifted her with affectionate pecks and let her hide under his wing. She hadn’t felt the need to say much more until recently. For the first month she’d been happy to lie on top of Wheedle as they turned to stone together, but later she started to sleep, not petrifying like a gargoyle should, just closing her eyes and curling into Wheedle’s belly. Lately, Wheedle said Nugget whimpered and cried all night, and now she only slept when Sam showed up, crawling into his lap and passing out.
Sam didn’t want to tell Bladder about this incident with the ‘milk’. Sure, the older gargoyle’s appetite had changed in the last few months too, but he was embarrassed by it, and no one was allowed to mention it. Maybe it had something to do with Nugget’s arrival.
The day after Nugget hatched, Bladder had said he noticed something off. The lion had gathered the remaining motes of dust from his mane and encouraged Sam to sneeze her bigger, better, smarter, but it made no difference. She developed slowly. She grew faster than Beatrice, but not as fast as a normal gargoyle. By a month old she should have been adult-sized and speaking fluently. A week after this failed stage of development, Bladder had suggested they get a good dose of fresh dust to fix her, and Wheedle got angry, hating the word ‘fix’, then burst into tears.
Sam had thought it was a good thing. Maybe his hatchlings wouldn’t impress Maggie much, even if she did find out; then she’d lose interest in using him. That would be excellent.
‘I don’t think Maggie’ll be that easily put off. Nugget’s like Spigot,’ Bladder had replied. ‘Did we ever tell you Spigot was one of Thunderguts’s early tries, before he got good at making monsters? That’s all Maggie will see Nugget as: a first attempt.’
‘Anyway, she’ll be big and beautiful too, one day,’ Wheedle had said. ‘Just like you, Sam. You’re so lovely, luvvly-wubbly.’ Wheedle had rubbed noses with Nugget. The baby gargoyle giggled.
And Bladder had rolled his eyes.
A wing tickle woke Sam from the memory, as Yonah flew over his shoulder and landed with a soft drop next to him. A second after the dove, Daniel appeared, a bright, shining grin on his face. ‘Hello, all.’
Nugget cheered and threw herself at the angel, hiding in his wings and peering out between downy plumes.
Wheedle shook off his stoniness and grunted himself awake. ‘What you want?’
‘My reason for visiting you is something we talked about earlier. Remember?’
Wheedle looked confused, then sat up. ‘Oh? Oooooh! Of course. How could I … ? It’s the lack of sleep.’ The gargoyle stared at Sam. ‘I am so sorry. An’ we were supposed to …’
‘Hey up there!’ Voices rose from the street. Sam peered down. His school friends Wilfred, Amira and Hazel waited on the pavement.
‘Looks like we’ve lost a bit of time. So, let’s hurry it along, hey?’ Wheedle said. ‘Spigot, chuck down the rope.’
‘Yonah?’ Daniel said.
Yonah nodded and fluttered away.
‘What’s going on, Daniel? Wheedle?’ Sam asked.
‘No time,’ Wheedle said. ‘Gotta haul these shifters up.’
Wilfred raced around on the footpath. Sam suspected that if the other boy had been in his dog-shape he’d have been chasing his tail.
As Wheedle and Spigot pulled them up one at a time, Sam helped the three shifter kids clamber over the edge of the roof. They hugged and greeted him as if they hadn’t spent the previous day together at school.
‘Congratulations,’ Hazel said to Sam.
‘Er, thanks.’ Sam wondered what that was about.
‘Wow!’ Wilfred said. ‘Great view. Oooh.’ The shifter boy gazed at Daniel with glowing eyes.
‘Hello, Wilfred.’ The angel shot a beautiful smile at him.
Wilfred grinned at the angel and elbowed Amira, pointing in Daniel’s direction.
‘Yes, yes, why don’t you get his autograph, fanboy?’ Amira asked.
‘It’s nice to see you all here for Sam’s special day,’ Wheedle said.
‘My special day? What’s so special about today?’ Sam looked at the faces crowding around him. Bladder, Spigot and Wheedle bunched up with Daniel on the edge of the roof. Nugget peered out from under his wing and Wilfred shuffled as close as he could to the angel. Hazel and Amira settled in near Wilfred.
‘We’ll just wait for Yonah, shall we?’ Daniel asked.
As Sam scanned the sky, a bevy of pretty pigeons arrived and established themselves behind the gargoyles. They all peered up to wait for Yonah.
Sam’s stare followed theirs. What is so special about today? It was a lovely day. Despite it being late November and brisk on the rooftop, the sun above them picked out pretty colours from the sea and town.
They were high enough to see all around, from the green expanse near the marina all the way to the i360 Tower.
Maybe that was the ‘special day’ thing.
Sam had discussed climbing to the top of the i360 Tower with Wheedle. Richard had already taken him up the lift, and the gargoyles had done the ascent one evening, but they hadn’t done it together. Maybe that’s what Wheedle meant by ‘special’. Maybe they’d figured out a way to get up the tower during the day.
But that didn’t explain the shifters’ presence. Or the shifters’ presents. Wilfred, Amira and Hazel had nicely wrapped gifts in their laps. Maybe it was a Christmas thing? Sam still didn’t get Christmas, but Michelle was going mad shopping for it. Sam was trying to figure out what to get everyone. Chocolate for gargoyles, that was easy, but what do you get humans?
Maybe it was an anniversary thingy. Michelle and Richard had had their wedding anniversary in October. Nick had dragged him out to buy Michelle a platinum bracelet. They’d had a bit of money each and Richard gave them the rest. It couldn’t be an anniversary though; Sam hadn’t been around a year. Maybe half a year?
‘What special day?’ he asked again.
Daniel peered at a low-hanging cloud and clicked his fingers. A white shape appeared. At first, Sam didn’t recognise Yonah. Her tiny talons clutched a pale box twice her size. As she got closer, Sam saw it was plastic, something like the containers Michelle put food in so they could eat it another day. The dove flapped over Daniel’s head and the angel stretched up to take the container. Then Yonah fluttered to Spigot and sat on his neck. The two birds rubbed their heads together in greeting.
Wheedle peeked at the two birds and chuckled. When he saw Sam looking too, he winked as if they shared some bizarre secret. Sam had no idea what it could be. Yonah preened her wings so they fluffed up as she settled on the eagle. Spigot’s head did a happy waggle.
Wheedle winked at Sam again.
With the arrival of the plastic container, the pigeons pushed closer.
Daniel lifted a brown object from the tub. It looked like a chocolate cake. It smelt like a chocolate cake. The gargoyles huddled around it like it was chocolate cake, as did the press of birds.
Daniel shoved some thin cylindrical objects into the top of the cake. Each one was as long as Sam’s forefinger and there were thirteen of them. What did they mean? Thirteen was an unlucky number, Sam had heard. The angel lit them with the end of his finger, which set the pigeons squawking. Wheedle and Bladder oohed and aahed. The flames flickered.
Candles. The Kavanaghs had used candles in a blackout, but they’d been thick and short.
‘Happy birthday, Sam,’ Daniel said. ‘You’ve changed all of us, and we wanted to celebrate your special day.’
Birthday? It wasn’t his birthday. ‘No, I was hatched at the end of May sometime.’
‘You were, but Samuel Ethan Kavanagh, the child of Michelle and Richard Kavanagh, was born thirteen years ago to this day. November thirtieth, to be exact. As you are Samuel Kavanagh, both born and hatched, you have two birthdays.’
‘Go with it,’ Bladder said. ‘More opportunities for cake. You’ll get one in May too.’
‘Now blow out your candles and wish for something,’ Wheedle said.
Sam knew exactly what he wanted. He’d like to be able to celebrate this day with Richard and Michelle. If not today, then maybe the following year. It was all very well and good being their Samuel Kavanagh, the child they’d lost and found again, but rather pointless if they didn’t know the truth about it. He couldn’t even call them ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’. He blew out the candles.
‘He looks in pain,’ Bladder said. ‘Is the cake all right?’
‘Made in Heaven,’ Daniel said.
It tasted like it too. It was rich, deeply chocolatey, with a hint of joy running through it. Sam felt happy eating it.
Bladder and Wheedle shoved their indelicate snouts into the soft spongy goodness and wolfed it down before eyeing the piece of cake Sam had just started.
Wilfred, Amira and Hazel barely said anything. Their eyes closed as they mmmmed.
Spigot and Yonah fed each other crumbs from their slices of cake. Wheedle seemed to find this entertaining and poked Bladder to watch, who smirked. Neither the stone eagle nor the dove paid attention to Wheedle and Bladder.
Nugget got cake in her eyes. Daniel flung broken bits at the pigeons.
Bladder burped. ‘’Scuse me. You got any Tummy Times?’ he asked the shifters. They shook their heads.
Wheedle took out a blue packet from under his front leg and tossed it to Bladder. The gargoyle scoffed the lot and burped again.
‘What exactly are you eating that’s causing this trouble?’ Daniel asked. ‘How does a gargoyle’s digestive system even work? Where does it all go?’
‘Bit personal, don’t you think?’ Wheedle replied.
Bladder belched. The smell that rode out was reminiscent of sugary sewerage or rubbish bins out the back of a sweet shop.
‘I’m getting tummy aches all the time.’ Bladder’s stone paled down to white marble.
‘And weird cravings. Do you think he’s pregnant?’ Wheedle asked. Sam guessed he was a little serious too. The arrival of Nugget had unnerved them, and all three grown-up gargoyles jumped whenever Sam sneezed.
‘What kind of weird cravings?’ Daniel asked.
‘Salad, boiled eggs, sandwiches, pie, fruit. Don’t worry, I haven’t given in to any of them. Oh, bother …’ Bladder ran to the edge of the building, and a heavy ‘yurk’ erupted from him. Everyone, birds included, turned their backs, pretending not to hear. Bladder would be deeply ashamed to be caught vomiting.
‘Is that normal for a gargoyle?’ Sam asked.
‘Not even slightly,’ Wheedle answered.