Transcendence (12 page)

“No, thanks,” I say, too pumped from the performance to even think of food.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Veronique says, walking away.

Before I can say anything else, I hear a yell and feel arms drape around the back of my neck. “Awesome, Cole!” Rayne squeals into my ear, practically pulling me down with her. “Loved it! Much better than the usual boring classical crap they play around here.”

“Glad to see you’re still awake,” I say, giving her a hug.

“It isn’t easy, but your stuff is worth it,” she says, faking a yawn and pulling me away from the group. “Did Griffon come?” she whispers.

“I saw him in the concert hall. But I don’t know where he went.” At that moment I feel someone watching me from behind, and turn to see Griffon standing a few feet away, a huge bunch of red tulips in his hand. I always thought he looked good in a hoodie and jeans, but seeing him in black pants and an indigo blue button-down shirt takes my breath away.

“Man, he cleans up good,” Rayne says, following my gaze. “Go
on,” she whispers, giving me a little push. “You can’t let him just stand there by himself.”

“That was amazing,” Griffon says as I walk over to him. His eyes are shining with excitement. “Just beautiful.” He looks down, as if noticing the flowers for the first time. “Right. Um, these are for you.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking the bundle and trying to ignore Rayne’s yelp as she watches. I’ve never gotten flowers from a guy before, and I run my finger over the waxy perfection of one of the petals, wondering if red tulips have any particular meaning. Red roses equal love. Do red tulips mean I’m-not-attracted-to-you-like-that-so-let’s-be-friends?

Rayne walks over and puts one arm around Griffon. I only wish I could be so casual with him. “Sorry I can’t stay and chat, but my mom’s coming to pick me up. Nice to see you again.” She grins at him and then at me.

“You too,” Griffon says. Rayne gives my arm a squeeze as she walks away.

Silence surrounds the two of us as I try to think of something to say. “I’m glad you came,” I finally blurt out. Okay, not so clever. But not totally cringe-worthy.

“So am I.”

I glance back to see Dad, Mom, and Veronique standing in a small circle staring at us. I figure now is as good a time as any. “Do you want to meet my parents?”

He follows my glance. “Looks like I don’t really have a choice.” He smiles. “Yeah. That would be great.”

“Mom, Dad,” I say as we walk back to them. “This is Griffon.”

“Nice to meet you both,” he says, shaking hands first with Dad
and then Mom. Mom smiles at him and raises her eyebrows at me, while Dad just glances at the flowers in my hand and looks suspicious.

“Nice to finally meet you too,” Dad says, looking pointedly at me. “Do you go to school with Nicole?”

Griffon stands up straight and puts his hands behind his back. Somebody obviously trained him well in the art of parent-charming. “No, sir. I live over in Berkeley. I go to Marina.”

“Berkeley,” Dad repeats. “So … you know each other from the conservatory?”

“No,” I jump in. I don’t want to have to explain how we met. Not right now. “Kat knows a friend of Griffon’s. By the way, where did she go?” I hope my attempt to change the subject isn’t as obvious to them as it is to me.

“She left right after your piece finished,” Mom says. “Some work thing she has to do.” She nods toward Veronique, who is standing silently off to one side sipping a bottle of water.

“Oh!” I say, knowing I’m going to get a manners lecture later. “Sorry. Griffon, this is Veronique.”

“Nice to meet you,” Griffon says. As he takes Veronique’s hand, a shadow seems to pass over his features, and his easy smile is replaced by a more serious expression.

“Nice to meet
you
,” Veronique says, with an emphasis on “you” that is impossible to ignore. I shoot her a look and hope that she doesn’t go on about it. “Cole has an amazing talent, don’t you think?”

“She does,” he says, with a short tone I’ve never heard before. He seems to be studying Veronique, and I notice his jaw muscles tighten like he’s upset about something.

“I, um, have to get my stuff out of the practice room,” I announce, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. I can’t imagine what’s wrong with him. He’s usually so polite, but there’s a hardness in his eyes right now that freaks me out a little.

As if he’s working at it, Griffon’s features seem to soften, and he smiles at me, finally taking his eyes off Veronique. “I’ll help you,” he says. He turns back to Mom and Dad. “If that’s okay?”

Dad glances at Mom. “Fine with me. Saves me from having to carry the heavy stuff back downstairs.”

Griffon and I walk up the stairs in silence. He seems to be lost in thought, staring off into space as we climb. At the top, he looks back toward the group and leads me to one side.

“How do you know her?” His voice has an edge to it that makes me nervous.

“Who? Veronique? She’s one of my students, remember?”

“No, I mean, how did you meet her?” he demands.

I put my hands on my hips. In one quick second, he’s gone from sensitive and funny to serious and demanding. “I don’t even remember how we met. Why does it matter?”

“It
does
matter,” Griffon says, his voice low and his eyes angry. He goes quiet and looks away as another couple passes us at the top of the stairs. He steers me into an empty classroom.

“Try to remember.”

His intensity makes me stop protesting, although I have no idea what’s going on.

“I … I’m not sure.” His eyes are riveted on my face as I search my brain, trying to remember how we met. “I think she was at one of the conservatory concerts last year. She came backstage and shook my hand, met my parents, and all that. Then a few days
later she contacted me through the group saying that she’d heard I was giving lessons.”

He takes a step closer, glancing toward the stairs. “I don’t think you should see her anymore. Can you make up some excuse—say you’ve stopped giving lessons, or you need a break?”

I shake my head. “Why? That’s crazy. I’m not going to drop one of my students.” Forget about the fact that I’m not going to drop the only student who ever pays me on time.

“I can’t explain it all now, but you have to trust me. She’s not just a regular student. There’s more to it. There’s a reason she’s in your life now.”

I think back to all he said in the park. “Wait,” I whisper. “You think Veronique is … you know …?”

Griffon doesn’t touch me, but I feel his urgency all the same. “She is, but not like us. Some Akhet come back only for revenge, to right the wrongs they feel have been done to them in the past. I got a sense of that from her essence. I don’t think she’s just another random cello student.”

I can see the anger in his eyes, and a shiver runs up my spine. At this point I’m not sure if anyone is who I thought they were, especially Griffon. His face is still beautiful, so beautiful that it makes my heart ache to look at him, but everything that comes out of his mouth makes him seem more distant and paranoid. His words are having an effect, just not the one he thinks. “You’re scaring me,” I whisper.

“Good,” he replies, not dropping his eyes from my face.

I push the door open, the air in the room suddenly thick and foreboding. I need to be around other people. As we reach the
practice room, Veronique is just coming out. “Hey there,” she says cheerfully. “I was just looking for the bathroom.”

I glance at Griffon. His face is unreadable. “It’s back downstairs,” I say. “Just to the right of the main hall.”

Veronique smiles warmly. “Right. I should have asked. I’ll see you down there.”

I duck into the room, put my sweater on, and grab my things. I rush around, pretending to be distracted by looking for stuff, because the last thing I want is to make small talk with anyone here. Griffon stands outside waiting, and by the time I get back, he’s more like his regular self.

“Let me carry that for you,” he says, reaching for the cello case.

“It’s okay,” I say. I like carrying the good cello myself. Even Dad has stopped asking to help. It’s not that I don’t trust people, it’s just that if anything happens, I don’t want the blame to be on anyone but me.

Griffon seems to read my mind. “I’ll be careful,” he says. “I know it’s expensive.”

I hesitate.

“Now you don’t trust me enough to carry your cello?”

“It’s not that,” I say. I look up into his amber eyes. The funny thing is that I
do
trust him, despite all of the things he’s said, and all my conflicted emotions. I hand him the cello case, as if to prove it to both of us. “Thanks.”

He slides the shoulder strap over his arm and points to the steps. “After you.”

I change places with Griffon so that I can walk near the wall.
I hate looking over the railing straight down three stories to the café on the ground floor. Even glancing down from this high up makes me feel woozy. We start down the stairs, but Griffon seems to lose his balance on the third step and lurches for the handrail just as the cello begins to fall.

“Oh my God!” As soon as I realize what’s happening, I lean out and try to catch the cello, not thinking about how high up we are, not thinking about anything but stopping it from tumbling down the stairs.

“Cole!” Griffon yells. In a blur, I feel someone reaching out for me and grabbing my arm, but not before I twist and my head hits the railing with a crushing thump. Pain explodes in my right temple and my vision is filled with bright spots as I’m lowered to the floor.

“Are you okay?” Griffon stands over me as my head clears.

I try to shake it off, but that only makes the pain worse. “I think so.” I start to stand up but Griffon holds me down.

“Stay there, you might have a concussion,” he says, looking around for help.

I put my hand up to the pain in the side of my head and feel a lump already starting to form.

The stairs shake as people swarm around me. It looks like everyone in the place saw me fall. Just great.

“My God, honey, are you okay?” Dad asks, kneeling down.

I sit up on the edge of the step. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he says, looking into my eyes. “You hit really hard.”

“I’ll go get some ice,” Griffon says. “The café’s still open.”

Looking through the crowd of people, I watch Griffon take the steps two at a time. When he gets to the bottom, he rushes by the cello’s case, which is shoved against the railing at an awkward angle. “My cello!” I try to get up, but the pain in my head makes my knees buckle. “Is it okay?”

Dad glances down the stairs. “I’m sure it’s fine,” he says. “The main thing is to make sure you’re not hurt.” That’s sweet of him to say, but we all know the main thing is that my insanely expensive cello is currently lying at the bottom of the stairs.

Mom opens the case and lifts the cello out gently. “Looks okay,” she calls up. “The case is a little banged up, but otherwise it’s fine.”

I relax a little, enough to accentuate the pounding in my head.

“What happened?” Veronique asks, slightly out of breath from climbing back up the stairs so quickly.

“I’m not sure.” I look at Dad. “Did Griffon drop it?” I should have gone with my instincts on this one.

Dad brushes some hair off my forehead. “Griffon let it fall so that he could grab you,” he says. “I saw the whole thing from downstairs. If he hadn’t been there, you would have fallen down the whole flight.” He leans in and kisses my forehead. “It could have been bad, Cole. Really, really bad.”

Mom sets the case gently on the step next to me. “Looks like the shoulder strap broke,” she says, holding up the end that should be connected to the case. “A bolt must have come loose. This was not a cheap cello case. You can bet I’ll be calling the company in the morning.”

Griffon rushes back up the stairs and thrusts a bag of ice in Dad’s hand. I wince as Dad holds it gently up to the bump. I’m at
that point where I know ice will make it better, but right now it’s making my head hurt even more.

Mom leans down in front of me. “Let me see your pupils.”

I glare up at her. “Now? Seriously?”

“She’s okay, Sofia,” Dad says, and for once, she backs down.

I glance down the stairs, and the foyer seems to be emptying. Now that my part of the show is over, I guess it’s time for everyone to go home. I hope to God nobody got it on video.

“I’m going to head out,” Veronique says. She puts one hand on my shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure. Thanks.”

Griffon is kneeling a few steps down and won’t even look up as she speaks. I’m shocked that nobody else can see the waves of hatred coming off him.

“Nice meeting you, Griffon,” Veronique says as she passes him on the stairs. He nods, but says nothing. She seems totally clueless. She must just think he’s an ass.

After a few more minutes, it’s determined that I’ve been immobile long enough, and they let me get back on my feet. Dad carries my cello and the slightly bruised bunch of tulips, and Griffon gets my bag so that I can keep the ice on the giant knot on my head that’s getting bigger by the second. It takes everything I have to convince them not to call an ambulance, and I know that Mom’s watching carefully to make sure I don’t go into convulsions or anything as we head for the door. The cold night air hits us as soon as we get outside; it must have rained during the concert, because the streets are wet and give off that sharp smell that happens after a downpour.

“Why don’t you sit here,” Dad says, pointing to a bench just outside the doors. “I’ll walk your mom to her car and then get mine so that you don’t have to walk to the parking garage.” Even when they’re going to the same place, Mom and Dad never ride together.

“Sam—” Mom starts to protest, but Dad gives her a look.

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” he says. He tilts his head toward Griffon. “I’m sure Griffon won’t mind staying here with Cole until I get back.”

“I think I can manage that,” Griffon says. “Again, I’m so sorry about the cello. If anything’s wrong with it, I’ll be happy to get it fixed.”

Dad holds up his hand. “It’s fine. I’m just glad you have your priorities straight. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Dad hands the case to me, and I prop it up against the wall.