​I crouch on the corner of the skyscraper where I was placed over a hundred years ago, carved from granite. Grimacing, wings open, talons spread, I hunch on the eaves, keeping eyes on the world below. The stoneworker who placed me all those years ago scraped his hand on my stone. His blood seeped in, awakening me. I opened my eyes and growled. His body was drained of blood when it hit the ground. People said he must have cut himself on the building as he tumbled to the sidewalk. I know differently.
I watch hapless humans striding down the sidewalk, unaware of the threat lurking above. They rarely look up. If they do, they see a grimacing granite gargoyle poised at the edge of the cornice, high above them. They see what they want to see.
I’ve been alive for a century, thriving on blood, craving it, thirsting for it. Deep, crimson drops. Ruby red liquid pulsing from a slashed artery. Lifeforce draining. Staining the concrete. My favorite is the blood of young, professional women. It tastes of deep spicy determination and resilience with an aftertaste of fear. I scrabble down the drainpipe. My talons leave gouges in the copper. My victim is near.
I look down at my claws while licking rich blood from my lips. Sticky, clotting blobs congeal below my talons. My talons themselves glisten. My appetite is quenched. For now. I’ll need more blood soon.
I straighten my legs and scan the alley. Buildings so tall they touch the sky stand shoulder to shoulder to block the sun. This alley sees no sunlight, only shadows. And those of us to skulk in them.
Footsteps. Running. Getting Closer. There’s no time to claw my way back up to my aerie. I shrink back into the gloom. The runners stop, gather around the body, kneel, check for a pulse. I could tell them they won’t find one. It’s too late for the young woman laying crumpled on the asphalt. She’s beyond saving now.
My nostrils twitch at the fetid stink of bowls emptying. That stench joins the smells from the overflowing dumpster. Garbage trucks don’t lumber down this alley.
My throat is parched again. So soon. I need blood more often these days. I turn, slink further into the shadows, and wait.
Heals click down the walk. Purposeful. Confident. “Come to me,” I whisper. “Come to me.”
She hesitates. After a heartbeat she turns into the alley. A shortcut to her office. I pounce. Cut her life short. And drink until my thirst is slaked.

​Pindi hovered above the lush Gardenia covered with fragrant ivory blossoms. She beathed in the heady scent and sighed. This particular community garden was her favorite. Fairy Wands speared up between tomatoes, their tiny flowers sparkling the morning sun. Gnarled brown garden gnomes darted between rows of cucumbers, spading and hoeing the fertile earth. Wood nymphs danced along the branches of the Crepe Myrtle trees that lined the sidewalk. Pindi waved when she spotted Xylem and called out, “Good Morning.”
 If Pindi had a choice, she’d live here where she could savor the garden in each season. But, she had responsibilities now. Big ones. With a capital R. Her father Bran, King of the Green Japanese Maple Fairies, had abdicated his throne, telling everyone he was too old and tired to continue ruling. He named Pindi as his successor. She remembered how her heart had stopped – just stopped – for a few beats when she heard those words. “No! Daddy! You can’t abdicate! I can’t be Queen! I can’t do it!” She’d cried and stomped her feet and screamed and railed, terrified at the thought of stepping into his shoes. By herself. She was still reeling. Her twin sister, Mindi, had married Branch, a Leaf Fairy, and moved to his tree. She missed  Mindi so much, like someone had torn off her arm and ripped out half her heart. She still blamed their distant cousin Blade for introducing them. How was she supposed to rule in her father’s place without her sister at her side?  Pindi landed on a Fairy Wand and just breathed. In. Out. In. Out. The garden slowly worked its magic. She would be ok. She was strong enough. She was Queen Pindi.
 
The air chilled. The breeze stilled. The garden held its breath. An army of burly spiders poured through a breach in the hedge of Gardenias, hundreds of hairy legs marching in unison. “Spiders!” Pindi started, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream. Revolting creatures with fangs, too many legs, and red beady eyes, spiders were arch enemies of all fairies. Pindi’s father had fought the Great Spider War and defeated the spider hordes when she was 12. The battle had been fierce. Bloody. Dozens of fairy warriors were injured. Spider bodies had littered the ground, mortally wounded laying on their backs, legs writhing in their death throes. Pindi shuddered as the gruesome memory flooded into her brain. She had to move! Now! She flew towards the nearest Crepe Myrtle, barking out orders. “Gather your warriors! Xylem, grab your arrows and bow. Archers – assemble along that branch.”
“You,” Pindi commandeered a dragonfly, “fly to the Green Japanese Maple Tree. Alert my army. Get them here FAST!”
She dropped to the ground and grabbed a hoe from the nearest gnome. “Find your king. Tell him we’re under attack. Bring your spears.”
Pindi jabbed the hoe at the nearest spider, knocking it backwards just as Xylem’s arrow pierced its carapace. “Nice Work!” she yelled and glanced to her side  at the advancing spiders. She swung the hoe back and forth until her arms ached and her palms stung from developing blisters, slicing hairy spider legs with every swipe. Sweat ran into her eyes. She blinked away the sting and kept on. The roar of the battle rung in her ears and her world narrowed. Arrows whistled by, close enough to rustle her hair. She heard the grunts and rumbles of the gnomes as they stormed up from the earth, impaling spiders on their spears. The ground was slippery with green spider blood that hissed and smoked at it pooled. Pindi wrinkled her nose at the acrid, rotten sulfurous odor. She tripped over a dead spider and caught herself. Hearing thrumming overhead, she looked up as her army approached, fairies standing astride dragonflies, raining arrows at the spiders on the ground. Blade waved his sword to catch the light as Dasher swerved and swooped across the battlefield. Blade jumped down and ran  to Pindi’s side. His sword sang in the air is he slashed and dismembered enemy arachnids.
Then it was over. The few spiders who survived scuttled back through the breach in the hedge. Pindi dropped the hoe, its blade now covered with blood and gore. She put her hands to her pounding head and steeled herself to look at the carnage in the garden. Xylem jumped down from her branch cradling her arm. A gnome limped by, his leg swollen from spider venom. Pindi moved among the warriors giving comfort, taking stock. Injuries – too many. But no casualties. They beat back the spiders again. Gnomes worked alongside Fairies and Wood Nymphs to drag spider bodies and toss them into a pile at the edge of the garden. Dragons Argan and Feyren waited to burn the carcasses and purify the ground. “Let’s close that hole in the hedge,” she said, “ and then let’s go home.”
Blade watched Pindi, his heart bleeding. She was magnificent. Would she ever see him the way he saw her?