We walk up to the counter, leaving the old guy with a confused smile on his face. It’s fun, but strange to be in on Griffon’s little joke. “That wasn’t very nice,” I whisper. “Were you really at that show?”
“Yeah,” he whispers back. “I wasn’t lying. It was awesome.”
I hand over the album and the cashier rings it up. On the counter are some silver pendants hanging on black cords. I pick one up and look at it. It’s a cross with a loop on the top, but it seems really familiar.
“Here you go,” the cashier says, handing me my bag and some change. She sees me looking at the necklace. “You want to add one in?”
Just holding it makes me inexplicably sad, like I’ve just lost something important. “No thanks,” I say, putting it back. I don’t like necklaces in the first place, but my reaction to this one is doubly strange. All I get is a feeling—no visions or memories that might explain it. “I was just looking.”
“That’s an ankh,” she says. “The Egyptian symbol of eternal life. Very mystical.”
Eternal life. A few weeks ago, that wouldn’t have meant anything to me, but now everything is so different. Griffon is watching me closely as I murmur, “Maybe next time.”
We walk out into the blazing sunlight and stand on the sidewalk, trying to decide where to go next. Instead of thinning, the crowds seem to be getting heavier and louder. Griffon squints up the street. “You know what I’d really like?” he asks.
“What?”
He turns and focuses his sharp amber eyes on me. “To be alone with you.”
I smile, releasing the tiny thread of anxiety I’d felt since I arrived. “That sounds perfect.”
Fourteen
As we pull up to his house, the lights are off, even though it’s starting to get dark. “Is Janine gone?” I wonder how she’ll feel about coming home and finding me alone with Griffon in their house. Most mothers wouldn’t deal with that very well, but then, Janine isn’t most mothers, and Griffon isn’t most sons.
“She’ll probably be back later,” he says, not seeming to give it a lot of thought. He walks ahead of me to unlock the heavy front door. “Janine doesn’t sit still for very long.”
We hang our jackets on hooks by the door, and I follow him across the hallway. The house is quiet, and I feel how acutely alone we are in it. Griffon doesn’t say anything, but I know we’re headed up to his room. As we approach the stairs, I hesitate just a tiny bit, but it’s enough for him to notice. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I say. More than anything, I want to follow him up the stairs—it’s all I’ve wanted since that day in the café, but a small part of me is afraid of what might come next. I glance up at his broad shoulders and strong jaw, and see something in him that’s older than he appears. More experienced. I wonder how many times he’s been in this situation, how many first times he’s had. He’s right, it isn’t exactly a level playing field, but the pull I feel when he’s near me obscures most of my rational thoughts, and I know that once I climb those stairs, everything might change.
Griffon walks back down two steps until he stands right next to me. Reaching over, he brushes my cheek with his hand and runs his fingers through my hair. He bends down and kisses me softly on the mouth, then traces a line up my cheek, planting gentle kisses on my eyelids. I can feel his hand tremble slightly as he holds the back of my neck, and I force my breathing to stay even as he presses closer to me.
Taking one small step back, he holds my chin in his hand and runs his thumb over my lips. “Never do anything you don’t want to, understand?”
I nod. “I do want to,” I say quietly. “I’ve wanted to be alone with you since the first time I saw you.”
A smile flickers across his face, full of emotion yet unreadable at the same time. “Don’t forget, I saw you first,” he says. He holds out his hand and I take it, letting him lead me slowly up the creaking wooden staircase and through the door to his room.
I’m not sure what I expected, but the room looks like a seventeen-year-old boy lives there. Clothes spill out of his closet and papers lie across a large desk, practically burying a small laptop. Against one wall, a dark comforter has been hurriedly pulled over a queen-size bed. “Nice to see you cleaned up for company,” I say, kicking at an abandoned red T-shirt on the floor.
“Glad you noticed.” Griffon bends down to pick up the shirt and tosses it in the general direction of the closet. “I was hoping there’d be someone up here this afternoon to appreciate all of my hard work.”
The unmistakable meaning of his words makes my stomach flip, and just for a second the thought that I’m in over my head flashes through my mind. “So, pretty much anyone would do?” I ask, trying to make my voice light enough so he won’t guess how much I want something to happen between us, and how terrified I am at the thought that it will.
Griffon stands in front of me, his expression serious. “No,” he says. “Not just anyone.”
I smile what I hope is a mysterious smile and wander over to his desk, looking at the things he keeps, trying to find out what they say about him. I see a spiral pad open to a page covered in pencil drawings. They’re all different views of the same girl. She has long, straight hair that’s tied in a braid over her shoulder and is wearing a Renaissance Faire–type gown. More arresting than what she’s wearing is the fact that her face looks incredibly realistic, her eyes intent on the viewer, as if these are all photos instead of a drawings.
Griffon comes over and pulls the notebook out of my hands. “Damn. I should have put that away. It’s just something I was working on awhile ago.” He closes the book and slides it into a drawer.
“They’re amazing,” I say, trying not to give in to the jealousy I feel for the girl who is nothing more than lines on a page. Except that Janine said that Griffon draws things from memory. Buildings, streets, parks. And beautiful girls who aren’t me.
“It’s nothing,” he says, obviously embarrassed.
On the bookcase above his desk is a photo of girl who looks a little older than me. I look closely, but she’s not the girl from the drawing. This one has blond hair and green eyes, and that natural kind of beauty that looks at home in the outdoors. She’s sitting on a sailboat, her arm draped protectively over the wheel. I feel another stab of jealousy, and wonder if he put all of these here to torture me. Or to let me know how things are going to be. And I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; there’s no reason why I should be the only girl in his life.
I turn to see Griffon watching me. He wanders over and picks up the picture. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” he asks.
I shrug, not having a clue what he expects me to say to that.
“This was taken a few years ago. Even back then she was a champion racer. Has her own boat and everything.” He puts the photo back on the desk. “Relax,” he says, a slow grin crossing his lips. “She’s my granddaughter.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing I didn’t hear him right. “Your what?”
“Granddaughter. She lives in Rhode Island. I’ve never met her; this photo is from an article about her sailing. I keep track of her online.” He nods. “Some things have gotten a lot easier.”
Relief floods through me. He’s allowed to have pictures of pretty girls all he wants, as long as they’re related to him on some level, in some lifetime. “So, you can find relatives … from before?” I ask, thinking about how strange that would be.
Griffon nods. “My daughter was born in 1964, my granddaughter in 1991. Not that hard to trace people these days. It’s not like I’m going to meet them in person. Can you imagine that conversation?” He sighs. “But it’s nice to know how they’re doing. I’ve never been able to before.”
“Is it hard?” I ask. “I mean, they’re off living their lives without you, and you’re just watching from way back here.”
Griffon shakes his head. “Not really. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” He pauses. “Is this getting too weird for you?”
“
A little,” I admit. “It’s just another thing that’s going to take getting used to.” If he has a daughter and a granddaughter, there had to be a wife somewhere. I wonder if he still loves her. If he thinks about her late at night. The only thing that makes this thought remotely better is realizing that if she is still alive, she’ll be old by now.
The wall by the door holds a giant whiteboard covered in complicated math problems. “Calculus?” I ask, pointing at the numbers.
Griffon glances over at the board and then quickly looks away. “Physics.”
“You’re taking advanced physics this year?”
“No,” he says. “It’s just something I do … on the side.”
“I’m sorry. You’re way too cute to do advanced physics for fun.”
He laughs. “Glad you think so. It’s for the Sekhem.”
“Really? You’re working for the government?”
“Not the government,” he says, frowning a little. “Governments and countries are only temporary. The Sekhem doesn’t see any nationalities or races—these are just the things that cover our essence each time we come back. We work for the world.” His eyes light up from inside, like he really believes in what he’s doing. “Which is why some governments have a problem with us. You’d be surprised how many people want to see the Sekhem working exclusively for them instead of for the global good,” he says. “And what they’re willing to do when we refuse.”
“Like espionage? A little James Bond or Jason Bourne?”
“Not exactly hanging-from-ropes-over-lasers exciting all the time, but yeah, we have to be careful. Let’s just say it’s not a good idea to advertise your Akhet status to just anyone.”
“So what do you do?” I ask, glancing at the whiteboard.
“What’s my specialty?”
“Yeah. What are you working on?” I wave my hand at the indecipherable figures. “All this.”
Griffon hesitates a split second. “Climate change. Alternative energy.” He shrugs. “I know they’re not as sexy as curing AIDS or dismantling bombs, but they’re things that affect absolutely everything else.” Griffon paces a little in front of the board, and he seems to get more excited as he speaks. “If we don’t fix climate change and emissions, the rest of it won’t matter. Hunger, disease, poverty—it’ll all be gone, because this planet will be uninhabitable.” He’s quiet for a minute. “In the early nineteenth century I worked to develop one type of combustion engine. So, basically, I helped cause this problem, so now I have to help solve it.”
“Are you working for the Sekhem now?”
“Service to the Sekhem doesn’t officially start until you turn eighteen,” Griffon says slowly. “But yeah, I’ve started a little early. That’s why I had to go away for a few days.” He looks up at the equations on the board. “I’m helping to develop a special biofuel cell, and there was a break-in at our facility. I had to go and verify what they took. And how much it’s going to set us back.”
I look from the equations back to him, trying to understand how the two go together. Griffon isn’t just a regular high-school junior, I know that, but having it all in front of me is something deeper than just knowing. Scarier. More real. “Someone stole the stuff you’re working on? It’s that important?”
Griffon nods. “It’ll change the world. To some people with oil interests, that’s not such a good thing.” He hesitates. “It’s not the first time it’s happened.”
I feel a little knot of anxiety at his words. Changing the world. Griffon has a life that’s totally separate from everything familiar to me, and responsibilities that have nothing to do with me. No wonder he didn’t call for a whole week. The thought of him rushing off to do things that will ultimately affect millions of people suddenly puts our relationship into perspective. A perspective I don’t necessarily want. “Do you have to go away a lot?”
“Sometimes,” he admits. “Although most of it I can do from here. Especially right now. Sekhem are everywhere—universities, private companies, foundations.”
“Does Janine work for them too?” Somehow the thought of her watching out for him makes me feel a little better.
“Yep. She travels a little, but does most of her work here. Working for the Sekhem doesn’t necessarily mean you have to go someplace special. A lot of what I do happens here in California and Washington, but there’s some development in Europe.” He grabs my hand. “Paris would be cool if you came with me.”
I like that he’s thinking ahead. And that it includes me. “Screw the bomb people,” I say. “I think saving the world is pretty sexy.” I lace my fingers through his, feeling suddenly vulnerable and a little afraid. I glance around at the unfamiliar territory of his room. There are so many parts to his life I know nothing about. What can I possibly give him or show him that he hasn’t seen a million times before? I’m an average-looking junior in high school who knows what to do with a bow and a cello, and … what else? I can’t speak a dozen languages or draw a city from memory or even play chess very well—forget about putting all of the pieces back where they belong. I’m just me, and for the first time since we met, I’m wondering if that’s going to be enough.
“And here I was afraid you’d think I was some sort of physics geek,” Griffon says.
“Maybe I’ve been looking for just the right physics geek.” I look up at him, once again startled by the clarity of his eyes as he watches me. “So now that you’ve dragged me up here, aren’t you even going to kiss me?” I try to sound light and uncaring, but I’ve never meant anything more in my life.
The vibrations in the air between us grow stronger, almost visible, as he bends down and kisses me hard, all of the gentleness from before drowned out by the intensity of his body pressing against mine. My heart races being so close to him, and all at once I understand what people mean by desire. The idea that having this person pressed up against you isn’t enough, that you want more, want to be inside them so that there is no separation between your bodies. I bury my face in his neck, wishing that I could stay in this one moment, in this one lifetime, forever. I reach under his shirt, desperate to feel as much of him as I can.
Griffon pulls away slightly. “Let me go take a quick shower,” he says. “I’m still all sweaty from the game.”
“No. Don’t,” I say quickly. “I like it.”
He looks surprised, but doesn’t move away. Instead, he takes my hand and leads me to the big wide bed, pulling me down with him. He kisses my neck and traces my collarbone with his lips before pausing to brush my hair back from my face. “God, do you know how beautiful you are?” His voice trembles as he speaks, and I can feel the restraint he’s exercising in the vibrations that are charging every inch of him.
He props his head up on his left hand as he positions himself next to me, his right hand tracing the outline of my face. Griffon’s top lip curves so perfectly, so invitingly, that I can’t help but reach up and touch it, running my fingers over his face, knowing that I now have permission to do these things that I’ve only thought about over the past several weeks. I can see his muscles move under the thin fabric of his shirt; the veins that run down his neck and disappear into his collar make me long to see more, even in the dim light that drifts in through the curtains.
I push him back against the pillows, pulling the baseball jersey over his head, once again marveling at his smooth, honeyed skin. Griffon’s look is questioning, but he follows my lead and doesn’t protest as I ease his shirt off and toss it aside. I inhale sharply at the sight of his outlined muscles tapering into the slight dip of his baseball pants.
As I start to explore his warm skin, he gently grabs my hand and raises it to his lips, kissing my palm and moving toward me so that there is no visible distance between us, just a tangle of arms and legs, as close as we can get for now. A dull gold pendant hangs from the black cord around his neck. I reach for it with tentative fingers and watch as goose bumps form on his torso and an audible gasp rises from his throat. It’s an ankh, just like
the ones we saw in the record store. And the tattoo on Janine’s neck.
My mind suddenly flashes to that cold, gray day on the scaffold and the pendant I placed into the hand of my executioner. Unlike Griffon’s, mine had been shiny and silver, with a dark red stone in the center, but the symbol is the same. A shiver runs up my spine as I remember what the girl in the store said about the meaning of an ankh. Eternal life.
Centuries ago, I’d had one too.
Fifteen
I hold my breath as I turn the corner toward my house. We’d texted all week, but Griffon hadn’t said anything about coming over, and I didn’t want to push it. Which is why I can’t help smiling when I see him sitting outside of my house on Thursday afternoon.
“You might as well come in,” I say, walking up close enough so that I’m inching into his personal space, but not close enough so that we’re actually touching.
“No,” he says. “I’m okay out here. I don’t want to distract you from the lesson.”
“Afternoon, Cole,” my neighbor says as he walks out of the house next door. He’s a Unitarian minister, and even though he’s always been cool to me, I step away from Griffon just a tiny bit. His dog Koda comes up and sniffs the retaining wall before lifting his leg and peeing on the corner, just like he does pretty much every day.
“Hi, Mr. Proctor,” I say.
“And you are?” he asks as he holds his hand out to Griffon.
“Griffon,” he answers, shaking his hand and smiling broadly. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
Mr. Proctor winks at him and nods to me. “You be good to our girl here,” he says, while I cringe inwardly. “She’s special. An actual prodigy.”
Griffon smiles at me. “That’s what I hear.”
As soon as Mr. Proctor is out of sight, Griffon leans in and presses his lips quickly to mine. I lace my fingers through his and he gives them a tight squeeze. His eyes seem to grow darker. “I’m not going to come in, but I do want Veronique to see me as she walks up the street.”
Transcendence t-1 Page 16
