“I say, what on earth is the racket?” The knife I didn’t know Rory carried was soaring. It hit the batlike gargoyle between his stone eyes, then dropped brusquely onto grass. The gargoyle remained cross-eyed a second, then slowly turned his gaze to me. “Did he just try to smite me, Bartholomew?” Rory’s gaze jerked. “Bartholomew? That’s your name?”
