Gryphon's Quest

by Candace Sams

  Backing away, she ran to the telephone, stared at the receiver for several moments and wondered what she'd tell the 911 operator. 'Help, my apartment was just invaded by some kind of drop-dead gorgeous, Gaelic accented, tattooed warrior who didn't do anything to me, take anything or cause any damage.' Any police officer who responded would insist on a drug test or give her a lift to the nearest psychiatric facility. Heather put the receiver down. She went to the bathroom, threw cold water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror. Nothing in the apartment looked different, but somehow she knew nothing would ever be the same again.

  ***

  "Where have you been, Son?" As Gryph walked in from the balcony, James could tell that he was brooding over something. The younger man's eyes were downcast and his expression stern.

  "Looking for the stones, Father." Gryph slowly walked through the Victorian-style room. He watched his father's eyes light up. A sign of his sire's anticipation to end this mission.

  "You have news?"

  "No, but I've met with someone. I did a little questioning, and this person told me where McPherson put the crates."

  "Then, all we have to do is find a way to look in them." James grinned, certain that his son's mission would soon be over.

  "It's not that simple, Father. I don't think McPherson is foolish enough to keep the stones where anyone working in the museum can find them easily. A thief doesn't want to get caught with stolen goods." He paused before continuing. "Tonight I questioned this person I've met about what she's seen in the shipments."

  "She?” James asked, pretending to appear nonchalant about his son's activities. He picked up an apple from a crystal bowl and examined it.

  "Yes. This woman works with the professor. She's seen nothing resembling the stones."

  James watched his son closely as he casually tossed the apple up and down in one hand. “You believe she's telling you the truth?"

  "Yes, for some reason, I do." Gryph walked to the bar to pour himself some whiskey. The house where his parents were staying belonged to old family friends. These friends, more of his parents' Druid acquaintances, were currently gone on vacation. They often loaned the place to the elder O'Connors when they traveled to the States. They were aware of Gryph's condition, and he felt safe enough staying there. Shayla had made it clear to all who knew of him that the penalty for revealing his ability to outsiders was death. Gryph gazed out the open balcony windows and wondered how the lovely Heather would react if she knew she had been held in the arms of a myth. He could still smell the faint scent of some floral shampoo she used, could still feel her soft warmth. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd been that close to a woman. The difference was, none of those other women had been frightened half to death. Just sexually curious about his abilities. It hadn't felt good to intimidate her. Whatever else he might be, Gryphon knew he wasn't a damned savage.

  James interrupted his musings. "It's late, lad. The museum will have been closed for hours."

  "You’re worried, Father?" Gryph studied the glass he held.

  "Where did you meet this woman?"

  Gryph's guard went up immediately. His actions—following Heather to her apartment, breaking m and frightening her— wouldn't sit well with his parents. Even if they innocently mentioned to Shayla he'd done such a thing, the woman might be suspected of knowing more about him than she should. Heather could be subjected to some close scrutiny by members of the Order, or worse. And he would most certainly be punished for such rash actions.

  "What difference does it make, Father?" Gryph shrugged.

  "Well, by approaching someone and asking questions, you bring attention to yourself. Suppose this person calls the law?" his father asked with concern.

  "There's no law against asking someone about ancient artifacts. And I've told you before. I'm the one who's responsible for finding the rune stones. I believe this person might be persuaded to help." Gryph pretended to have an interest in the parkland surrounding the sprawling house.

  "Can you trust her, Son?" Fear colored his voice as James moved to stand behind Gryphon.

  "To some small extent, I have to trust someone. I can't just burst into the museum and search every square inch of it. That would cause a little attention, wouldn't it?"

  "There's no reason for sarcasm, Gryphon. I'm just concerned about your safety. If the papers are reporting the truth, the way the security guard was murdered indicates someone has released the stones' power, " James warned. "If that's happened, you have no idea what you'll be up against."

  "I know. But this woman has nothing to do with the theft of the stones."

  "How do you know that?"

  "The man who was killed was a close friend of hers. She mourns his loss. She's not involved in his death." Gryphon's instincts were certain of that.

  "Who is she? What's her name?"

  "You're asking a lot of questions, Father."

  "And you're being very evasive, which causes me some concern," James growled.

  "No harm will befall the Order because of anything I do. It never has." Gryph looked into the night sky, wanting the conversation to end.

  "I never insinuated any such thing, Gryph. All I asked for was the woman's name."

  "All that matters is retrieving the stones. The woman isn't an issue. She doesn't even know my name."

  "That's of little comfort. You're not in this country legally and you certainly didn't get here by any conventional means. And you're not exactly inconspicuous." James turned away, angry.

  "If I'm not, Father, ask yourself why?" Gryph responded before he could stop himself. He quickly threw back another swallow of whiskey.

  James bowed his head.

  Gryphon watched as guilt etched itself into every line of the older man's handsome face. He felt immediate shame. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it, Da." Gryph slipped into the Irish name for father that he hadn't used since he was a small boy.

  "I just don't want you hurt anymore than you've already been, Son," James spoke softly.

  "I have a decent life, Da. I can control the change. You're worrying too much. This woman is just a means to an end. She's given me the location of the crates, that's all. I'll find a way to locate the rune stones, and we'll head home."

  "All right, all right. You're in charge. Just be very careful. You don't know what you could be facing. Shayla was clear on that, and I don't want anything to happen to you. Your mother and I love you very much."

  "Yes, I know, and I love you, too." Gryph smiled. He controlled his features so that his father wouldn't see his sorrow.

  FOUR

  Heather awoke with a start. A dream. That's what it must have been. She quickly got out of bed and ran into the living room. The doors and windows were still secure, though the lock on the French door was the worse for wear. That didn't mean someone had been inside her apartment. Shaking her head, she made coffee and dressed.

  ***

  She was going through the second box of artifacts on her list when Niall came into the small inventory room. Every object that wasn't being researched went into the little pantry just off the larger receiving area. Here, all the tags and labels to identify the artifacts were kept in neat order. She was trying to make sense out of the mess caused by lists that didn't match with the artifact locations. It was a frustrating experience made more so by Niall's appearance.

  "Hi, babe. How's everything going?" He leaned over and kissed her neck.

  Heather sighed in irritation. "Fine, Niall. Where's Professor McPherson? I'd have thought he'd want to oversee the unpacking of these things himself. Some of them are quite rare and extremely breakable."

  "He's playing kiss-up to the Board of Directors. He'll be here soon." He grabbed her around her wool-skirted waist and pulled her to him. "How about playing kiss-up with me?"

  "Niall, stop! I have to get these things categorized. Some of them aren't fitting into any profile I'm familiar with."

  "Come on, honey.
You know what they say about all work and no..."

  "I'm not kidding, Niall. I'm here to work."

  She pushed his wandering hands away. "Why don't you give me a hand?"

  "Man, what's eating at you this morning? I thought I told you to get some rest."

  "You did. Only it just isn't that easy for me. I don't seem to have your ability to shrug off what happened to Ned. He was brutalized. Who knows why anyone did such a thing. And whether the killer might try something like this again."

  "We have a new security staff and a new alarm system being installed, Heather. And whether you want to accept it or not, life does have a way of going on." He stopped speaking when Professor McPherson entered the room.

  "Having any luck with these pieces, Heather?" McPherson asked. His gaze wandered around the room, checking her progress. He occasionally fidgeted with the bifocals in his left shirt pocket.

  She watched the older man as his brown eyes focused on the work she'd done, and his thin, frail body stooped so he could get a better look at some of the smaller artifacts. Heather tried not to smile as his weathered hands lovingly touched everything. It was clear he was checking on her without wanting to look as if he were doing so.

  "As a matter of fact, I was just telling Niall that some of these objects are rather obscure. I was wondering whether I could look at the paperwork on where some of this stuff was found?" she asked, and put down a piece of pottery before tagging it.

  The Professor stared and didn't respond for a moment. But before he had a chance to say anything, Niall interrupted.

  "Heather, if I might remind you, your job is to categorize acquisitions," Niall said, "not plot their dig locations. Asking to see the site charts is rather like a recalcitrant eighth grader asking her teacher if he's sure the lesson plan is being properly taught."

  "Excuse me, Niall. I wasn't aware that I was offending anyone," Heather snapped. "Some of these items were badly packed. Others look as if they were never properly cleaned and labeled at the site. That's why we've got Irish peat all over everything. But I was talking to Professor McPherson. Not you."

  "Please, please." McPherson tried to calm them. "I'm sure Heather just wants to get a feel for what she's doing here. After all, a good assistant is interested in all phases of the work. Not just the proper displaying and categorizing of the artifacts." He pulled his glasses out of his pocket and placed them on the bridge of his nose as he spoke.

  Niall glared at her. "You have to forgive her, Professor. Heather hasn't been herself since the murder. She just doesn't seem to be able to get past it, and I'm afraid her behavior is a reflection of her emotional state."

  "I don't need you justifying my emotional state or patronizing me, Niall. I'm doing my job, and I suggest you do the same. If you paid half as much attention to your work as you do to me, all this might have been done by now." She nodded toward the boxes of work before her.

  "That's enough, both of you," McPherson admonished. "We're all on edge because of what's happened. I suggest we get to our work and calm down."

  Niall stalked out of the room. Heather was glad he was gone. Lately, he was becoming a big, pain-in-the-butt, chauvinistic bastard. He acted as though he owned her. But if Niall thought she was going to fall all over herself fawning over him, he had another think coming. Knowing him, he'd head straight to the secretarial pool where his bruised little ego could be bandaged.

  Returning her attention to the packing crate she was searching through, Heather found a small gray statue made of marble. It was definitely Irish, probably from somewhere near the time period of one thousand years before Christ. The arms of the stylized man had some kind of design etched into their surface. Wiping away the dirt which still clung to the little figure, she could see Celtic knots winding around its biceps. Just like the man from her dreams.

  "Professor?"

  "Yes, Heather?" He examined some of the objects she had already laid aside for displaying.

  "Did you happen to run across any ancient rune stones on this trip?" Heather pretended to be studying the statue she held, but found herself watching the professor closely.

  "Why do you ask?" he replied and quickly looked up.

  "Oh, it's nothing, really. It's just that sometimes you come back with them, and you know how interested I am in prophetic items from that part of the world." She tried to convince herself his response to her query wasn't a little too sharp and the anxiety on his face to her simple question was her imagination. Is he forcing that calm response!

  "Yes. Yes, you've always had that fascination." He sighed with relief. "I'm sorry. There was nothing like that in any of the acquisitions I sent back this time. I'll tell you what. I'll keep my eye out on the next trip to Britain. If I find some stones worthy of the collection, I'll bring them home and let you have first chance at researching the markings." He walked out of the room.

  "Thanks, Professor. That would be great," she called after him. "Well," she spoke to the little stone man, "that dream of mine is certainly causing me to ask some accusing questions. Maybe I saw you yesterday while I was digging through these boxes, and you caused me to dream up that babe magnet in my room last night. Babe magnet. That sounds like something Niall would say. And why in the world am I asking McPherson about rune stones? I don't believe he would actually steal anything. His reputation is impeccable. Last night was just a dream. No one really came into my apartment." She smiled at having poured out her thoughts aloud to a Celtic figurine, then continued, "Well, little man, it's off to the display section for

  you and back to work for me."

  ***

  "Gryph, you shouldn't have approached anyone." Gwyneth paced the room, biting at her lower lip in agitation.

  "Mother, I can't search the museum or the crates holding the stolen objects without knowing something about the inside of the building. To do that, I had to make contact with someone. You and Father are going to have to trust me to know what to do. If you can't, I'll have to ask you to go back to Ireland and wait for me there. You're both making far too much out of my having made contact with her."

  "Of course we trust you, Gryph. But we're your parents. We worry," James placated.

  "There's one other thing I want you both to do for me." Gryph stopped his mother's pacing by placing his hands on her shoulders. "I want your promise that you won't mention to Shayla my having contacted this woman."

  "Why?" James asked.

  "As I've told you both, this person is someone who works with McPherson. She's an unwitting accomplice and knows nothing about me. But Shayla may not see it that way. In her zeal to protect the Order and guard my identity, the Sorceress may send others to harass or do harm to the woman. The taking of the stones has already cost one innocent man his life. I won't have anyone else hurt or involved insofar as I am able to prevent it. Within days, I'll have the stones and we'll be on our way home. No one here will see me again, and there'll be no proof I ever really existed. The woman will never know who or what I really am. The Order will be safe."

  "I understand, Son. We won't tell Shayla you've approached anyone here unless something happens which threatens our safety."

  "That's all I ask, Father. Now, I consider this discussion closed."

  Gryph sternly nodded as he left the room. He should have realized that his father would tell his mother about contacting an outsider for help. He'd heard nothing all afternoon except his mother's complaints to stay away from Heather. He wouldn't stay away. Somehow he knew that he couldn't. The woman had direct access to every place he needed to search. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

  Gryph walked outside toward the woods. The scents of autumn surrounded him. Somewhere a fireplace burned, and colorful leaves whirled in small circles. It reminded him of the night he had first approached Heather. He tried to force his thoughts to other subjects, but it was impossible. He had never touched a woman from outside. She'd been so afraid of him. Despite that fear, she had still managed to summon the courage to
question his motives. Goddess only knew what she'd believed would happen to her. He didn't believe some of the things he'd been told about women from the outside. Members of the Order said they were cold and cruel, that they hurt their children and cheated on their men. Maybe some did. Herne’s antlers. There were some within the Shire that did that and more. But Heather had shown concern for an old man who'd been her friend, belying the tales of callousness he'd heard. She'd even shown loyalty for McPherson, though it was misplaced. He found himself wishing he could know more. How warm it would be to lie by the firelight with such a woman and...but that could never be. Never.

  ***

  Heather pulled on her coat and stepped outside the museum entrance. The tall young man who walked her to her car was friendly and professional, but she missed Ned. Having lost her parents in an automobile accident several years before, Heather had allowed the old man to assume a position in her life much like that of a loved uncle. She missed him dearly and had never felt so utterly alone.

  "Thanks for walking me to the parking lot, uh...I'm sorry, but I don't know your name."

  "Simmons, Miss," the red-haired man responded. His posture was straight, the leather shoes polished. His neat navy uniform and shiny badge looked very official. He wore a police-type cap upon his head instead of the battered baseball cap Ned had always worn.

  "Just, Simmons."

  "Yes, ma'am," the guard answered, abruptly. "It doesn't pay to get too close to folks. We may be working here one night, then someplace else another. Our supervisor switches us around to keep us from getting too bored with what we're doing."