13
Reine
Every village had an i***t, and I pegged Sheriff Buck Jones as the one for The Aerie as soon as I saw him again in the interrogation room. Barton had warned me that somehow, he managed to remain oblivious to the gargoyles. I admitted to only minimal training in psychiatry, but my now several-centuries’ observation of humans had given me some insight.
Jones stood tall and skinny, his Adams apple prominent on his stubbly neck, and ran a hand through his thinning buzz-cut hair. He matched the gargoyles in coloring—dark hair and tan skin—but his black eyes had a hardness to them that, ironically, the gargoyles’ lacked. He had a restless energy that quivered around him, obscuring his aura and anything else I could have been able to tell about him magically. Not that that would have
