She sighs. “We’ll see about getting you another one,” she says. “Be careful.”
I smile at that. If she ever had a clue what happened on the roof, maybe she wouldn’t worry so much about a simple trip to Berkeley. Or maybe she’d worry more.
“I might be out later, though,” she says, not quite as an afterthought. “If I’m not here, just call me to tell me you got home okay.”
I give Kat a look, but she just shrugs. Out? Mom never goes out, especially on Saturday night. “Out as in, on a date?”
Mom’s face gets surprisingly red in a very short time. “No. I’m going out with your father. Just to dinner and a play at the Orpheum.”
“Really?” I say. I’ve noticed that they’ve been spending more time together since the window accident, but I didn’t think it meant anything. Maybe they really are working through something in their distant past.
“It’s just dinner, guys. I know that look. Don’t get your hopes up.”
I put my hands up. “No hopes. I promise. Just glad that you’re going to do something fun. Maybe you should call me and tell me you got home okay.”
We’re barely through the door before Janine surrounds me with a giant hug. “Girl! Just look at you!” She pulls back and holds me at arm’s length. “Things could have turned out badly if it hadn’t been for you.”
I can feel my face flush. “If it hadn’t been for me, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place,” I say, still not totally understanding everything that went on. “I’m sorry I got Griffon mixed up with Veronique,” I add, not wanting to think about anything beyond today.
“I don’t know what the two of you are on about. I had everything completely under control,” Griffon says with a laugh. The black eye where the bullet grazed him is starting to fade, but he still has a bandage over the stitches on his cheek.
“Yeah,” Janine says. She swats him with a kitchen towel. “That’s exactly what it looks like.”
“I did,” he insists. “Veronique might be a good shot, but my reflexes are even better.”
I remember what she said about never missing with the gun, and I breathe in sharply. I thought that she just meant to score him with the bullet. “So she meant to hit you?”
“I’m sure she did. Luckily I was able to get out of the way.” Griffon puts a hand to his cheek. “Well, mostly.”
Janine folds her arms in front of her chest. “And ending up dangling off the edge of a roof, three stories up?”
Griffon grins. “Yeah. That was a little miscalculation.”
Janine reaches over and squeezes my hand. “All I’m saying is that things could have turned out much differently if Cole hadn’t been there. As it is, you’re going to have a nice scar on your cheek.”
“Oh, I have something for you,” I say, pulling a jar out of my bag and handing it to Griffon. I want to stop thinking about what might have happened if things had turned out differently. “It’s from Rayne.”
He opens it and sniffs the cream inside. “Smells good.”
“It’s some kind of honey-lavender thing that’s supposedly good for scarring. She says you need to put it on your cheek twice a day. I swear, she must have been a healer in a past life, because she’s always coming up with this stuff.”
“Then I’d better do it,” he says. “Tell her thanks.”
It’s nice to be somewhere that I can stop monitoring everything that comes out of my mouth. The past several days at home have been rough, with so much going on in my life that I’m required to keep from Mom and Dad.
“How’s the arm?” Janine asks. “Any more damage?”
I look at the splint. “I don’t think so,” I say. “It doesn’t hurt like it did. I have another appointment next week, so we’ll see. Although I might have to come up with a different story about what happened.”
Janine puts one arm around me. “Griffon tells me that my pathetic empathic skills have nothing on yours. Were you really able to transfer your images and emotions to Veronique?”
“I guess. I was just concentrating really hard on the truth and what I knew. When she grabbed me, there was a strange energy between us. For some reason, she was able to see my memories. I’m just glad that convinced her, because it didn’t seem like anything else would.”
Janine shakes her head in amazement. “Akhet have talked about telempathy for generations, but as far as I know, nobody has ever seen it work. The Sekhem have been wanting to develop emotional intelligence for some time. A new Akhet who has natural abilities like yours will be a valuable addition.”
“The Sekhem?” I ask. “Really? I thought that wouldn’t happen for a long time.”
“We don’t discriminate against newbies.” Janine smiles. “For right now, just learn to trust your abilities and nurture them. They are your true gift. There will be time for the rest later.”
“What’s going to happen to Veronique?”
“She’s on the Sekhem’s radar now,” Griffon says. “They’ll be able to keep more of an eye on her. She’s so focused on finding Alessandra’s essence that she can’t see anything past that one goal. Everything she does in every lifetime is about finding her.”
I think about how I felt when I thought Griffon might die. It’s hard to believe, but I actually feel sorry for her. “I think I almost get that,” I say, knowing they can see me tearing up.
“One great advantage to being Akhet is that we remember everything. Unfortunately, we are also unable to forget anything,” Janine says. “Are you alright?” She gives me a quick hug.
“I’m fine,” I say, feeling overwhelmed. “It’s just … it’s just been a really long week.”
Janine laughs a short, staccato laugh. “Now that may be the biggest understatement I’ve heard all year.”
“Do you need us to help you with anything?” Griffon’s eyes shine with excitement, and he looks at Janine questioningly.
“No. I know you’re dying to show Cole, so go on. I’ll take care of this stuff.”
“Show me what?”
“It’s a surprise,” Griffon says, leading me out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Instead of turning right into his room, we walk farther down the hall until we come to a closed door. Griffon cups my face in his hands “God, it’s good to see you,” he says, leaning in to give me a quick, intense kiss. “Feels like it’s been forever.”
I laugh. “It’s only been a couple of days.”
“Guess I’m trying to make up for lost time,” he says. “And there’s a lot of lost time to make up for.” He runs his finger over the ankh that hangs around my neck.
I put my hand around it, the silver warm from my skin. As I touch it, I hear Drew’s voice in my ear. Allison. Goose bumps form on my arms as I try to shake off a feeling of foreboding. “I never did say thanks,” I say, shifting my focus to Griffon. To us. “For bringing this back.”
“You don’t have to,” he says. “I’m just glad that it’s finally where it belongs.”
He opens the door to what looks like a small, sunny office. “Don’t get mad, but I got you something.” Leaning up against the desk is a big black cello case.
“A cello?” I look at him sideways. “I have a cello. Two, even. For all the good they do me now.”
“Not just a cello,” Griffon says. He unlatches the sides of the lid and lifts it out. “A right-handed cello.”
“Right-handed?” I take a step closer. “What do you mean, right-handed? Cellos only come one-handed.”
“Not this one,” he says. “This one has been completely rebuilt to be played with right-handed fingering. Since you’re having trouble using your left hand, I figured you could try this one and still keep playing.”
“I’ve never heard of anything like it.” I sit down in the office chair and examine it. The strings are backward, right to left, and the bridge is set at a slightly different angle than I’m used to. It’s a beautiful instrument. I’m almost afraid to touch it.
“I did some research. Charlie Ch
aplin used to have one just like it,” he says. “Try it.”
Experimentally, I lean it against my right shoulder and put my right hand on the neck. “This is so weird,” I say. I look up at him. “It’s amazing, but … I don’t know if I can do it. I’ve been playing one way all my life.”
Griffon sits down across from me and lifts my left hand, kissing the fingers that no longer work as they should. “Veronique tried to take everything that’s important to you. We can’t let her win. The knowledge about how to play isn’t in here,” he says, tapping my ring finger. “It’s in your head. And your heart. You just have to retrain the body in order to release that knowledge. A note is just a finger on a string. It doesn’t matter which finger.” He hands me the bow and a block of rosin.
I tighten the bow and put the rosin on it, my hands shaking just a little. I can’t believe he’s gone to so much trouble, and I can’t spoil the look on his face by disappointing him. The balance on the bow is a little weird in my left hand, but I can put enough pressure on it to make it work.
“Here goes nothing,” I say. Closing my eyes, I let my right hand find the notes to one of my own compositions as best they can. It isn’t perfect by any stretch, but my reach is okay, and it’s just a matter of rethinking where everything goes. Instead of worrying about hitting the right notes, I reach deep inside for the emotion that makes them sing. I pull up everything that has happened in the past several weeks—the fear, the trust, and mostly the desire—and let it all play across the strings. The music resonates in the room as I lift the bow and open my eyes to see Griffon grinning like a madman.
“That was amazing,” he says quietly.
“Not amazing.” I set the cello gently back in its case, surprised at the lump I feel in my throat, like I’ve just been given a gift that’s bigger than strings and wood. “But maybe it will be someday.” I lean over and kiss him intensely on the mouth. “It’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me. I can’t accept it, though. It must have cost a fortune.”
Griffon shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Money isn’t a problem. Trust me. You have to take it, because I can’t return it.”
“Still—”
Griffon blocks my objections by kissing me, one hand running fingers through my hair. He moves to the floor and pulls me down to him. “You have to. I owe it to you.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“But I do,” he says. “The minute I touched you on Tower Green, I knew that one of the things I had to do in this life is to look after you. And I didn’t.”
“You tried to warn me,” I say. “It’s not your fault that I didn’t trust you.” I lean in and kiss him, feeling his soft, full lips on mine and inhaling his warm, spicy scent.
“I meant what I said the other night,” he whispers, his breath on the side of my neck sending shivers through my body. “When I said I love you. I’ve never meant anything more in any lifetime.”
I study his face, but this time I don’t see the eyes of my executioner. I see the eyes of the boy that I can’t imagine living without. For once, I’m not wondering about how he really feels, about what he really means. I can feel the truth in his words—the truth that is in his heart.
“Two truths and a lie,” I say. “My turn.”
“Okay.” He grins.
“Right now is the happiest I’ve ever been. Tomatoes are my favorite food.” I pause for just a second. “And I love you.”
Griffon studies my face. “I’m hoping that you still hate tomatoes.”
“See, you’re getting better at this.”
Griffon laughs as he leans in to kiss me again. I feel his desire as I press myself into him, and I know that whatever happens in this lifetime or the next, I’ll remember this moment, these emotions. From now on, good or bad, nothing is lost. Everything will be kept. Forever.
Acknowledgments
The acknowledgments page is the hardest one to write because it takes so many people to create every book, and I’m terrified of leaving someone out. But I’ll do my best. This story wouldn’t exist without the following people:
Erin Murphy, who makes us lean in closely to hear her soft-spoken words of agent-y wisdom.
Mary Kate Castellani, the editor who never lets me get away with anything, and who transformed a manuscript I thought was pretty good into an extraordinary story.
Emily Easton and everyone at Walker, for their vision and support from the very first idea.
Jen Cervantes and Amy B. White, for reading the early draft when it really wasn’t very good.
Natalie Lorenzi, for emergency Italian translations.
Robin Mellom, for long rambling phone calls, anguished e-mails, and propping me up. And for junk food.
Daisy Whitney, for regularly being available to text after midnight.
Gabrielle Charbonnet, for going there before me and giving great advice.
Ammi-Joan Paquette, Julie Phillips, and Kip Wilson, for being so enthusiastic about those first early chapters.
Portia Kunz, Liesl Kunz, and Devin McKeown, the most critical and intelligent teen readers around.
RJ, Linzey, Anna, Danielle, Dakota, Harper, Philip, Devon, and all of the other teens who hang around my house, eat my food, and always answer honestly when I shout out questions like: “How would you kill a person and make it look like an accident?”
Amy Lipke, Barbara Stewart, Jessica Romero, and Karen Ryan. I can’t do anything without the support of my friends.
Jill Raimondi, for plastering a smile on her face and looking interested whenever I go on about revisions. And on. And on.
Mom, Joe, Dad, Sue, Jessica, and Wendy give me the courage to follow through.
Bayo, Jaron, and Taemon. My boys. I can’t say enough.
Last but not least, I’m inspired by the people who loved Griffon the most: Denise, Ed, Ron, Kathy, Juliet, Lukas, Brittany, and Tyler. Thank you for sharing his memory.
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Transcendence t-1 Page 27