Transcendence (27 page)

“They had one beer left,” Griffon says as he reappears beside me. “Hold the cup and I’ll split it.”

My emotions are so raw that I don’t say anything as he pours the beer into the blue plastic cup. I hate beer, but after everything I’ve been through tonight I feel like I can drink a couple with no problem.

Never one to be shy about anything, Rayne pounces on him. “So what’s the story with those guys over there?”

Griffon glances back at the group. “Just some guys from school,” he says. He grins at her, relaxing a little. “Anyone you want to know about?”

“No,” she says too quickly. Rayne glances back toward the group. “Although if I did want to know anything about anyone, it might be the tall blond guy in the black jacket over there.”

“Peter,” he says. “Good choice. Let’s see—runs cross country, in my calculus class, no girlfriend at the moment. Want me to introduce you?”

“Definitely, please,” Rayne says. “Let’s go now.”

They start walking toward the fire, but I hang back, not
wanting to share Griffon, even with people who knew him first. I like being able to make up my own image of him, and watching him with his friends makes me realize how much I don’t know.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Rayne says, stepping back to grab me by the arm. “Come on, already. Don’t be drama.”

I follow them to the fire, the heat immediately causing my cheeks to burn. Rayne’s smile is wide as she easily joins the conversation already in progress, but I stand just a half step back from Griffon as he laughs with his friends.

Without breaking the conversation, Griffon leans back and puts one arm around my shoulders, drawing me forward into the circle. That one gesture alone is a statement to his friends, and they get quiet as they look at me expectantly.

“Guys,” he says, “this is Cole. And that’s Rayne.”

They’re nice enough as they say hello, mentally adjusting their view of Griffon as he stands with his arm around me. Griffon introduces the pink-haired girl as Alana, and while her smile is welcoming, her brown eyes are wary. She’s pretty in an edgy way, with heavy eye makeup and a tiny nose ring that glitters in the firelight. The way her light hair contrasts with her dark skin makes her look otherworldly, and I immediately feel dull and boring—with hardly any makeup or extra piercings, I’m the picture of an aspiring cellist with no social life.

Alana holds her cup close to her chest and points one heavily ringed finger at me. “You go to Pacific, right?”

I nod slowly.

“So how did you meet our Griffon?” The “our” in front of his name is not lost on me.

“I picked her up in London,” Griffon answers for me.

I laugh quickly while Alana raises her eyebrows. “London? Really.”

“Yep. London.” I smile at him and take a sip from the cup.
Our
cup. The one we’re sharing. I hand it back to him just to make sure Alana notices that fact.

I spend the rest of the conversation trying to avoid Alana’s eyes as she seems to track my every move. Rayne manages to find something in common with Peter, and the two of them step back from the fire to go sit on the concrete retaining wall at the end of the beach.

“Want to walk?” Griffon asks, gazing out at the shimmering ocean. He reaches back with his hand out and I take it, running a few steps to catch up with him. Away from the fire, the air is colder and the noise from the crashing waves is louder.

We walk down the beach just at the edge of the water, hearing scraps of conversation and shouts of laughter from the bonfires as they’re carried by the breeze. Griffon bends down as a wave recedes and wipes the sand off something before handing it to me.

I look at the perfect sand dollar and run my hand over the smooth edges before putting it carefully into my pocket. The beach is littered with broken ones, but a whole one is always a treasure. “Thanks,” I say, leaning into him as we walk.

There’s a big log a few yards down the beach, and Griffon pulls me down onto it so that I’m sitting in front of him. I lean back, enjoying his warmth as we watch the surf pound the beach. I feel Griffon shift as he looks back toward the bonfire.

“Rayne seems to be pretty happy,” he says.

I glance back to where I can see their silhouettes still sitting on the wall. “Thanks for introducing them,” I say.

“Peter’s a good guy.”

We sit in silence for a few more moments, until I can’t hold it in any longer. “Do you know Alana from school?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” he says. I can feel his heart beating as I lean into him. His chest rises as he takes a deep breath. “Actually, I, um … used to know her sister.”

“As in ‘know,’ know?” I get a sinking feeling, wondering if she’s as pretty as Alana.

“I suppose. But it’s not like she was my girlfriend,” he adds quickly.

“You mean you slept with her?” I ask. I turn around to face him so that I can see his eyes as he answers.

He pauses, but won’t meet my gaze. “She goes to college down in Santa Barbara and came home last summer for vacation.” He suddenly seems older again, more mature than any guy of seventeen has a right to be. “Look, I didn’t lie to you,” he says. “I don’t go out with girls my age. Nobody in high school, anyway.” He lowers his eyes and bites his bottom lip. “At least, I didn’t.”

Despite the fact that this makes my heart race, I say nothing. Griffon leans in to kiss me, but I pull back just as his lips brush mine.

“Sometimes I think you just want to be the handsome prince,” I say, studying the rough bark of the log. I haven’t really thought any of this through, but I suddenly know that it’s exactly how I feel.

“Um, thanks?” he says uncertainly.

“Not thanks,” I say. “It’s like I’m some kind of damsel in distress and you want to be the one to rescue me.”

Griffon puts his hand over mine. “You’re right. I do want to rescue you,” he says. “But not because I think you can’t handle things on your own. It’s for my own selfish purposes.” He leans in and kisses me again; the hunger he feels is almost visible in his touch. The vibrations that exist between us are like background noise now—so constant that they’re just an extension of him.

I let myself melt into his body, my hands traveling up his thighs to pull his hips toward me, causing Griffon to inhale sharply. I wrap my legs around his waist and unzip his jacket, sliding my cold hands inside. I can feel the outline of the ankh pendant underneath his shirt as I explore his torso, my fingers tracing the muscles under his warm skin. We stay like that for what seems like hours, tasting and touching, and I’m grateful for the limitations imposed on us by being out on a wet, cold, public beach. If we’d been safe in his room on his big, wide bed, I’m not sure that I’d be able to say what I know I should to keep things from going too far.

As we sit listening to the waves, I feel peaceful inside, like I’ve finally found what I’ve spent years looking for. School doesn’t matter. The cello doesn’t matter. Even not playing the cello doesn’t seem to matter.

“It makes a difference, doesn’t it?” I say. “Knowing you’re going to do it all again.”

“In a way,” Griffon says cautiously.

“I mean, what if something bad did happen? It would suck for the rest of this life, but we could find each other in the next life
and start all over again. There’s got to be a way to leave a marker to follow the next time around.”

“It doesn’t really work like that,” Griffon says, a hint of sadness in his voice. “There’s no guarantee that we’ll even be back together in the same century—forget about the same continent.”

“What about all those stories you hear about people who are destined to be together? Who find each other again because it’s fate?”

“I wish it were that simple.” Griffon leans over to kiss my neck. “There are no guarantees you’ll find the people you were with before, even though technology does make it easier to find other Akhet.”

The thought of coming back without him sends a stab of pain through my chest. “Does it ever end? Do people ever stop coming back?”

“Maybe,” he says. “Some forms of Buddhism think that once you no longer need the earthly experiences anymore, you go permanently to a higher plane.”

“Like heaven?”

“Probably where the idea of heaven came from,” he says. “But I personally can’t imagine no longer needing earthly experiences.” He starts running his fingers through my hair, each contact with my scalp sending shivers straight down into my feet. I close my eyes, giving myself up to the sensation and the sound of the waves in the cold dark night.

The transition into the vision isn’t as jarring as it has been before; the first thing I feel is the scratchy fabric at my throat, and the familiar rhythm of someone gently running a comb through my hair.

I sit at my dressing table, staring blankly out the small window to the courtyard down below. The grounds are unnaturally green, and contrasts with the dull brown cobblestones that run between the buildings. I can’t see any workmen from here, but I’ve been listening all morning to the sound of nails being driven into lumber as they prepare the site
.

Anna tries to hide her emotions as we complete our daily routine, but the occasional sniffle as she draws the silver comb down my back gives away her true state of mind
.

“Anna, please,” I say, turning toward my lady and taking her small hand in mine. “Do not waste your tears, all will be well.”

“Yes, Lady Allison,” she says, staring at the intricate comb in her hand. Two tears form parallel lines down her ruddy cheeks. “I know that you have done nothing to deserve this fate and that a just God will spare you. ’Tis only…” A sob rattles in her throat as she turns away from me
.

“You musn’t lose faith,” I insist, my words bolstering my own failing conviction. “The good will triumph. It says so in the Book of Prayers.” My eyes flick to the prayer book that lies on the trunk at the foot of the bed. We’ve been up all night, listening to the commotion in the yard down below and reading comforting passages from the only book I’ve been allowed these long months. I glance up, although I don’t know what I expect to see except the heavy beams that cross the ceiling and stray cobwebs that adorn the corners of the room. So far, God has not come to intervene on my behalf, but I have no doubt that I will not be abandoned
.

As Anna finishes tying the ribbon around my plait, we hear
a shuffling outside the heavy door, followed by a gruff knock and a metallic sound as the lock is disengaged. Her pink cheeks fall instantly pale and her hand flies up to cover her mouth, for we both know these are no idle visitors. “It is time!” she says in a hoarse whisper
.

Squaring my shoulders and drawing myself up to my full height, as Mam would have expected, I stand and smooth the heavy black skirt that falls nearly to the floor. I wrap my hand around the pendant as Anna reaches up and frees the clasp from around my neck. The metal is still warm as I drop the necklace into the small silk pouch, tears filling my eyes for the first time since this nightmare started. As we stand waiting for the door to swing open, I grab Anna’s hand in a gesture of comfort. “Take heart, Anna, for we are well protected.”

“Hey.” Griffon’s insistent tone brings me back to the present. “Everything okay?”

I nod slowly as the last traces of the image slip from my mind. “I’m fine.”

“Where were you?” His voice is gentle now. “Did you see Veronique again?”

“It was different this time. I was at the Tower again,” I say, trying to orient the image of the room with what I’d seen on my visit there. “Inside one of the buildings, looking out. I … I think it’s just before the vision I saw at the scaffold.” My heart starts racing as small pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together. “Oh my God, she called me Lady Allison!”

“Who did?” Griffon asked.

“The girl who was with me. She was brushing my hair, and
she called me Lady Allison! When I had the memory in the hospital, the woman at the cottage called me Allison.”

Griffon pulls his fingers from my hair and wraps his arms around me. “It could mean anything,” he says. “Maybe you’re seeing a different life altogether.”

“No,” I insist, a little puzzled about why he isn’t as excited as I am about the discoveries I’m making. “It’s the same, I can feel it. The girl in the cottage on the cliff is the same person who was beheaded at the Tower.”

“I don’t think so,” Griffon says. “I’ve been on my Dad’s tour hundreds of times. There were only a few people who were actually beheaded inside the Tower walls, and none of them were named Allison.”

My conviction is growing stronger as I turn the images over in my mind. The scratchy black dress, the little house on the cliff—the two things were parts of the same lifetime, I’m sure of it. My name was Allison, and I was executed at the Tower of London.

“Well,” I say, “this time, history is wrong.” I feel like a puzzle with gaping holes, as all of these separate lives are piecing themselves together. How many lives have there been so far? How many more are still to come?

Griffon pulls me closer to him and rubs my shoulders to warm me. “I’m sure you’re right,” he says. He looks out at the water. “I wish we could stay here forever. Away from Veronique. No school. No Sekhem. Maybe you should just move in,” he says. “With me. Janine won’t mind, and Veronique will never be able to find you.”

“Right,” I say, wishing it was only that easy. “Not like I don’t
have a real life or anything. I can totally picture that conversation with my parents. ‘Um, I’m in danger from someone I may have done something bad to in a past life, so I’m just going to move in with my—’” The word “boyfriend” almost slips out, but I catch it in time. Or so I think.

“Your—?” Griffon says, leaving the next word hanging. He pinches my side lightly and laughs. “Your what?”

My mind is racing. I have no idea what we really are, and I’m terrified of saying the wrong thing. “Um, my semi-platonic friend who doesn’t date high-school girls.”

“Is that what this is?” Griffon teases.

I pull away from him, suddenly serious. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do,” he says. A smile drifts across his lips, and he bends down to kiss me lightly. “Why are you afraid to say it?”