Free Stoneheart by Charlie Fletcher Page A

been washing through George seemed to stop and start to curdle all at once.
    “That’s not fair!”
    “We’re not fair. We’re Sphinxes. Now go away.”
    The second Sphinx looked a little shamefaced as it turned away and headed for its plinth. It was the nicer of the two.
    “You cheated!”
    “We answered your question.”
    “But…”
    “But you didn’t answer mine.”
    There it was again. That gravelly little voice. The Sphinxes turned back. George turned. So did the Gunner. Edie was standing right behind him.
    “He’s right. You cheated him. So now answer my question.”
    The Sphinxes got that cat with a terrier look again.
    “We don’t have to.”
    “Yes, you do. You’re Sphinxes. Answering questions is what you do. You’re just nasty about it. Both of you.”
    “Both of us?”
    It was the not-nice Sphinx. Edie stood her ground.
    “We’re both the same, are we? You’re sure about that?”
    “Yes. No. Hold on—that’s a trick, isn’t it?”
    “Is it?” The Sphinx smiled.
    Edie nodded. She walked toward it. George wasn’t sure what was going on, but he got the strong impression that the Sphinx was controlling the urge to shy away from the approaching girl.
    “You asked me if you’re both the same. I think you mean that to be your question, so I get it wrong before I even know you’re doing one of your riddles and you don’t have to answer my question. I think that’s a twisted sphinxish way of tricking people.”
    “You have a very suspicious mind, little girl.”
    “Thank you.”
    Edie walked up one side of the Sphinx, then down the other. Then she walked over to the other one and did the same. Then she smiled.
    “You look the same. But you’re different. You"—she pointed at the nicer of the two—"you are perfect. You’re smooth. Unlike you"—she walked up the side of the other one and pointed to its side—"you’ve got holes. Something has put holes in you.”
    George squinted. She was right. There were small jagged holes in the flank and foreleg of the bronze body. The Sphinx looked down at itself.
    “Very clever. Very sharp. But I’m afraid that wasn’t my question.”
    Edie shook her head.
    “We both know it was. But if you want to cheat, ask me another.”
    Before the not-nice Sphinx could answer, the nice one spoke.
    “How did we become different?”
    The other Sphinx turned on its haunch and hissed in something that might have been anger but was also close to alarm.
    “No! She’s a glint. She’s a glint! She’ll—”
    The two Sphinxes were suddenly eyeball to eyeball, tails writhing in slow irritation with each other.
    “I know. But the girl was right. You were cheating. That’s not being an enigma. That’s lying. Let her answer. You have become too taintlike of late, sister—”
    “Do you wonder I have turned against men after they made me as I was, then marred me as they did, as they did when—?”
    “No, sister, enough. Let the girl tell us, if she can… .” The damaged Sphinx held herself still as Edie walked up to her.
    “What’s happening?” asked George.
    The Gunner looked at Edie running her hands along the huge flank of the bronze Sphinx. Her hand stopped as she found a hole. He turned away and reflexively pulled his collar up, like a man expecting a sudden squall.
    “Mind your shoes.”
    George couldn’t take his eyes off Edie. Her hand disappeared inside the Sphinx.
    “There’s a hole.”
    The Sphinx stared at her, unimpressed.
    “A hole isn’t how. A hole is what. You told us I have holes already.”
    Edie closed her eyes. A small shudder passed through her.
    “Wh—?” began George. Then it happened.
    Edie stiffened. There was the sense of a silent detonation at her epicenter—the blast wave of whatever was happening to her blew her hair out in a fan, and before it had a chance to fall again, all the leaves on the trees blew flat and the street garbage blew away from her in a three-hundred-and-sixty degree arc. George opened his