Embrace (The Gryphon Series Book 2)

by Stacey Rourke

  The girls that had nodded now sneered in my general direction, as if they too found my comments ridiculous. Traitors.

  Nose-hair checked his watch. “We’re out of time for today. Next class we’ll discuss Birth of Venus, Botticelle’s masterpiece, and From 1434 by Jan van Eyrk. There may be a pop quiz, so be prepared.”

  Papers shuffled and chairs scooted as my classmates and I rose to file out of the stadium style lecture hall.

  “Miss Garrett,” the professor called, without looking up from the slides he systematically removed from the projector, wiped off, and filed in a slotted folder. “Would you stay after class for a moment, please?”

  Well, that’s never a good sign.

  Utterly confused as to what this could be about, I flopped back down in my chair and waited for the rest of the class to clear out. When the last straggler scuffed his way out of the room I rose and ambled up to Nose-hair’s desk. That’s when my Grams strolled in. My stomach sank. It had to be bad if he called in grey-haired reinforcements.

  Grams was decked out in her crazy old lady best. A gold sequin jacket, shiny satin pants, glittery gold shoes, and her short hair curled up tight in a fresh from the beauty parlor ‘do. She shot me a questioning look.

  I shrugged and mouthed, “No idea.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Garrett,” Nose-hair said, with a brisk nod of his head.

  Always full of southern charm, Grams smiled and extended her hand to him. “Pleasure’s mine, Professor.” He cringed down at her hand like it was disease ridden, then clasped his hands firmly behind his back. Grams frowned, but withdrew her hand.

  Nose-hair carried on as if the awkward moment hadn’t happened. “Am I correct that Celeste’s mother was unavailable for our meeting today?”

  “Yes sir, that’s right.” Her tight curls didn’t budge as Grams nodded her head. “Julia is still back in Michigan trying to sell their house. This economy, you know, can’t give stuff away anymore.”

  That was obviously more information that he wanted. He barely let her finish. “I see. Well, I will entrust you to explain the situation to her mother then.”

  There’s a situation?!

  “Ms. Garrett, I’m going to let you in on a secret all art teachers know, but few ever speak of.” He paused. “Art isn’t for everyone.” I flinched at the pointed look he threw me. “Some people lack the depth and insight to see past the surface of a painting or sculpture. While they may apply themselves, their shallow, limited thinking prevents them from ever succeeding. This is the case with your granddaughter.”

  Grams posture snapped up straight. “I beg your pardon?”

  Stupefied, my jaw fell open. I had been trying so hard, and enjoying the class! My grades even reflected that. What had I done to make him formulate this nasty, unfair opinion of me? Sure, our interpretations varied on a few pieces, but wasn’t all art subjective and open to debate?

  “It’s no one’s fault,” Nose-hair said with a sympathetic shake of his head. “But her artistic aptitude is severally lacking. I would suggest that instead of pursuing a path she has no talent for, she reassess her goals and aspirations for the future. Maybe aim a little lower. I see she’s now working at the coffee shop across the street. Perhaps she could work her way up to a barista at a Starbuck’s. I hear that company offers great benefits and advancement opportunities.”

  While I stood there gaping, Grams stepped in and unleashed a verbal bashing. “Now look here, you nasty little man! I want proof and documentation through her grades and class performance before you make claims like this. And even if she isn’t top of class, that’s no reason to write her off completely.” She clenched her purse in a white knuckled grip, like it was the only thing stopping her from throttling him. “Maybe you should take a look at your teaching methods and how they’re lacking before you assume your students only have a future in fast food.”

  “Not all my students,” he corrected, and tipped his head in my direction. “Just her.”

  I glared up at him with narrowed eyes. With a snooty raise of his brow he met my gaze. And blinked. For a split second his eyes turned black. Another blink, and they were restored.

  Grams saw it, too, and sucked in a shocked breath. With one arm I pushed her behind me. My norm in moments like this was to make a pithy comment before things took a violent turn. However, his little game had me fresh out of pith. Instead I punched him in the mouth.

  “Celeste!” Grams gasped.

  The lower half of my professor’s face split down the middle. With a sickening slurp teeth, bone, and flesh pulled away. The insides of his mouth curled back by his ears to release a long, black snake-like tongue with its own set of jagged fangs.

  “Holy crow!” Grams yelped. I grabbed her and shoved her behind Nose-hair’s desk. “What is that thing?”

  “Ya know those demons I’m always running off to fight? That’s one of them. Think of this as Take Your Grandma to Work Day.”

  As I spun around the demon’s tongue shot out like a frog trying to catch a fly. I tucked my shoulder and rolled out of the way. His tongue hissed—eeww—and darted at me again. I caught its slippery bulbous head millimeters in front of my face and struggled to keep the saliva-coated leech from latching on. Nose-hair, with his splayed face, crept forward to watch. He leaned over me with glee in his solid black eyes.

  “Celeste, here!” Something gleamed in Grams’ hand as she rifled through her clutch. She palmed whatever it was and slid it across the linoleum floor to me. My hand curled around it. A metal nail file! I plunged it through the tongue-snake with enough force to make the pointed end jut out the other side. The squishy creature wriggled in my hand, then fell limp.

  “Aaaggggggggghhhhh!” Nose-hair screamed in pain with my hands still wrapped around his tongue. He lunged for my throat with a murderous snarl.

  Instinctively, I scissor kicked his legs out from under him. In a blur of superhuman speed I leapt to my feet. With my bare hands I tore a particleboard desk off the chair it was bolted to. I brought it down on my demonic professor’s neck hard and fast. His head severed from his body and rolled across the floor before both dissolved into black goo.

  “Wow.” Grams gaped in astonishment. “Is it always like that?”

  “Nah.” I shrugged. I wiped my hands on my jeans before I helped her off the floor. “Sometimes they’re hard to kill.”

  Instead of releasing my hand when she got to her feet, she tugged me in closer. She laid her other hand on my forearm. My next breath was filled with her flowery perfume. “Those things he said, Celeste, they were meant to hurt you. None of it was true. You know that, right?”

  I nodded and bit down on the inside of my cheek, literally biting back the pain. “Yeah, I know.”

  She gave my arm a pat and then released her hold on me. “Good. I didn’t want you to get the crazy idea that school is a bad idea or anything.”

  “I know what he said wasn’t true,” I said softly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that school is a bad idea.”

  “Oh honey, no.” My words caused Grams face to fold in sadness, which I immediately felt terrible for. Well, I already felt terrible. That just made me feel worse.

  “I don’t know why he waited so long to attack.” I cast a sideways glance at the spot Nose-hair had fallen. The last space he would ever occupy. “He didn’t have to. He could’ve gone after me at any time and taken out a few of my classmates in the process. My being here put them all at risk.”

  Grams pushed her purse strap up on her shoulder. The fluorescent overhead lights shimmered off her sequined jacket. “You’re always gonna be around people, Celeste. There’s no helping that, unless you go live in a cave somewhere.” She lowered her brow and pursed her heavily glossed lips. “And don’t think for a minute that’s an option.”

  I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my hoodie. “I shouldn’t have been here to begin with. I may want to be an art teacher, but my path has already been chosen for me. An
d this isn’t it.”

  “But college…your future!” I had Grams so upset she stammered out sentence fragments.

  “My future is as the Conduit. College doesn’t figure into that. At least not anymore.” My heart ached at this proclamation, but I kept my face neutral.

  “Please,” she pressed her hands together in prayer, “think on this for a while. Before you just quit. Please?”

  “There’s nothing to think about.” I scooped my bag up off the floor and flung it over my shoulder. “This is who I am now, Grams. And it’s time I stopped pretending otherwise.” I dotted a kiss on her cheek. “I gotta get to work. Can’t quit that. Being the Chosen One doesn’t pay well. Or at all for that matter.”

  I gave my grandmother a quick squeeze, then turned and strode from the room with brisk strides. I didn’t want her to see the tears I could no longer hold back.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Neighborhood Café was a quaint and homey establishment that served a few soup and sandwich options but was known primarily for its wide selection of delectable coffees and teas. I applied there mostly out of convenience, as it sat directly across the street from the college. If I had taken nothing else from my time there, I had learned that coffee is the lifeblood of college students.

  Despite the chilly autumn temperature, the interior of the café always seemed sunny and warm thanks to the soft butter crème color on the walls. Bold print, overstuffed chairs had been situated along the perimeter, angled toward each other to make cozy little conversation areas. In the center of the room sat red oak chairs with black metal scrolly designs on their backs and matching narrow tables. They reminded me of a French bistro. The walls were decorated with artwork painted by students of the college’s art program. It was a personal goal of mine to paint something deemed worthy of the wall—or it had been before the encounter with Nose-hair demon.

  Like every other shift I’d had since I started here, it passed in a blur of espressos, lattes, and scones. I didn’t socialize. Didn’t see faces of the customers. Just kept my head down, did my job, and silently prayed every time the bell over the door jangled that it wasn’t a demon on the attack. Every shift that ended without the spontaneous eruption of violence, I considered a win. But I didn’t let that lure me into a false of security. Sooner or later my calling would follow me here.

  My manager, Becca, locked the door behind the last customer and flipped the sign to closed. She could only be described as average to the extreme. Average height, average weight, average brown hair that hung to her shoulders. I couldn’t even say if she had a pretty face because she hid it behind a pair of thick black horn-rimmed glasses. Although without the glasses she may have faded right into the background.

  “Celeste, Melissa is adding on another class this semester. Would you mind covering some of her hours?” Becca asked, as I wiped down tables.

  “That’s fine. My schedule just opened way up.” I hoped my resentment at having to drop my classes didn’t reflect in my voice. If it did, Becca didn’t seem to notice. She muttered a quick “thanks” as she crossed the room to count out the register.

  At the counter, she passed my fellow coffee schleper, Sophia, who had just sashayed her way out of the backroom. Her warm caramel complexion had been dusted with a fresh application of blusher, her dark, almond shaped eyes newly mascaraed. She had traded her work uniform polo and khakis for a pair of painted on black jeans, a body-skimming plum sweater, and a bohemian scarf to tie back her wavy ebony locks. The heels of her knee-high leather boots clacked against the wood floor as she walked to the counter to grab her purse from her cubby underneath.

  “So, where is the night taking us, darling?” she asked, in a sing-song voice, as she clicked open her compact and held it up to apply a coat of gloss to her full lips.

  Sophia started working here a couple weeks after I did. In a short amount of time, she became the closest thing I had to a friend since I’d moved to Tennessee. However, she was constantly trying to drag me out with her and that severely conflicted with the hermit lifestyle I was adopting. Despite my constant rejections, she didn’t seem to be getting the hint.

  “I’m pretty beat.” I fake yawned as I stacked chairs on top of the tables. “I’m just going to head home and crash.”

  Her face fell and her eyes darkened for a flicker of a second. A blink later, her smile returned in all its wattage. “No problem. But if you change your mind the blues club in town is having an open mic night. It’s gonna be off the hook. I’ll be there tearing the place up!” She snapped her fingers in rhythm and wiggled her hips.

  “I don’t doubt that for a minute.” I had to admit it would be fun to go, but it’d be way too risky. In a large, rowdy crowd like that I wouldn’t sense an impending threat until it was too late.

  Was this going to be my life? Turning down invitations. Holing up at home. Only venturing out for Conduit business or the occasional shift at work? What kind of existence was that? The existence of the Chosen One, I thought bitterly.

  I stared down at the dishcloth in my hand and concentrated on fixing my “everything’s peachy” mask firmly on my face. It became a tighter fit by the day. It took longer than it should have for me to be able to look up with a forced on smile. “Maybe next time,” I lied.

  Maybe I was mistaken, but it seemed tonight Sophia’s smile was more sympathetic than beaming.

  I left work at the perfect moment of dusk. When the sky begins to darken, but the sun hasn’t given up its hold entirely. The result is a canvas of brilliant blues, stunning pinks, and a deep hue of violet that swells as the moon ascends high into the sky. However, the strip mall the café resided in had such an overabundance of lightening it looked like high noon. I knew it was a safety measure, but geesh.

  As I crossed the parking lot, I buried my head in my gigantic purse to dig out my keys. Kendall insisted I buy the stupid giant bag, but I hated it. I couldn’t find anything in this black abyss of a purse. I was neck deep in the thing, grumbling under my breath, when I heard a yip behind me. I resurfaced to investigate the noise.

  Three car lengths away sat a cute little pom pom of a dog. Thanks to our annual family tradition of watching the National Dog Show on Thanksgiving, I recognized it as a Bichon Frise. The pink diamond studded collar she wore, and her impeccable grooming, told me she was a pampered one at that. She wagged her puffy tail, but kept a safe distance.

  “Hi there,” I cooed and crouched down to the pup’s level. “Aren’t you a sweetheart! Are you lost puppy?”

  I held out my hand, palm down, so she could sniff me. Instead, her fuzzy white muzzle curled up into a growl. She unleashed an onslaught of threatening yaps, sneezed and pranced around, then squared off with me to resume growling.

  “Got that out of your system?” I asked with a laugh. “Just take it easy. You’re okay, girl.”

  Her stubby little legs went into overdrive as she charged at me. She was a barking, growling, snapping blur of white fuzzy rage. I know running doesn’t fit with the “superhero” reputation, but I really didn’t want to use my souped up strength to punt a pooch. So, I ran. Probably didn’t need to squeal like a little girl as I fled, but I did.

  “Good doggie! Nice doggie!” I shouted over my shoulder as I sprinted.

  Blindly, I dug in my purse for my keys. If I could find them and hit the unlock button I could dive to the safety of my truck. My hand wrapped around something that may have been them. I glanced down to check and slammed right into someone. I hit him so hard that he had to catch me and steady us both before we ended up in a heap on the ground.

  “Whoa! Easy, lass,” said a deep, husky voice. I glanced up into a pair of cobalt blue eyes framed by impossibly long lashes. Add to that golden, sun-streaked hair that waved past his ears, bronzed skin, sculpted features, rock hard pecs I was still pressed up against, and it seemed I had just slammed into a male underwear model.

  Count on me to make a stellar first impression. “Rabid dog! Run!” I shrieked into
Golden Boy’s face.

  Amusement played across his cover-boy face, as he glanced over my shoulder at the incoming fur-ball of terror. “Perhaps your charms are wasted on the canine persuasion.”

  “That dog is nuts!” Since Blondie had yet to move, I ducked around behind him. The cranky puffball could unleash its fury on him first.

  He gave me a curious look over his shoulder, then bent down to receive the incoming terrier from hell. “Hush now. Easy,” he murmured in a soothing tone. Then added a firm, “Sit.”

  My jaw fell open as the dog came to a halt, sat down, and let her little pink tongue loll out of her mouth in a happy grin.

  Before I could ask if he was a professional dog whisper, a middle-aged woman in a fuchsia tracksuit came screeching in our direction. “Mitsy! Mitsy! There you are my sweet baby!” She scooped up the little dog and showered her with kisses. Demon pup happily licked her face and wriggled in her arms, as the woman shot us the stink eye and sauntered away. “What did those mean people do to you? Are you okay, my sweet girl? Don’t you ever run off like that again! You scared Mama! Yes, you did! Yes, you did!”

  “Nice dog! Did the breeder mention it’s a minion of the anti-Christ?” I hollered after her as she loaded her evil tiny canine into her giant SUV.

  She made reference to a certain inappropriate—and physically impossible—act I could do to myself, then drove off.