by Jae
What's this? Egyptian hieroglyphs? Did she encode this in a secret language? She squinted her eyes and put on her reading glasses, but it was still hard to decipher what was written in the notebook. Most were hastily scribbled notes with many abbreviations used. A lot of them were crooked, not following the lines in the notebook, and some words were even partially written over others.
She writes in the notebook when she wakes up in the middle of the night, Griffin realized, sometimes maybe even without turning on the light. Maybe these are sudden ideas that came to her just before she fell asleep or right after she woke. The crooked handwriting and the notebook's position right next to the bed made it likely.
Griffin tried to make sense of the words, but they were snippets of dialogue, fragments of sentences, and words without context. Deciphering it was taking too long. Jorie and her mother would return soon, and she needed to clean the kitchen.
With one last scratch behind Will's ears, she closed the notebook. She played with the idea of stealing it but then decided against it. Jorie would notice it was gone, and at this point, Jorie's trust was more important than getting her hands on the notebook.
It didn't hold the big revelation that she had expected anyway. At first glance, it seemed the notes in the little book were just a few spontaneous ideas, not the carefully prepared questions and answers of an inside source.
With every day that went by, Griffin's doubts grew. If Jorie had a Wrasa informant, why hadn't she written down any of the information he gave her as she had done during her meetings with Griffin? Both her instincts and her rational mind pointed in the same direction: there was no traitor. But then, how did Jorie know so much about the Wrasa? Coincidence?
The maharsi of the past had firmly believed that there was no such thing. Everything happened for a reason.
Griffin had just stacked the last of the plates in the dishwasher and put away the now clean pots when she heard the front door being opened.
"You didn't have to clean the whole kitchen all by yourself," Jorie said when she reached the doorway and took in the once again spotless kitchen. The scent of relief and gratefulness mixed with the fragrance of annoyance at the intrusion.
"I didn't mind." Her cat side wouldn't have been able to stand seeing the mess in the kitchen without doing anything about it for long. "I put the pots where it seemed most logical to me, but if you can't find something, call me."
Helen Price stepped next to her daughter. The red blotches on her cheeks were gone, and she had stopped wheezing and sneezing. Griffin hoped the antihistamine would continue to do its job. Some allergic people reacted strongly to the presence of cat-shifters. Wrasa sweat contained a protein that was very similar to the protein in cats' saliva, so just shaking a Wrasa's hand could cause allergic reactions or asthma attacks in allergic humans. It was just her luck that Jorie's mother was one of them.
"Thank you for cleaning up and for the wonderful dinner," Helen said warmly.
She knows? Griffin looked at Helen, then at Jorie, not sure what to say. Jorie's mother is a clever woman. I need to be careful around her.
"It's okay." Helen smiled. "I've known for a long time that my daughter's cooking skills are limited to making sandwiches. You, on the other hand, did some serious magic, assuming you stepped in for some last-minute rescuing and had to work with the meager contents of Jorie's fridge and cupboards."
"Oh, no, that wasn't magic. No supernatural abilities in my family, I'm afraid," Griffin said, returning the smile. It was the truth. Shape-shifting was quite natural for her kind and had nothing to do with magic. "I leave the magical abilities for Jorie to describe in her stories."
"How about some pastries?" Jorie asked, sounding uncomfortable with the subject.
So it wasn't just me. She's uncomfortable talking about her writing with her mother too. "Not for me, thanks," she said. "I think I better get going. It's getting late, and I'm sure you have a long list of things you want to do tomorrow, now that your mother is visiting." And she had to give her report to an impatient tas.
A tiny wrinkle between Jorie's brows told Griffin that Jorie didn't look forward to having to entertain her mother for the next few days, without having time for herself or her writing. Griffin could relate. Constant socializing with no time to wander off alone and shift was one of the most irritating things while on a mission. "Something wrong?" she asked, lowering her voice, as Jorie accompanied her to the door.
"No," Jorie said. "Everything's fine."
Her scent told Griffin otherwise.
Griffin continued to look at her.
"It's just that... with my mother here, I won't have the time to write even a single word the whole weekend." Jorie sighed.
This was Griffin's chance to immerse herself more fully into Jorie's life. If there really was no inside source, she had to find out more about Jorie and the story itself. "I could take your mother out to have breakfast tomorrow," she said. "That should give you at least an hour to write."
"Two if you eat like you did last time," Jorie said with a smirk.
"Probably." Griffin chuckled. She couldn't help liking Jorie's snarky sense of humor. "So, what do you say?"
Jorie hesitated. "I'm not sure if it's a good idea to just unload my mother on you. She's here to see me after all, and it wouldn't be fair to send her off just so that I can work on my story." She glanced to the living room, every inch the guilty-looking daughter.
Soft footsteps announced that Helen was about to step out of the living room. Griffin used the early warning of her sensitive ears to take the decision out of Jorie's hands. "Why don't we just ask her?" she suggested.
"Ask me what?" Helen wanted to know.
"Nothing," Jorie said quickly.
Helen's penetrating gaze wandered over to Griffin.
And here I thought only Wrasa mothers had perfected that kind of gaze. Griffin suppressed a chuckle and gave Jorie a faux regretful shrug. "I was wondering if you'd like to have breakfast with me tomorrow."
"Oh, yes, we'd love to have breakfast with you." Even beneath the perfume Helen wore, Griffin smelled that her enthusiasm was real. "Wouldn't we, Jorie?"
Another awkward pause from Jorie. "Not we, Mom. Just you."
"That way, Jorie can have a few hours for her writing, and I get to eat my breakfast without Jorie counting how many pancakes I have," Griffin said, putting all her feline charm into her smile.
"All right," Helen said without hesitation.
"Only if you really don't mind, Mom," Jorie said. Her scent indicated that she felt guilty and torn between wanting her mother to stay with her and wanting to get her out of the house so that she could write. "I don't want you to think I don't care that you're here to visit me or that I don't want to spend time with you. It's just that I'm working on a book in a new genre, and if I want to publish it next year, I need to write every day."
"Calm down, Jorie. It's fine," Helen said.
If only my fathers reacted like that. When I visited them, they expected me to spend every damn minute with them and the whole pride. Griffin had resented it. Like Jorie, she needed time just for herself. Helen is a lot more tolerant and understanding than Jorie gives her credit for.
"But I have two conditions," Helen said. Her blue eyes twinkled.
Griffin cocked her head and waited.
"I pay for breakfast, and I get to grill you about how Jorie is doing out here in the wilderness," Helen bargained.
Jorie groaned. "This was a bad idea. I think I should show you around town tomorrow."
"Oh, no. We can do that later. Tomorrow morning, your friend and I are going to have pancakes," Helen said. She gave Griffin a conspiratorial smile.
Let her think that she's going to interrogate me while in truth, I'll be the one who is going to grill Mom without the ever-observant Jorie watching my every move. And earning a few brownie points with Jorie for babysitting her mother will be a nice side effect. Helen was so much more open, so much less cautious than Jorie. "D
on't worry," she said, winking at Jorie. "I won't give away all of your secrets." Because I don't know them, she added silently. Yet.
CHAPTER 12
"SO TELL ME A little about yourself," Helen said as she poured syrup over her first pancake.
"What do you want to know? My life is an open book." A fictitious book, of course. Griffin spread her arms wide, indicating her openness and almost knocking over the saltshaker on the table next to them. Her natural grace normally saved her from embarrassment, but this time, she had forgotten that the small café hadn't been built with the size of a Wrasa in mind.
The people at the other tables looked at them and started to whisper.
Helen just smiled, unconcerned with the attention Griffin's almost accident with the saltshaker was getting them. She was not at all how Griffin had expected her to be. After all that Jorie had said and implied, she had expected a rigid woman who cared about appearances and tried to enforce her high expectations on her daughter.
"Jorie said you have a degree in zoology?" Helen asked.
It spoke volumes to Griffin that her degree was what Jorie had mentioned to her mother. Clearly, Jorie had thought it would impress her mother more than anything else she could tell her about Griffin. "Yes. I got my PhD in zoology from the University of New Hampshire a few years ago."
"New Hampshire? Does your family live there?" Helen asked.
"No. I have a big family, and they live all over. My father," Griffin swallowed the plural, "lives just a few miles from here."
"Oh, how nice! So you're here to visit him?"
"I'm here because of Jorie," Griffin answered truthfully, knowing it would appeal to Helen's maternal instinct to have someone be there for her daughter. There was no way for her to guess the true meaning of those words.
Helen let go of her fork and covered Griffin's hand with her own.
The slender fingers looked like those of a child on her larger hand. Griffin forced herself not to pull away from the sudden invasion of her "territory."
"That's so sweet of you." Helen's electric blue eyes looked directly into Griffin's, making her uncomfortable. "I'm so glad Jorie has finally found a friend."
A strange mix of guilt and triumph swirled through Griffin. Part of her was proud of her skills that had allowed her to sneak into Jorie's life. Another part was already dreading where it would all lead. She shoved the thought away and focused on the conversation. She makes it sound as if Jorie never had a friend before, not even one. "She doesn't make friends easily," Griffin said. "Has she always been like this?"
"From the very first moment we brought her home," Helen said. A worried frown and an affectionate smile wrestled for dominance on her face. "She was just three, and we hoped she would soon learn how to fit in with the other kids, but it never happened."
"And she's an only child, right?" It was an educated guess, and Helen's nod confirmed it.
"Yes, and since neither Robert, my late husband, nor I have any siblings, she has no cousins either. She always spent a lot of time playing by herself. But she brought home every stray animal she could find... dogs, birds, and especially cats." Helen chuckled. "One time, she even rescued a turtle. Rob and I always thought she would end up as a vet or a zoologist."
A thought hit Griffin: Helen's husband had died, and she had no siblings and no children but Jorie. Oh, great. Here I am, having breakfast with her like an old friend, and I might have to kill the only thing she has left in the world. The pancakes stopped tasting so good.
For a second, she saw Helen stand next to an open grave, with only a priest reading from his Bible at her side. Griffin had been at two funerals, both of them of humans she had been forced to kill because they'd been about to reveal their existence. Unlike most of her colleagues, she had forced herself to attend, hidden behind the very last row of mourners. It had been almost unbearable to take in the scent of the widows' grief, listen to the sobbing of small kids, and watch the pain on the wrinkled faces of parents who had outlived their children. Still, it was the least she could do to pay respect to the two people she'd had to kill in the name of duty. She didn't want to go through it again anytime soon.
"Were your parents happy when you chose zoology as your field of expertise?" Helen asked.
Griffin swallowed another bite of suddenly too dry pancake. Normal Wrasa parents would have been quite happy with her choice of careers. It was important to get as many shape-shifters as possible into jobs where they could help to keep their existence hidden. So Wrasa children were encouraged to become doctors, biologists, teachers, police officers, nurses, or reporters. Not Griffin. Her fathers' side of the family had wanted grandkids who went into politics, as most Eldridges had before. Her mother's side of the family had hoped that Nella's children would continue the line of dream seers, who had protected their people since the beginning of time.
But that special gift ran only in full-blooded Puwar, so dream seeing had died with her grandfather. Far beyond being only religious figures, the maharsi had guided the Wrasa in all aspects of their lives. Their precognitive dreams had helped to decide political disputes, personal careers, marriages, and alliances between families. Even the High Council valued their advice. Most importantly, the maharsi had kept them safe from being discovered by humans for a lot of generations. Losing the last dream seer had been a profound loss for all Wrasa. Without their guidance, they had to rely on the Saru and their strict laws to keep themselves undetected and safe.
"My family had other dreams for me, but they are all right with what I do for a living now," Griffin finally answered. It was another half-truth. "What about you? Were you surprised when Jorie became a writer?"
"Truthfully, yes. But looking back, it shouldn't have surprised me at all. When she was a little girl, she used to have imaginary friends." Helen smoothed a fingertip over one of her eyebrows, a gesture that Griffin had seen Jorie use too. "God, that child had an incredible imagination. She made up names, habits, likes, and dislikes for each and every one of them, and they seemed quite real to her. I should have known that a girl with that kind of imagination would grow up to be a writer."
Griffin chuckled. "What did you think she would grow up to be?"
"I'm not sure." Helen finished her second pancake and laid down her cutlery. "I gave up the hope that she would go to college and get a degree a long time ago. Jorie never did well in school."
That was a surprise. "She didn't? But she's so intelligent and so thorough and organized in her writing."
A smile of pride that Griffin had never seen on her own mother flashed across Helen's face. "It wasn't a lack of intelligence, but she hated school and didn't fit in at all, so she finally stopped trying."
Griffin could empathize. As many Wrasa did, she had struggled all through school and college. She had never dealt well with authority figures and her fellow students, especially not human students.
"She even hated math. I tried to tutor her, but it made things worse." Helen chuckled ruefully. "She always used to joke that not all Asians are good at math."
But Jorie is, Griffin thought. She has to be, or she wouldn't have lasted long as a poker player. Why would she make that joke, then? The answer slowly came to her: Jorie had done it to avoid being put in a box. She hated to be seen as the adopted kid or the Asian American. For the same reason, she had written romance novels, historical fiction, fantasy, and mysteries. She didn't want to be pigeonholed as a writer in just one of these genres.
"We let her skip a year because we thought the problem was that she was bored with the lessons, but I think it just made everything worse. Now she was a year, almost two, younger than the other kids... and on top of that, she was the only adopted kid in her class." Helen rubbed at the furrows of regret on her forehead.
Had her own mother ever agonized like this over how she had treated Griffin and Kylin? Griffin doubted it. Giving herself a mental kick, she reached out to squeeze Helen's hand as Helen had done before. "Hey, don't worry so much about Jori
e. She's fine. She has a job she loves and that she's very good at. She has a bunch of adoring fans, a good home in a nice little town, and I hear the local doctor keeps asking her out."
She told herself that she was just saying it to get into Helen's good graces and worm herself further into Jorie's life, but part of her wondered whether she was assuaging her growing feelings of guilt.
A skeptical smile inched across Helen's face. "Really?"
Griffin pulled her hand back as quickly as good manners allowed. She nodded.
"And he's a good man?" Helen asked.
"Seems pretty nice," Griffin answered, mentally adding, For a human.
Now visibly cheered, Helen waved to the waitress and paid for their breakfast.
"Thank you," Griffin said.
"No, thank you. You made me feel so much better about Jorie living here all alone. I'm glad she has someone looking out for her." Helen's blue eyes gave her another intense gaze. "You have to join us for dinner at the house again tonight."
"Under two conditions," Griffin said as Helen had before.
Helen laughed. "Let's hear them."
"First, you have to let me bring wine and dessert again. And second, you don't tell Jorie that I told you about the doctor." If Helen started badgering Jorie about going out with Dr. Saxton, Griffin would be in trouble. She didn't want Jorie to think she couldn't trust her with her secrets.
"Don't worry." Helen patted her arm, much more comfortable with casual touching than her daughter was. "You can be my secret informant."
Great. And I thought spying for the Saru was complicated enough. With the way things were going, she would have a longer report for Helen than for her tas. Her investigation was going nowhere, and no matter how much she learned about Jorie, it didn't get her any closer to figuring out what and how Jorie knew about the Wrasa. She was starting to run out of ideas. I think I have a saru's version of writer's block — and no helpful muse in sight.
* * *
"Come on in." Helen's warm smile greeted her. "Jorie is in the shower, and I'm still cooking, so go ahead and make yourself at home."