We roamed around tables displaying cookies shaped like turkeys and cornucopias. I picked up one of the stiff plastic containers and considered buying them.
“I want to go home,” Zhan said.
I set the cookies down. “I wasn’t planning on any other stops.”
“To San Francisco,” she clarified. “Actually north of there in Contra Costa county.”
I hadn’t expected this. A dozen questions flooded into my mind. When did you leave? How long has it been? Does your family know you’re an Offerling to a vampire? Lamely, I said, “Oh?” Nothing like a death to throw around some perspective. If she was homesick, I could make Menessos let her take a vacation. “I’ll talk to Menessos. I’m sure he’ll let you—”
“It isn’t him keeping me from it. I did this to myself.”
I wanted to help, but there was nothing to do without more information. “Mind if I ask what you did?”
She paced away and I was sure she had decided to go and wait for me in the car, but her steps slowed and she came back. “Unlike many Chinese-American families, mine still practices ancestor worship. They follow the oldest of the old ways. My father is an artist. All my life I was aware that he wanted a son to teach his trade, but my mother had no children other than me. By the time he accepted that he would have no sons and deigned to break tradition and teach his art to a daughter, I had decided his pride was false, that he painted lies, and in doing so he furthered the lie to the next generation. I vowed not to be a part of that and I ran.”
I didn’t understand. “What did he paint that was false?”
“Dragons. Phoenix. Creatures I believed never had existed. But now,” her eyes welled up and she brought out the already damp tissue again, “now I know they do exist, and that they always did. My ancestors weren’t fabricating lies. My father’s honor is intact. Mine is not.”
Geoff arrived at five-thirty. In the back of his dually pickup truck stood six full-grown goats. They were on leashes that were tied to the roll bar. I put my shoes on and walked out to greet him. Beverley stepped up behind me at the door.
“Goats?” she asked.
He said, “I don’t think the dog food is doing much for Thunderbird.”
“Oh.” Beverley’s sunny demeanor dimmed.
I was somewhat disturbed myself. “Geoff, you’re not going to walk them into the barn on leashes, are you?”
“No. I’ll let them loose in the field. I’m sure the griffons will do what griffons do.”
“What if Thunderbird doesn’t come out?”
“After what I saw the others do to keep him warm, I have to believe that they understand things in a way that normal animals do not.”
“Meaning?”
“Either he’ll understand and come out, or the others will take him what he needs.”
“Let me tell Mountain before you set them loose, okay?”
“Sure.”
I put my jacket on and headed out. Beverley was right on my heels. “You probably shouldn’t be out here, Bev.”
“I’m okay,” she said. She didn’t convince me.
Mountain had finished the painting and returned to his mobile home. We went there and told him what was going on.
“Good idea,” he said. “They’ll like that.” I gave him a signal indicating Beverley; he understood. “Would you come and help me feed the unicorns and make sure they have water in their buckets?”
“Absolutely!”
While the two of them walked over to the unicorn barn, I called Geoff on his phone and told him to let the goats go free. Then I caught up to the others. The unicorns had spent the day grazing on the grass around the grove and soaking up sunshine, so their stalls were empty. Mountain was instructing Beverley in how many scoops of grain to put into each unicorn’s feed bin. He rolled out a hose to fill the water buckets.
I walked into the rear where the griffons gathered. A lion-and-eagle male rose and took a position at the edge of their space.
“Who’s this?” I asked Mountain, confident he’d named them all by now.
“That’s Eagle Eye. He watches everything.”
Mountain followed me as I crouched near the nest where Thunderbird had curled up. Gingerly, I petted his neck. “Hey, you,” I said softly. “Wake up. It’s time to go hunt.”
It took a few more strokes, but finally he stirred. A moment later he stretched. He lifted his head, weakly, and craned his neck to see me. He cocked his head and gave a soft version of his thundering cry.
“There’s meat outside,” I said.
The other griffons had already smelled prey and wandered out of the barn. I stepped away from Thunderbird to watch. As they cleared the barn doors their mighty wings spread and they took gracefully to the sky. I couldn’t help following the last one out and taking in the sight of the majestic creatures circling the cornfield.
One swooped down in a lithe, plummeting attack so swift the goat never knew what hit it. I was grateful the kill was quick. Another and another made their kills.
Thunderbird limped up beside me, butting his shoulder into my hip the way a cat rubs itself on someone’s leg as it passes. I stroked down his neck again. “Go on.”
He hobbled out, occasionally putting weight on his injured foreleg, as if testing it. Geoff had apparently walked the goats to the field, removed their collars, and walked away. He was approaching on the newly graveled driveway and together we watched the griffons. Just as Thunderbird neared the edge of the cornfield, Eagle Eye landed before him and dropped the carcass of a goat, then backed away, bowing his head.
The doc and I shared a glance.
Thunderbird reached out with his injured foreleg, gripping at the goat. He had no talons left to make the grip a sure one. So, carefully, he switched, putting his weight on that one, and gripped the carcass firmly with the talons on the other. Voicing a thunderous call to the air, he tore into the kill and began to eat.
That evening, Kirk dropped Johnny off just before seven. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night, but he kissed me and launched himself up the stairs to take a quick shower and shave. The usual suspects showed up just after him. The diverse crowd was certainly atypical of a kid’s birthday party. Not only was the birthday girl the only child, she was the only mundane human among us.
When Johnny joined us, dinner was served and the party officially began, but Beverley and Ares were both already wearing birthday hats and, remarkably, the huge puppy tolerated it.
Nana had made chicken nuggets and cheesy potatoes as our guest of honor had requested. I ate two of the nuggets and more of the potatoes than I should have. After dinner, I presented the cake with ten pink candles. It set the room aglow. Johnny sang her a rocked-out version of “Happy Birthday.” Theo took pictures for me.
Beverley blew out the candles and the celebratory dessert was consumed while we passed Beverley’s joke book around and read random jokes aloud. Then it was on to the gift opening.
Theo’s BlackBerry beeped. She snapped another photograph, handed me the camera, and checked her phone. A moment later, she tapped me on the shoulder. “My source got a hit,” she whispered. “Can I use your computer?”
“Sure.” It had been returned to its usual spot after Nana’s room was finished.
Beverley was delighted with the iPod, digital camera, and clothes she received, but it was the electronic photo frame we’d all chipped in to get her that stole the show. Celia had preloaded it with pictures of Beverley’s mom, Lorrie. The images faded in and out, continually cycling through the files. We shared a tearful moment, Beverley hugging Celia tight.
When the party was over and Beverley was happily carrying her presents upstairs, Theo motioned Johnny and me over. “This is the Web site of a tattoo shop called the Arcane Ink Emporium.”
“Okay.” Not unlike the frame Beverley had just received, the site had a slideshow cycling through images of happy customers sporting their tattoos.
Theo clicked on the link to the staff page, scrolled down. The artists were listed with their photo and name to the left, and a paragraph about them to the right. At the bottom, an emoticon wearing dark sunglasses rested above the name Arcanum. The biography stated: