Gryphon and His Thief

by Nutt, Karen Michelle

  She let out an exaggerated sigh as she glanced at Darrien. "We'll have to pick up where we started later, darling." She drew him nearer with one arm around his neck, as if she were about to give him a lip-lock from a girl madly in love…or the way she believed it was done. Truly, it proved easy to kiss Darrien. Passion seemed to spark between them whenever their lips touched, but now wasn't the time to indulge in such fantasies. Her hand palmed the pouch housing the stone from her pocket along with her cell phone. She then transferred the items into Darrien's pocket of his cardigan.

  "Enough already," Bert snapped with annoyance. "You're coming with me, Miss Angelis."

  She broke the kiss, but didn't release Darrien right away. He appeared flustered from their embrace, and in truth she was a bit unsteady herself. "Darlin', you do know how to kiss," she murmured and ran a forefinger over his lips before she faced Bert.

  "Go," he demanded of her as he waved the gun at her. She'd taken only a few steps when she noticed Bert raising his other hand. He held her gun in his grip and pointed it at Darrien. Then it dawned on her what he was about to do.

  "No!" she cried, but he'd already pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Darrien opened his eyes and blinked as he tried to recall why he was sprawled on the ground in the carport, but the pain radiating down his shoulder and back, made deciphering anything impossible.

  "Think," he told himself and squeezed his eyes shut. Calli and he were in the museum… Thugs arrived with guns… Attempt to escape… Bert trying to stop them.

  He groaned as fragmented moments came into sharp focus. Where was Calli? He used his good arm to push himself into a sitting position, the jerky movements causing him to wince. He plopped back against the side of the building and swallowed back the nausea. Luckily, his glasses were still on his head or seeing would have been another drawback to this spectacular day. He adjusted them so they sat on the bridge of his nose and not lopsided off one ear. The carport immediately came into focus. "Much better." A quick survey told him Calli wasn't sharing his fate, but it still didn't tell him where she'd gone. She wouldn't have left him willingly. This much he could count on.

  "Think…think, dammit!" The last thing he remembered was Calli kissing him… No, no after… Yes, he remembered. She was being forced to leave with the repairman, who obviously was not a real repairman, but someone who worked with Professor Leander. "The man shot me!" he exclaimed out loud and glanced down at where his hand lay over the wound, blood stained his cardigan and there was a ghastly hole in it. Since he wasn't dead, he had to assume the repairman missed his heart or anything else that might be essential to staying alive. Lucky him, he winced. Yeah, right.

  "Calli, where are you?" he breathed with worry. She wouldn't be so lucky if she didn't cooperate, and he had a hunch she wouldn't. She was a stubborn woman, but her spunk may just keep her alive too. He scooted to his knees and tried to stand but the pain crippled him and he fell back down. Gravel jabbed into his palms and knees, and the sudden jolt sent a shockwave of distress straight to his injured shoulder. "Bollocks," he cursed and squeezed his eyes shut as he rode out the pain.

  He couldn't give up. Calli's life depended on him hauling himself back inside the museum and calling the police. Even as he thought this, he wasn't sure if the police would believe the fantastic story of a cursed stone, thugs breaking in to steal it, and then kidnapping the original thief because they believed she hid the stone. "Bollocks," he said again and had a hunch the word would soon be his favorite. No, he couldn't call the police. They'd probably arrest him for wrong-doing then search the desert for Calli's body, believing he'd done away with her.

  There had to be something he could do, but maybe first he should take a gander at his wound. Even if he hatched a brilliant plan, it would be worthless if he bled to death.

  He sat back down with a harrumph. He couldn't lift the injured arm so he had to rely on his good one. He loosened his tie and pulled it over his head then he went to work on the buttons, his fingers fumbling to undo them. Finally, he managed to push the material to the side, which irritated the wound further. He inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. He tried breathing through his nose while he bit down on his lower lip. "Bloody, bloody, bloody…" Yeah, that really smarted. Wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand and no doubt spreading blood across his forehead, he chanced another look at the damage.

  Blood pooled at the wound site, but it wasn't gushing. He shifted his weight and glanced over his shoulder for an exit wound. His skin remained unmarred. No exit wound meant the bullet was still lodged inside of him. He was pretty sure that was a bad thing. Well, it couldn't be helped right now. Since the wound was only oozing, perhaps he wouldn't bleed out in the next few minutes. "Maybe when the sun sets the beastie will have a better chance at..." An idea sparked to life. Funny, how the fine edge of pain sharpened one's perceptions.

  He scooted to his knees then braced himself against the wall as he attempted to stand. This time he remained on his feet, and as soon as his blurred vision cleared to at least a nice fuzzy haze, he would stumble his way back inside the museum. Yeah, anytime… Anytime… Yep, anytime… "Move, dammit," he told himself, and his pesky insistence seemed to motivate his feet into action.

  Time proved a factor. At night, he would turn into his alter ego, stronger, more determined, and with the ability to hunt down thieves. A particular thief, he corrected. The beastie would be able to find Calli. Granted, he'd have to live that long for the shift to occur, and hopefully his alter ego would be strong enough to withstand a bullet wound. He had no way of knowing this for sure, but it was all he had. He stared at the sky where the sun sat low on the horizon, painting it pink and purple with tinges of yellow. He'd been unconscious for a while. If the sun was going to set soon, that meant Calli had been gone for hours too. She could be already dead. "No." He adamantly shook his head. No, he wouldn't believe it.

  He hurried as fast as he could toward the front of the museum, stumbling and weaving like a drunken fool, but he managed to keep on his feet. The window still had not been fixed, which left the museum vulnerable, but it couldn't be helped right now. If a thief wanted to try his luck with a cursed item, good luck to him. The blimey bastards could take the fast track to hell for all he cared.

  He pushed open the door and strode into the museum. The ropes which had once hung from the ceiling lay in piles of weaved hemp on the floor. Guess Bert cut down his buddies and took them with him.

  Sweat rolled down his face and beneath his collar with each step he took. His desk never seemed so far away. He might as well be in the desert, trying to reach an imaginary oasis with it slipping away with each step. His breath came in gasps for air and he felt light headed. "Don't you dare pass out," he ordered himself, as if threats would defy the odds.

  Unlike the endless desert, the museum didn't trick the eyes and conjure mirages. He finally stumbled to his desk, leaving bloody palm prints as he went. As he plopped down in the seat, his gaze caught sight of the massive Gryphon sitting there staring with its lifeless stones for eyes. Calli believed the Gryphon and he were one and the same, and her video proved the fanciful tale was the truth.

  He pushed aside his cardigan and shirt once more to glance at the wound. It throbbed as if it had a heart of its own. His walk from the carport must have aggravated it. The blood poured more freely now. He opened a drawer at his desk and grabbed a handful of tissues from the box he kept in there. He pressed them to the wound, but the tissues turned red as the blood raced up the material and soaked it. He let his shirt fall over the wound once more. He would have to work fast before he passed out from lack of blood.

  Calli's presence in his life had triggered something which had lain dormant inside of him. His capability to decipher what was real and what was fabricated. Now it was time to enlighten his other half.

  He pursed his lips. A curse was meant to punish, condemn, or trap. He'd been subject to all three. His gaze shifted to the
other cursed items in the museum. They all had a story and none of them ended with happily-ever-after.

  He pushed back the glasses that had slid down his nose and grabbed for a pen and paper, praying the sun would set before he bled out. Calli pushed his destiny in another direction just by showing him the video. Maybe he could nudge his path a little more. He scribbled a note of what happened and hoped it would make sense to his other half, the Gryphon half, his more aggressive half. Calli needed a badass right now, and who better than a creature that could tear the bad guys apart.

  His hand paused over the paper as a fleeting thought entered his mind. What if he died before the change took place? Would it be the end of the curse? The end of his existence?

  Heck, he didn't know. Maybe all this summarizing could be a delusional trick from lack of blood. Maybe Calli didn't even exist. Maybe the thieves broke in and the job went sideways. He had been shot in the process, and his mind just made up the fantastic story of Gryphon statues that could come to life and save the day.

  He sat back in his seat and chuckled. "I'm the nutter, aren't I?" But then, he remembered Calli's sweet lips and knew he couldn't have imagined the distinct warmth the memory conjured. She'd kissed him before the repairman shot him. He sat up straight, but the sudden movement had him seeing stars and he grabbed the desk to steady himself. "Bloody hell!" He waited for the wave of nausea to pass before he shoved his hand into his sweater pocket. Calli had put something there. Once his fingers clasped the items, he fished them out and placed them on the desk.

  He blinked. "Mobile and …" he reached for the pouch and opened the drawstring to dump the object on the desk. "The stone." She'd given him the stone the thugs had wanted. His gaze shifted to the mobile and realized why she'd given it to him. He quickly grabbed another post-it and scribbled watch the video and placed it on the phone, but then took it off again. He would leave a personal message for his other half and tell him what happened while he slumbered. It took him a few minutes, but he managed to videotape a somewhat coherent rundown of what had happened. He placed the phone down and slapped the post-it on top of the screen.

  His gaze slid to Hecate's Stone which Professor Leander wanted, and the damn thing stared back… Well, if it had eyes it would have been staring back, but it did seem alive, pulsing with energy. His eyes narrowed as his vision blurred. He was going to pass out after all. Why was the stone glowing? His gaze landed on the blood smeared across it. "Blood would activate the stone… Bollocks, that can't be good." His head fell forward, bouncing on the desk. He was dying and for a moment he wondered if he'd come back to life as a zombie. "A zombie Gryphon…" he murmured. A shiver of dread slid through his veins as that horrific thought took root.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The van door slid open, and Calli squinted against the light filtering in. It wasn't bright out, but the van didn't have any windows and she'd been in the dark for some time. The sound of traffic, and an occasional honking of a horn told her they were no longer in the outskirts of town, but in the city. She didn't realize Professor Leander had an office in Arizona, but then she did own a corporation and told her she had numerous locations. Since she'd been spying on her, it made sense she'd be hovering close.

  Once the van stopped moving, she scooted with her feet away from the door to the farthest point of the van. Her hands were tied behind her back, but they didn't bind her feet, and she wore steel-toe boots. Bert's companion with the long hair, pulled back in a ponytail, stepped into the van. He reached down to grab her arm and she let him have it right between the legs.

  His strangled cry echoed in the vehicle and he fell hard...on top of her. "Ugh!" The air went out of her in a whoosh when the full weight of the man hit her. She wasn't sure what hurt worse, her head being slammed against the panel or her arms being smashed behind her. So much for that brilliant plan.

  Bert stepped in to investigate. His hand whipped out to grab Mr. Ponytail and roll him away without a second glance. He then turned his attention onto her. His hand snaked out and he hauled her out of the van, none too gently. "If you try any funny business with me, Miss Angelis, I won't hesitate in showing you how funny I can be." A knife materialized in his hand – long, pointed, and sharp. "The professor wants you alive, but she didn't say in what condition I should deliver you. Do I make myself clear?"

  She swallowed back the lump in her throat and nodded.

  "Good," he said and smiled. He wasn't a bad looking man if one was into thirty-something thugs with a mean streak, which she was not.

  "You know smugness doesn't become you," she told him.

  "And being a smartass doesn't become you, Miss Angelis. Now let's go." He ushered her toward the high-rise made of glass and stone, impressive among the other brick and mortar buildings surrounding it. Her wrists were raw from trying to escape the confines, and the way Bert pulled on her arm made them hurt worse.

  "Move it," Bert said when she tried to slow her steps. His fingers bit into her upper arm and she winced. She'd already decided the bastard would get it first for shooting Darrien. Making it happen couldn't come too soon.

  Inside the building, they took the elevator and she hadn't been overly surprised when he hit the button for the top floor. If Professor Leander was indeed a Gryphon – and Calli was pretty sure she was – the woman would most likely want access to the roof so she could take flight with ease.

  Ding…ding…ding…was the only sound in the elevator. Bert and his other cohort didn't speak, but faced forward, waiting for the doors to open. She would have taken awful elevator music over the chimes of impending doom.

  Finally, the elevator halted with a slight rise and fall motion, and the doors slid open…and what do you know…another ding. Bert nudged her forward and they headed down a corridor brightly lit with overhead lights. Classical music played in the background. Now there was music. She rolled her eyes.

  She admired the artwork on the walls and couldn't help but notice there was a large range of talent displayed. Renoir, Van Gogh, and Waterhouse just to name a few she recognized. It was like walking into a museum of fine art with the way the paintings were arranged.

  They reached a door at the end of the hall and one of the thugs opened it for them. Bert let her go ahead of him, but he by no means let go of her arm. Once inside, he shoved her in front of Professor Leander who sat behind a sleek, black desk.

  Calli stumbled forward, but managed not to fall on her face. She threw Bert a dirty look over her shoulder, letting him know how much she didn't like being pushed around. She then leveled her gaze on the professor sitting queen-like in her throne of black-leather. Instead of a wall behind her, a large window appeared to open up to the heavens. Just how high up were they?

  Professor Leander wore her dark hair in a tight bun, giving her eyes a slanted exotic appearance, and her makeup was polished with just a tad of blush to give color to her cheeks. The professional getup – blouse, jacket, and possibly slacks or a skirt… She'd have to stand for Calli to know which, but whatever the case, the outfit made the professor appear as if she were a respected executive at a high-end paying job.

  The paintings on the wall in the office were just as impressive as the ones in the corridor. Guess the stories about Gryphons were true. They did like their treasures. Calli's gaze took in the rest of the room. Vases and sculptures were arranged strategically in curio cabinets and on display tables. A statue of a wizard stood guard on the left side of the desk, and an angel with wings carved to perfection stood guard in the corner to the right. A Doctor Who episode came to mind and she shuddered at the thought of it. Would it move if she blinked? She shook her head. She really needed to cut down on her sci-fi addiction, but she couldn't help but chance another look at the statues. A chill ran down her spine and she shivered. Definitely creepy.

  "Well?" Professor Leander asked and her right eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch.

  "Well what?" Calli asked as she focused her gaze on Professor Leander once more. She'd let Prof
essor Uptight spell out what she wanted since she called this impromptu meeting.

  "Don't play coy," the professor snapped. "I want Hecate's Stone. You were paid to retrieve it, and yet I still do not have it in my possession."

  "Like I told your goons, I don't have the artifact on me, but they dragged me here anyway. And you only paid me half of what you owe me," she added for good measure.

  Professor Leander drummed her long fingernails on the desktop as she stared at her for a millisecond longer before shifting her gaze to Bert. "Check her!" Professor Leander ordered Bert and he took a step toward her.

  "Whoa, wait a minute." Calli backed away in protest. The last thing she wanted was Bert fondling her in search of something she didn't have. "I told you, I don't have it on me. It's back at the motel, but your goons wouldn't take me there. Said their orders were to bring me straight to you. And F-Y-I, I didn't sign up for murder."

  Professor Leander's nostrils flared, truly not a flattering look for her with that uptight hairdo. Made her nose appear beaklike too. Maybe the Gryphon side of her was lurking close to the surface.

  "Murder?" Professor Leander asked. "What are you prattling on about?" She glanced at Bert.

  His shoulders slumped and he managed to look somewhat contrite. "I had to shoot the caretaker at the museum," Bert said. "He would have called the cops."

  Professor Leander inhaled deeply and exhaled in a way that made Calli believe she barely kept her temper in check. "I wanted the stone and the girl, dimwits," she said. "I never mentioned you should shoot the caretaker."

  Calli blinked in surprise and had to close her mouth. Professor Leander didn't condone murder? Go figure. She didn't know the woman, but with the thugs she hired to do her dirty work, she would have thought eliminating a life here and there wouldn't bother her at all. Heck, if she were truly Isa, the woman staged her own murders.