Gryphon and His Thief Read online

  Darrien's frown deepened, but she couldn't be sure if it was because she stood there or that he was still disoriented from his ordeal. She cleared her throat and tried for small talk. "I'm interested in viewing the museum," she told him. "I've heard you have some interesting objects on display. I'm writing a thesis and my topic is about if items can be cursed."

  Nerdy Darrien, as she decided to refer to this version of Darrien, pushed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose as he assessed her, not with interest as a man who was attracted to her, but with suspicion. He definitely was not the same man she'd spoken to inside the museum ten minutes ago. This version didn't know her or trust her, but she had to somehow change his mind.

  "How did you hear about the museum, Miss…?" he asked.

  "I'm Calli Angelis." She stepped closer with slow easy steps as if she was dealing with a frightened animal, and Nerdy Darrien was doing a great imitation of one. She didn't want him bolting before they had a chance to chat.

  His gaze slid over her and his dark brows furrowed again as he blinked a few times in a row. For a moment, she thought he might remember her, but then his features smoothed as if those memories weren't allowed to surface. "Miss Angelis—"

  "Calli," she corrected as she took another step closer and offered her hand.

  He stared at her outstretched palm for a second before gripping her hand, but the electrical shock made them both pull back in surprise. She'd experienced the same thing when his other half had grabbed her hand – flesh-to-flesh contact, she realized – though, that encounter had been a tad bit more explosive. "Sorry about that," she said as she rubbed her palm.

  Darrien waved it off. "Static electricity… it happens— Forgive me, but why are you here again? We don't have many visitors. This is more of a storage facility than anything else." He still seemed wary of her and she wasn't sure how to put him at ease.

  "Do you really believe the items you guard…I mean, oversee are cursed?" she asked.

  "Oh, indeed I do, Miss…um…Angelis." His tone was haughty, as he peered at her over the rim of those adorable glasses. "If you think this is a game," he continued without a beat, "you can just run along home now." He actually waved her away like he would shoo away a pesky fly.

  Her brows rose and she almost smiled at how serious he seemed, but she could ill-afford to piss off this version of Darrien. She didn't have much time before she had to contact Miss Leander and hand over the stone. She really didn't fancy the idea of sharing the world with the living dead. She'd seen enough zombie movies to know it didn't end well for the living.

  "No, I don't think this is a game. I take curses seriously. You see, I am in possession of a cursed item and I would like to discuss what I should do with it. You come very highly recommended. Please, don't send me away." She turned on her charm, or at least hoped she did, and smiled sweetly with a slight bat of her eyelids. "Please, I need your help. I don't know who else I can ask." She kept her smile in place and hoped she hadn't poured it on too thick in the damsel in distress department. She really didn't play that role very well.

  Nerdy Darrien pulled on his tie as if it had suddenly constricted his airway. "Fine. Why don't I put on a pot of tea and we'll have a nice chat. Yeah?"

  She did love this version of Darrien as much or even more than the beastie-I-am-cursed version. There was just something endearing about him, she thought as she followed him around to the front of the museum.

  As they made their stroll, her mind skipped ahead to a story she would spin for his benefit. Obviously, thinking and walking proved too much for her. She never noticed Darrien ceased to take one step in front of the other and plowed right into him. All plots vanished from her mind. Hitting someone as solid as Darrien would do that to a person. She stumbled and almost ended up on her rump, but she had great reflexes and her hand snaked out, grabbing Darrien's cardigan to steady her. He glanced over his shoulder with concern. "Sorry," he apologized.

  She let her hands fall to her side, but before she could question him about his great imitation of a tree suddenly taking root, he strode away from her to plant himself in front of the busted window. She'd forgotten about that little mishap last night.

  "I can't believe this," he stated, probably not to her, but just blowing off steam. "Bloody vandals." Then his anger turned to concern. "Oh, I do hope they didn't take anything. This is an utter disaster." He hurried past her, producing a key he had stuffed in the pocket of his cardigan. Obviously, this version of Darrien didn't have nifty gifts like opening locks with his palms. He needed a key like the rest of the mere mortals.

  Darrien halted in front of the door that stood slightly ajar. He cursed softly as he nudged the door open the rest of the way.

  With a sigh, she followed him inside and came to stand next to him as he stared at the window, or rather lack of one. His brows knitted together and she was beginning to think this was an expression he wore often. "How very odd," he commented and it made her stare at the window frame too.

  "What is?" she asked.

  He glanced at her. "It appears as if the glass was broken from the inside. See how there are very little fragments on the floor?" He strode closer to the windowsill and peered out. "The shards litter the ground outside."

  "Uh…yep, very odd," was all she could muster to say.

  "I'm sorry, Miss," he turned to face her, "but we'll have to postpone this meeting. I'll have to call someone out to repair the glass, and do an extensive inventory to make sure nothing was stolen. It will take me all day, if not longer, to do a proper job of it." He started past her, but she placed a hand on his arm, and he halted his steps to gaze at her expectantly.

  "I can't leave just yet. I think once you hear me out, you'll understand why."

  His gaze shifted to where her hand rested on his arm.

  "Darrien? Did you hear me?"

  He met her eyes. "You were saying?" Then he frowned. "How do you know my first name? I never told you."

  Now he notices. She only addressed him as Darrien outside in the carport, but then maybe he still had been a tad loopy from his transformation. "We have a mutual… friend," she settled on for lack of a better description of their relationship. Reincarnated lovers didn't seem a good place to start.

  "A mutual friend?" he asked. He had an absent-minded professor look about him. She would bet this version of Darrien misplaced things on a regular basis. Must be a side effect of the curse and the whole soul-splitting ordeal… or whatever the process was called.

  "Earth to Darrien," she said to gain his attention.

  His eyes came into focus, the golden brown a darker shade. "Sorry, just thinking," he told her. "I can't deny it. You do have me curious, Miss…"

  "Calli, will be fine."

  "Miss Calli."

  "Uh… oh, never mind."

  "Good then. If you don't mind me making a few calls…"

  "Not at all. Please take your time. I'm not in a hurry."

  "Come along then," he said as he turned away and headed toward the back of the museum. "Nothing will be open as of yet anyway. I'll ring a place at a more respectable hour and make the arrangements to have the window fixed. Until then, we might as well have that proper cup of tea I promised you." He strode by his desk where the statue of the Gryphon sat strong and true.

  He'd only taken a few more steps, before he came up short and whirled around to stare at the beast, who in return seemed to be staring back. She had to admit it was a little disconcerting.

  Darrien lowered his glasses to the tip of his nose as if somehow his eyewear had become faulty. "What in the bloody hell is going on here?"

  "Is something the matter?" she asked, all innocent and smiles, but knowing perfectly well he was referring to the statue and wondering how it had moved from the back room to here.

  He whirled toward her as if a response danced on the tip of his tongue, but then he must have decided to rein in his explanation for his sudden outburst. Most likely knowing any claim he issued would sound lik
e he'd lost his mind. Instead, he shook his head as he pushed the glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. "Nothing." He turned and continued on, reaching the swinging door situated behind the desk. His hand pushed it open to reveal a kitchen hidden behind it. The museum did have all the perks, but she supposed it would have to since a cursed being was trapped inside.

  Callista's father had been a real piece of work. He cursed Darrien for something that wasn't his fault, a curse which trapped him forever within a stone statue and in a man who surely felt the loss of his other half, but hid behind his work to compensate for it. Nerdy Darrien and Beastie Darrien could never truly live.

  "How do you take your tea?" Seconds ticked by before she realized he'd spoken to her. "Tea?" he repeated when she met his gaze. "How do you take it?" he clarified.

  She had no idea since she really was a coffee kind of gal. "Uh… I'll take it however you do."

  He gave her a slight nod, seemingly satisfied with her response. Once they had their teacups in hand, they headed out of the kitchen. He offered her a seat in the chair, but she decided on the desktop, feeling he may need to sit comfortably when she gave him a recap of her evening with him...or rather his other half.

  He finally took a seat too, but took forever to find a comfortable position. He repositioned himself so many times she was about to ask him if he needed to go to the restroom, but she realized it was her close proximity that made him squirm in his seat. She would have chosen another chair, but she wasn't going to take a chance of sitting in one of the cursed ones and have the enchantment transferred to her. No sir-ee Bob, and thank you very much.

  She sipped the brew and was pleasantly surprised she liked the taste of black tea with a splash of milk. Go figure.

  Finally, Darrien settled and he raised his teacup that appeared way too dainty in his large hands. Yet, she had to admit, he handled it with finesse and didn't look a bit like a sissy when he pressed it to his lips. He indulged in a respectful taste of his brew before lowering the cup and meeting her gaze. "You were going to tell me about the cursed item of yours," he said. He was all business-like now he'd had his morning fix. "Please proceed if you will," he encouraged further.

  He wasn't going to like what she had to tell him anymore than she liked telling it. "I'm going to give it to you straight because… Well, we just don't have the time."

  "We?" he asked, catching she'd included him in this scenario.

  "Sit back, Big Boy. Storytelling isn't my thing, so bear with me and know I do apologize for my lack of finesse."

  Chapter Ten

  Darrien listened to Calli's story with minimal interruptions, but truthfully hadn't known what to say. Dear God, the story the woman spun and she didn't believe herself a storyteller – curses and mythical beasts... Surely, this story should be on the bestseller list for fantasy reads, or at the very least, a hopeful for the next Sci-fi show on the telly.

  "…and then we came in here," she finished with a long sigh. She sipped her tea and obviously waited for his response, but he could only manage to stare at her in disbelief.

  He forced himself to close his mouth before she thought he had a stroke. He still may have one. This woman – this thief, so she coined herself – claimed he was a cursed man, not any cursed man, but a Gryphon as well. His gaze shifted to the beastie sitting there regarding him with attitude. He blinked, hard and ran a hand through his hair, not caring it would probably stand up on end. This had to be a bloody joke, one he was not privy to the reasoning behind it.

  He stared at Calli with her long ginger-colored hair, big moss colored eyes and… His gaze traveled down the rest of her, taking in every womanly attribute. The woman truly tried his restraint – not that he'd be in her league or that she'd look at him at all if she hadn't been deranged. Yes, that was possibly the case here. This woman was mad and he needed to ring the police before she came unhinged. Truly, he didn't know what she was capable of doing, but he had a hunch she'd do it well.

  He caught sight of the broken window. Perhaps she'd smashed it with the intention of playing this elaborate jest. His gaze shifted to the Gryphon again. The beast stared at him with those unnerving golden-bronze eyes. The darn thing put him on edge, always had.

  Finally, he leveled his gaze on Calli once more. She did lay claim to being a thief, but she couldn't have moved the heavy statue by herself, could she?

  She could have an accomplice, he thought. And didn't that just up his panic response. No, the woman was alone or else the other guy…or gal would have joined them by now.

  He smiled at the would-be-thief, knowing he'd have to tread lightly and play nice with the pretty nutter, at least until he could ring for help, but at this precise moment he needed to answer her. "It's a lot to take in. Yeah?" he said and leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands, pressing the tips of his forefingers together and tapped his chin. He glanced at the phone on his desk and ruled out using it, since she would subdue him before he could dial a number. Not that the itty-bitty thing could take him down. He wasn't completely useless, but who knew if she carried a weapon.

  "Tell me about it," she said as she eyed him over the rim of her teacup then indulged again. She really had no idea how to drink tea properly. One simply did not gulp it down like a pint of beer.

  "I'll have another," she announced as uncouth as a barmaid, which just proved his point.

  He stared at the cup for a second before he reached for it with a sense of triumph. This was his opportunity. There was a phone hanging on the wall in the kitchen. "I'll be right back." He stood, but she did also. He couldn't have her traipsing along with him. His gaze caught site of the large leather bound book sitting next to the computer. "Um… I can manage fine. While I'm warming the water in the kettle, you can browse through this." He placed the cup down to reach for the book.

  "What is it?" she asked, curiosity lighting her eyes.

  "It's a catalog of the cursed items here in the museum. I'm sure you'll find Hecate's Stone you speak of listed with the history of how it became cursed." He pushed the book toward her.

  "Thanks," she said and plopped down in his seat, making herself right at home. He picked up the cup again and wondered if he should have been so willing to give her the information, but it proved too late to second-guess his willingness to help her now. He hurried toward the kitchen. At the door, he chanced a glance to see if her curiosity was still piqued. She flipped through a few pages then paused as if to read one of the passages. He let out a sigh of relief he'd been holding and turned away.

  Once in the kitchen, he placed the teacup on the stove and rushed to the phone, mounted on the far wall. He'd only picked up the receiver and punched in two numbers when he heard the kitchen door behind him open. He closed his eyes and cursed.

  "Hang up the phone, Darrien," she told him, her voice cold and unnerving.

  He turned to face her and noticed the revolver. It fit nice and snug in the palm of her hand, but it might as well have been a machine gun for all it mattered. His hands flew above his head in surrender. "I'm sorry, but I had to try."

  She rolled her eyes heavenward before she leveled her gaze on him once more. "I suppose you did have to try. I would have if I were in your shoes. I did warn you, I'm not a great storyteller, but I thought you and I had an understanding. We can't call the cops, assuming that's who you were about to call."

  He didn't bother denying the fact. "What now? Are you going to shoot me?" he asked.

  She waved the gun at the other room. "I want to show you something."

  He lifted a brow, but didn't argue. The woman held a gun on him so options were at a minimum.

  "Sit," she demanded once they were back at his desk. He did and chanced a look at her. She surprised him by placing the gun down on the desktop. "I don't want to hurt you, Darrien," she told him and he wished she wouldn't use his first name with her easy-on-the-ears voice. It distracted him and he needed to stay focused if he wanted to get out of this alive. "Believe me, I don't," she a
dded for good measure. She must have sensed he didn't believe her.

  "But you will if I don't cooperate," he said.

  "No." She actually seemed insulted that he would suggest such a notion. "I need your help." She let out a frustrated sigh. "I really wish you weren't the one here right now. I need him." She pointed to the Gryphon.

  "The statue talks to you?"

  "Yes… I mean no." She moved so fast to sit down on the desktop, it startled him, and he pushed back in his chair with his feet, the wheels sliding him along until her boot caught the edge of the chair and she rolled him back in front of her. She did all this without pausing as she prattled on about her conversation with the Gryphon, or rather his other self. If he were inclined to believe her story.

  "You can shift to your human side also when you're united with your Gryphon self, you see?"

  No, he didn't see. "Let's for a moment believe what you've told me is all true, and you are indeed the sane one here…"

  She opened her mouth to no doubt complain, but he held up his hand to halt her words.

  "Let me finish, if you will. How do you propose I help you when…he," he waved toward the statue and all its finery, "could not?"

  "You keep forgetting. You are the Gryphon."

  "Right-o."

  "You said the items in the museum are all cataloged. Find the Gryphon in that book of yours. You weren't lying about the contents were you?"

  No, he hadn't lied, but she didn't wait for his response. She pushed the book toward him and waited for him to comply with her request.

  He had a hunch if he just dismissed her and insisted she leave the premises, he'd have a real fight on his hands. The gun lay as a reminder of the fact, giving him no other choice. She claimed she wouldn't hurt him, but really, did he want to take the chance? Not really. He'd have to play along for now.