The Gryphon Project (13 page)

“First Clea and now
you
?”

“Get a grip, Nadia.” Phee laughed to cover her nervousness. She was afraid to speak to Nadia at all for fear of blurting out Saul’s secret. “Your raging jealousy act is getting a little old. Me and Saul? As if!” With that, she pushed past Nadia and made her way up the stairs to her best friend’s bedroom at the end of the hall, careful to avoid the creaks she knew intimately. Nadia padded along behind her, less careful, and still fixated on Saul and Phee’s private moment on the front steps.

“Let it go, Nadia.” Phee stripped off her clothes that smelled of smoke and sweat, and pulled on a pair of pyjamas she’d fished out of Nadia’s drawer. “You’re being an idiot. Go to sleep. We only ever talk about you. You, you, and only you. Okay?” She was angry at Nadia for her foolish assumption, but more so because she’d cut short any opportunity to ask Saul the details about his secret life.

Nadia stood there for another long moment, an annoyed look on her face. Her room was done in pinks and creams, and there she stood in wobbly heels and a short black dress and glitter dusted along her arms and a flock of bangles on each wrist. “You’re right. I’m being stupid.”

“Yes. Yes, you are. Now go to sleep.”

With a nod and a yawn, Nadia got into her pyjamas and crawled into bed, and within moments she was asleep beside Phee. Phee listened to her best friend’s steady breathing, trying to match her own with it. But she couldn’t calm down, let alone sleep. She was worried. About everything. Gryph and his dangerous trajectory. Saul and his illegal status. Thank goodness sleep finally took her against her will, because her mind would’ve careered on like that forever. When she did finally sleep, she fell into a dream of that pulsating music. She was back on the dance floor, with Tariq. At last, a respite from her worries. She wanted the dream never to end.

She got kicked out of her dream when the baby next door—whose open nursery window was right across from Nadia’s—started wailing just after eight, which meant that Phee had had about two hours of sleep. After that, Phee lay awake, thinking while Nadia sprawled across most of the mattress, her arm flung over her head, snoring heavily. This, of course, made her think of Saul, and how he made fun of Nadia’s snoring. Saul. Dear Saul. And his secret. Saul had no recon left. Phee figured he’d told her only so that she’d realize how serious the situation was, how important her discretion. She wouldn’t tell a soul. And she wouldn’t ask him about it. She’d behave as if he’d never told her at all. It was a heavy, dark secret, and she could respect that.

She and Nadia met the boys for a late brunch at a restaurant across the street from the arcade. It was a popular pancake house, and it was a weekend, so the place was full of families with children laughing and crying and running around, high on the sugar from their Belgian waffles. At Phee’s table everyone was tired from the late night, so the talk was minimal, the coffee refills plentiful.

“Salt,” Gryph mumbled. And Phee passed him the salt.

“Ketchup, please.” Saul nodded down the table at the red bottle. Phee slid it to him, careful not to give him any sort of funny look. How could he just carry on, life as usual, dousing his scrambled eggs with ketchup? She was finding it hard. She had so many questions. How had he died? Who had reconned him and where? How could he pass as a three-per?

Phee watched Saul eat his breakfast. He held a piece of toast in one hand and used it to shovel up his eggs. What about his parents? They both had doctorates in the sciences and the two of them were working as consultants for a regional task force on … on what? Phee tried to remember. Something about microbes in air particles. Was that a lie too? Were they even his real parents? What was his home life like? She’d never been to his house. But Nadia had, and Gryph. She’d ask him about it. Discreetly, of course.

HER CHANCE CAME
when she and Gryph made their way back to the Shores later that day for a family supper. Her auntie Trish and uncle Liam and their three-year-old twin boys were coming up from Brampton, where they lived in a three-per suburb of other IT executives. It was Eva’s father’s eightieth birthday. Oscar was bringing in lobster from the East Coast, which he’d done every year for over a decade. She and Gryph were walking through the mall, taking a short cut.

“What’s Saul’s house like?”

“What do you mean?” Gryph was distracted, keeping his eyes on something ahead of them. Phee stretched up, trying to see what he was looking at, but she didn’t notice anything remarkable. The mall was busy with shoppers and weekend traffic, but as far as she could see, nothing out of the ordinary.

“I mean, like …” But Phee wasn’t sure what she meant. She didn’t want to say anything to tip him off to her curiosity. “Is it neat and tidy?” She had this idea that one- and two-pers lived dirtier lives. After all, the more valuable a citizen, the more recons you were assigned. Which meant, conversely, that less educated, less valuable
people didn’t know well enough to keep a nice home. Or, furthermore, didn’t have the means to pay someone else to keep it tidy for them.

“Of course it is. Mr. and Mrs. Morrisey both work from home.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean they keep a nice house—”

“Look, Phee … go over there if you don’t believe me. I’m telling you, Saul’s mom is a neat freak.”

“What’s she like? Does Saul look like her?”

“What kind of dumbass question is that?”

“I was just asking.” Phee heard the nerves in her voice, the way it tightened and went higher.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?” Gryph gave her a look, a warning. “Saul is my best friend. Not yours. He is none of your business, in fact. So stop with the questions.”

“Okay,” Phee said. She’d pushed it too far, and by Gryph’s reaction, she’d hit on something.

“Good.” Suddenly, Gryph stopped mid-stride. Phee craned to see what he was so fixed on, and finally she did. His eyes were locked on a boy up ahead at the electronics store. He glanced around to be sure that the clerk was distracted, and then he clearly and obviously slipped something off the counter and into his pocket.

“He just stole something,” Phee marvelled. “In plain sight!”

“Hey, you! Stop!” Gryph took off after him. “You stay here, Phee,” he called over his shoulder.

Screw that. Phee ran after him, straining to keep up to his athlete’s pace. The boy ran ahead of them both, checking frantically over his shoulder every few steps, only to find Gryph on his tail.

The crowd of shoppers cut away to let Gryph through. “Someone stop him!” Gryph yelled.

The thief looked over his shoulder again and, on seeing Gryph neatly closing the distance, deked off to the right and broke into a
flat-out run. But he was no match for Gryph, who easily caught up and tackled him, and they both fell to the floor. Phee was panting, feeling the familiar asthmatic tightness in her throat when she finally caught up. The two boys tussled on the polished-tile floor, the sound of the waterfall at one end of the food court drowning out the thief’s protests. While Gryph might’ve been the stronger sprinter of the two, he didn’t have much experience with fighting. The boy managed to wrench one hand free and punch Gryph hard in the temple. Gryph shook his head, dazed.

The boy seized the moment and slipped out from under Gryph. He sat on him and punched him in the temple again.

“Stop!” Phee cried as the boy leaned all his weight on Gryph’s throat with a forearm. “Help!” Phee spun around, not sure what to do. “Over here!” She waved her arms at the two mall security guards running down the concourse. She turned back to Gryph, just as the kid pulled something from his pocket with his free hand. He lifted it up and it caught the light. A knife!

“Gryph!” she screamed, pointing helplessly. “He’s got a knife.”

“I see it! I see it.” Gryph dug his chin under the kid’s arm and shoved him off. Another heave and he flipped the smaller boy and was on top again. He pinned the boy’s arm with the knife under one knee and sat on his chest. A crowd gathered, curious.

“Let us through,” one of the security guards ordered.

“Let me go, asshole!” The boy, enraged and embarrassed, gave one last mighty shove, knocking Gryph off balance just enough to get his arm free. Still pinned under Gryph, he stabbed blindly at him, landing two or three good jabs.

Gryph toppled to the floor, and the boy scrambled to his feet, practically backing right into the security guards. They grabbed his arm and twisted it until he dropped the knife.

“Gryph!” Phee fell to her knees beside her brother. “You’re hurt!”

“It’s not bad.” Gryph pulled his hand away from his stomach. His fingers and palm were red with wet blood. She pushed aside his
hand and lifted his shirt. Just above his navel, a wide, oozing cut arced across to his rib cage.

“Oh, my God, no!” Phee shouted. “Call an ambulance!”

IT SEEMED LIKE FOREVER
but it was probably only moments before Phee heard the sirens as the ambulance shuttle drew up outside. She stepped aside to let the medics attend to Gryph’s gash. Phee called her parents and told them to meet her and Gryph at the hospital.

“I’m not going to the hospital,” Gryph growled as the paramedic doused his wound with an antiseptic solution. “Tell them I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

Phee was right. Because he was still a minor, he couldn’t refuse, and the paramedics insisted that he needed to be stitched up at least, if not further checked for internal damage. They also insisted that he be carried out on the stretcher, despite his objections. People were taking pictures faster than the security guards could stop them, and by the time they reached the ambulance, the images had already been uploaded to the local media.

“I can walk at least.” Gryph made to stand, but the paramedic pushed him back onto the cot.

“Help us keep our jobs here,” he said with a glance to the enormous TV screen mounted at the street corner. There was Gryph, larger than life, his bloody stomach for all to see.

“Then could we get out of here at least?”

Phee didn’t think he sounded all that annoyed at the media attention, which was odd. This sort of thing was not okay with Chrysalis. They liked him to appear when and where they wanted so that he could say exactly what they wanted. Gryph managed a smile and made a peace sign before he lay back and let himself be strapped onto the stretcher.

The crowd cheered. Phee glanced up, and there she was on the massive screen, hurrying alongside the stretcher. She pushed her hair behind her ears and tried to ignore it, but then the commentary boomed from the towering speakers.

“Bringing you live, up-to-the-minute reporting on the shocking public attack of Chrysalis-sponsored star athlete Gryphon Nicholson-Lalonde, this is KPL News, where every second counts.”

The crowd—with cellphones held aloft like lighters at a concert, trying to get a picture of Gryph—followed them to the ambulance. The security guards cleared a path for the paramedics to manoeuvre the stretcher back into the ambulance shuttle. As Phee climbed in behind him, she could hear the faceless newscaster drone on.
“Details are still coming in, but eyewitness accounts describe Nicholson-Lalonde as a hero caught in a brave act.”

“All for what?” Phee demanded as the doors shut behind them and the shuttle pulled away. “What did he take?”

“It wasn’t about what he took.” Another wince as Gryph tried to straighten his knees. “It’s the principle of the matter.”

“Keep them flexed,” the man said as he took out a bag of fluid and an IV catheter.

“What was it?”

“A game.”

“All that? For a stupid game?” Phee sighed, exasperated. “You can’t be so reckless, Gryph! Do you
want
to be reconned?”

“I’m fine, aren’t I?” Gryph paled as the paramedic took his arm and lined up the IV needle against his vein. “He’s a thief. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.”

“This’ll only hurt for a moment,” the paramedic said as he inserted the needle.

Gryph clenched his teeth and winced. Phee sat back on the bench, mystified, as the ambulance took off, the siren wailing.

Not that long ago, Gryph was careful not to do anything that might jeopardize his career stats or his contract with Chrysalis. This was unprecedented, putting himself in harm’s way. She had to wonder about all those nights he didn’t spend at home, and what he got up to. If it was anything like this, she didn’t want to know.

OSCAR AND EVA
arrived—along with Fawn, and Eva’s father— minutes after Gryph was ushered into the trauma bay.

“Is he okay?” Eva asked, rushing past Phoenix on her way to the nurses’ station.

“I think so,” Phee said. “How come Granddad’s here?” She pointed at her grandfather, already wandering aimlessly down the corridor, trailing his fingers along the wall.

“Your grandma’s off getting things for the party,” Oscar explained when Phee pointed. “I couldn’t very well leave Fawn and him alone together, and we both wanted to come. You keep an eye on them both while we find out what’s going on.”

Oscar joined Eva at the nurses’ station, while Phee steered her grandpa back to the waiting area, where Fawn had already made fast friends with two boys just a little younger than she was. Fawn had them following her under the banks of seating, pretending to be a pirate leading her prisoner sailors underground.

Shortly afterwards, Gryph’s agent arrived from Chrysalis, with his assistant bustling behind him. Lex homed in on Phoenix and immediately started in with the questions.

“What happened? And why on earth did you let people tape it?”

“Why did
I
let people—”

“Never mind, the damage is done.” Lex wasn’t interested in hearing Phee’s answers. He answered himself. “We get notified of any online uploads that mention Gryphon. In fact, that’s how we found out; it’s all over the lync. Why didn’t you call us?” Again, he didn’t wait for Phee’s reply. “Never mind, we placed a media ban straightaway, thank God. Took a good half-hour to get the judge on board, but we don’t want Gryphon’s little adventure broadcast more than is unavoidable.”