CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"GARGOYLES, PLURAL," Jack said, his gaze over her shoulder, above her head. But Mina focused on the direction they'd come from. Towards the deadly organ music that had disappeared but left her blood vibrating. She accepted there was no wind to carry that fetid stench down the alleyways, nor waft the odour of wet wool that now settled around her, making her want to gag. The source was close by. She strained to pick out any sound, a huff of breath, a soft padding of feet, a sniffling of nostrils.
Jack's arm reached behind her, dispelling whatever half-formed questions tumbled around in her brain, and guided her until they stood back-to-back. Whatever she'd sensed behind them, assuming it wasn't a figment of a fearful imagination, was overshadowed by the gargoyles above.
Mi
