Her wings ached.
Her stomach roared.
Her heart thundered.
The griffin hissed as gravity sought to snare her from the chill sky, fighting back with great slams of her pinions. It was getting harder and harder, her feathers were damp with the November fog, and night had truly fallen. Half of Karen yearned to land, curl up somewhere warm and eat until she was sated.
But then the Bad Egg would certainly outpace her. She had seen the direction it’s mottley pigeons were flying. Over two dozen had died to her talons on this route already, but she may as well have been plucking feathers for all it would inconvenience the horror. Somewhere out in the dark it was heading south-south-west. Towards her Gramma, whose ancient addled mind held the secrets to the griffin blood in her family.
No, she had to make it there first. Karen let loose a defiant screech against the vast dark, against the tendrils of gravity, against the Bad Egg. Let it dare to face her.
* * * * *
The earth still beckoned her, which was aggravated by how unreadable terrain was at night. Even if she’d flown from near Alderbank, she didn’t know the town from the air, and the surrounding hills were lost to night. The closest point she knew was the road stop with the barbecue place, so she ducked down below the clouds and followed the long lonely line of lights that marked a bipeds road. Her eyes picked out distant constellations of artificial stars on the landscape, but which was Alderbank? Down and down she glided, riding the wind on protesting wings, until she spied a gas station. A rest stop.
The asphalt was hard beneath her talons, and she stumbled, running further than expected from the momentum as her wings slumped. A couple of motorbikes were moored outside the 24/7 shop, and two bipeds recoiled as she padded through into view.
“The hell’s that!?” A heavy set woman with short vivid hair squeaked, spilling beer from a can as she stumbled back.
Her companion, a swollen muscular man with a bristling beard and black duster goat glowered at Karen, “Some mystic. Griffin. Predator. Don’t show weakness.”
Karen glared back, tension racking her weary frame even as the woman inhaled, puffing herself up. Idiots. Maybe this was their territory. Really all she needed was to spot a road sign, but that would be tantamount to backing down to this bearded gorilla.
“Oh yeah? Get lost then!” The woman whipped her arm, beer can clattering off the griffins wing, splashing her with beer.
In an instant Karen hunkered down, shoulders high, wings wide and her eyes narrow as a rumbling snarl erupted from her chest. How dare they make her waste time on their fragile egos?! She inched closer, watching their pupils shrink with fear, sweat beading on their fragile skin. They were right to fear her.
But they were too drunk to respect her.
“Git the hell away from Max!” The bearded brute took his own step closer, shielding the female, and spat something over his shoulder at her. Karen seized the moment, loping around to his right, before the woman split and ran off into the convenience store, shouting at the top of her lungs. The man shrugged his coat off and glared at her, puffing himself up like an ugly balloon.
“SOUTH. SCARED. COWARD.” She straightened, growling in avian to noone’s benefit except her own. They had fled rather than fight. That was victory enough to turn and lope to the roadside, glancing back to see the bearded man fumbling with a saddle bag of a bike. Alderbank was down the road thankfully- another fifteen miles, past a closer town or two?
Eight bipeds spilled out of the store in a pack. Their hostility was palpable, the woman among them shrieking as her partner pulled a tire iron from his bike, babbling about getting indoors, getting to safety, or putting it- her- down.
She ought to have killed him first, while he was isolated from his pack. That was common sense, cold solid predatory logic. Eight was a lot. Not insurmountable, and certainly not a number she desired to show any leeway to. Karen yawned and casually turned, taking three easy leaps to vanish into the night air.
Then she circled back around and snatched his discarded coat off the bike with casual precision.
* * * * *
Roofs rose like dark waves beneath her, broken by melancholy streets and yards. Her keen eyes combed the vivid streaks, listening for the clattering of pigeon wings, the stink of rotten flesh, or the shape of the wide low building. It wasn’t hard to spot, near the river, but she could hardly clatter into an old folks home as a griffin- noone would understand her.
So the griffin circled again in a wide loop, searching for a clear dark area to change, and snatching some clothes from a line quickly to have something to wear. The gardens she’d admired with Gramma were all dark now, uninhabited, so Karen landed in a flowerbed and hunkered down, spitting out the stolen coat and clothes as she released a deep breath. Her heart throbbed. Answers were in reach, a chance to confront the Bad Egg too, she had to do it right.
Karen slumped, kicking needles aside, and screwed her eyes shut. It was hard to shapechange under pressure. She couldn’t waste time on agony or blacking out, she had to do this perfectly. For Ollie. So, first step, the simulacrum. Memories. She needed memories.
Sitting across from her Gramma, being called Sylph.
Running around in the old house, fleeing from the old woman with giggles.
Perching on the counter, licking icing out of the bowl.
Hugging Gramma at christmas, feeling taller than her for the first time.
Maybe Gramma could remember her too.
It hurt.
* * * * *
The lobby was freshly mopped, the tiles damp and cold against her bare feet. Karen grimaced as she slipped through the door, zipping up the stolen jacket. Her tail itched, coiled close around her own waist, but she’d had no time to chase perfection- human enough to speak would have to do. She tugged her sleeve down to cover the talons adorning her left hand, but could do little to mask her avian eyes. Hopefully the staff here would be too night blind to notice.
“Hey kid- this is private property, you can’t be wandering in.” The desk was occupied by an orderly, a middle aged man with bronze skin and weathered features.
“I’m not- I’ve gotta see my Gramma. Veena Montoya.” She hurried close quick, before he could notice her bare feet, “Won’t take long- what room’s she in?”
“It’s way past visiting hours.” He snorted, glanced up, and winced, “Sorry kid. Come back tomorrow.”
“That’d be too late- it’s urgent, I’ve got to talk to her!” Karen hissed, struggling to keep her tail from lashing.
“Oh yeah? And what’s so urgent, kid?”
Her mouth dried, and she hesitated, looking over to a map of the building, “Uh, family- family emergency. Private.”
“Emergency huh?” He looked down over her, at the dark coat, the messy hair, the strange demeanour. “… your parents know you’re out this late?”
“Yeah. Otherwise I’d be home. Look- check her file, her daughter’s Sylvia Thomson, I’m Karen. Come on! What’s the issue!?”
He tapped at a computer behind the desk, sighing, “It’s almost midnight, she’ll be getting her sleep. We don’t have visitors at… huh, you’re from Ranelk, kid? You on your own?”
“Yeah- sorry if I took a while to get here!” She gritted her teeth, “I’ve gotta see her today. In case… in case she doesn’t make it to the morning, okay!? Please!?”
His weathered features softened, jaw tightening, “You came all that way because you’re worried for her? Miss Thomson, our staff here are close at hand so that we can take care of folk’s relatives. We’ve got nurses, got a doctor on call, alarms. Now it says here that your Gran’s suffering dementia- no major physical ailments. But the mind’s delicate, so we don’t want t-”
“I KNOW!” Karen screeched, furious at the tears on her cheeks, “I KNOW- she doesn’t recognize me! She thinks I’m Mom, as if she’s twenty years ago! But that’s not… that’s not the… I need to see her… before it’s too… late…”
She grasped tight to her waist, keeping her tail close as panic rose. What if she mentioned the Bad Egg? Ollie? Then people would know he had killed, then he’d be locked away, treated even worse than she was.
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“Steady there, Karen, steady- I’m Owen, I’ll… call someone. I think I get it.” His face held the disgusting mask of sympathy, “You go sit, breathe, calm down. We might be able to get a spare room you can hold out till morning in, alright?”
The teenager recoiled, taking an uncertain step back as he turned, and began to mutter into a phone. There was no mention of griffins or mystics, instead her ears picked up panic, girl, victim, runaway amidst his sober words. Where had he gotten that nonsense from? Even so, Karen seized the chance while he was distracted to lean over the desk. The computer was a little dazzling to avian eyes, but after a moment she understood- Veena Montoya, Room 124. Yes.
“Uh, Mr Owen,” She ducked back into view quickly, wiping her eyes with the one human hand, “Where’s the bathroom?”
He winced, considered, then pointed to a hallway, “Third door- come back once you’ve tidied yourself up a lil. I know sometimes the tears don’t stop.”
Which was nonsense, she could stop her tears whenever she wanted. There was no reason to cry, she was solving things. Karen padded along, opened and closed the bathroom door without entering, then hurried stealthy as a cat down the corridors. It was eerie and dead quiet, the rooms largely dark, the air stale and humid. A snore here, a cough there, set her hackles on edge, until she found the door, 124 emblazoned on it.
Two quick knocks. Then another two. Then she grabbed the handle and tried it. The door opened and she slipped inside, twisting the lock shut behind her.
“Ayo?!” A snap call came as the light flicked on into dazzling brightness. Her Gramma Veena stood, nightgown half covered by a dressing gown, her white hair a thunderstorm around withered brown skin and narrow eyes. “Ah- tch, Sylph, whatta you doing here? You can’t sleep?”
Karen blinked, taking in the small room- a fine bed, an armchair, a desk with an old TV and notebooks, an en suite branching off. A comfortable rug dried her feet, and a few photographs of Gramma, Granda, Mom and even the rest of the family adorned small shelves of books. It wasn’t awful, though it was strange territory, close, tight.
“Gramma- Veena- I’m not Sylvia, I’m her kid. Karen.” She took a pained step forward,”Look, no, that’s… that’s not important. There’s something coming for you- a spirit, maybe a sylph, demon, ghost or siren, I don’t know but it’s coming. Have you seen any weird angel things tonight? Or… or pigeons?”
Deep crags marked a frown across Gramma’s narrow face as she clucked, “Now now, Sylph, you’re too old to be running here from nightmares. Nothing’s come here but you, dear. But come, sit, hm? Great your breath back.”
Karen swept in to hug her, gentle as she could for fear of her talons. The woman was horrifically fragile, all that remained of a once mighty creature. Her grandmother petted her head, “There, there, Sylph, you’re alright. It was all just a dream. We all get them.”
She released, carefully leveraging her old bones onto the armchair, while Karen perched cautiously on the hard bed.
“No it’s… Gramma. Look. I need you to remember. Who you are, who you were.” Karen swallowed, then brushed her hair aside and looked up, golden eyes meeting the Red-Two of the woman’s dark gaze. Her tail unwound and slipped out from beneath the coat, twitching in relief, “Look. Magic’s real. Monsters, mystics, and myths, it’s all real. And I’m a griffin.”
The wrinkles of her frown deepened, prunish features pinching as she observed the flickering feline tail, the hooked talons of her hand, the radiant gold of her eyes. “Wha- Karen? What happened to you?”
“It’s me, Gramma, yeah…. Well, I don’t know. I woke up one night, back in October, turned into a griffin. I can fly. I’ve got amazing wings, Gramma, the most beautiful powerful wings. I flew home from here before- and flew here tonight- oh, and I’ve learned a little magic. Watch!” Karen gingerly opened the buttons of her coat, exposing a corny DAD JOKE LOADING T-shirt, brushing her fingers off the miracle amulet against her clavicle, and whispered, “Denrol.”
Her back ached. She wasn’t meant to mangle herself like this. But step by step seemed best, and the picture in her mind was crystal clear- driving her shoulder blades to crack and split, bones pierce through skin, and fabric as flesh, blood and feathers burst across them. They flared from her spine, almost over balancing as she tore her claws into the bed and lashed her tail for balance, the dark pinions growing great, powerful an-
“Anverath.” It cut off into agonising quiet. Karen released a shuddering breath, tears on her cheeks, and felt the pain surge through her body. She hadn’t kept it to just her wings. Small downy feathers dusted her skin, claws torn from her fingers, a couple merged. But she had to talk, to speak.
“See?”
Her grandmother recoiled back against her chair, eyes wide, low rasping gasps escaping her shrivelled lips. “What- what are you? You’re not my sylph, you’re not my daughter.”
“No- Gramma, I told you!” She couldn’t keep herself from shouting as frustration boiled over, “I’m a griffin- and so were you! You were a sylph-blessed, a flyer, a predator, a hunter, with all the strength of a lion and an eagle! You’ve got to remember for Ollie’s sake- you must have flown, must have hunted- or slept curled up like me. Hated being inside, seen all the- do you remember the colours, Gramma!? Tealvalin, Auguar, Selvaline and Wilvir- and Red Two! You can’t forget Red Two! Bipeds are so… so colour blind, it’s painful.”
“I don’t… I don’t know, I…” Veena stared at her eyes, gnarled fingers digging into the chair.
“You forgot. Someone sealed it off. Someone, somehow, took everything you were- a griffin, a predator, a mystic- and hid it away to leave… this you. I’ve lost a memory too, but I found it again, so it must be in you, Gramma, please!”
“There was the barn… that’s… that’s the first, Karen. I woke up amidst straw and hay. Before that… before… I…” The old woman heaved as if about to retch, yellow teeth snarling in a wild grimace, her eyes screwing shut.
“Look before it- you’ve got to remember. You left this blood in me- in us!” Karen lunged off the bed, tears streaming, eyes bright, “Look at me! Unless we find out how then… then I don’t know how long before Ollie changes too. He can’t. He can’t. The bad egg, the demon, it changed him once already and he killed my friend! If he changes they’ll lock him away- Gramma, Veena, please, look at me!”
“That wasn’t my name.”
A haggard slump came over the crone, eyes glittering as tears ebbed free, her jaw hanging. Karen knelt close, stumbling on curled toes, “Yes- you must’ve had another one right? Before you changed, before you were made human?”
Knocks hammered at the door. A heavy voice, Owens from the front, growled, “Veena, Karen, unlock this please. Karen, come out, don’t disturb her!”
“This isn’t my house.” Gramma whispered, one hand running to her face, to the hair there. “No- no, no, this isn’t me- I- I… aaah… aaaaaaargh!”
She folded inwards, fluffy dressing gown around a skeletal frame as she curled close, knees to elbows, shivering and shaking. Karen flinched, disgust, dread, horror and concern roiling in her stomach.
“Gramma- Veena- ancestor. Please, what do you remember? How do we stop- careful!” She gasped as twisted arthritic fingers pulled at the old woman’s face, leaving pale scratch marks. Karen swept down to embrace her, wrapping wings and arms careful and close, “It’s okay-you’re okay- Let it out!”
Her grandmother screamed, kicked and lashed out, “Don’t touch me!”
Karen recoiled as sharp little nails tore across her cheek, quick enough to draw blood and almost gouge her eye, while the old leg sent the chair tumbling over, spilling the writhing hag to the floor.
“Veena!? Mrs Montoya, are you alright!?” Owen’s voice, amidst others, came from the corridor. The doorknob rattled. “Stand clear, we’re coming!”
“Boreas, Garuda, Sylph- no, it wasn’t meant to- NO!” The old woman rocked and shook on the carpet, clutching her skull and pulling at white wispy hair with sickening intensity. “No- mask, why her?! It was- aaargh, it was meant to- end!”
Karen rushed close, breath catching in her lungs, “Gr- ancestor- was that who did it? Are those names? Mask?”
The door swung open and suddenly bipeds flooded the room in their damn packs. Karen twisted, hissing, to see Owen with two women in similar uniforms, a cop in the corridor, horror on all their faces. They surged into motion, and the man scooped her up, grabbing her wings and arms to pin beneath his forearms, while the nurses ran to the screaming crone.
“GET OFF ME!” Karen twisted, tail lashing at his ankles, wings straining. “We’re close- she’s almost remembered!”
“The Mask- no- don’t touch me!” Veena shrieked hoarsely, swiping a hand clumsily at one nurse as they hunkered over her, her head knocking against the floor. “Little bloody creti- damn you, damn you mask line- get away!”
“What did you do!?” Owen thundered in her ear as he dragged Karen back, “What did you give her!?”
“Nothing- I- I just talked!” She screamed and kicked, but the man was too strong, his grip too tight, too close. The nurses knelt over her grandmother like vultures, pinning her so a syringe could be placed to her twisted neck. “Denrol.”
The restraining grip tightened as she grew. Her arms twisted and swelled, fingers lengthening to full talons, while her wings heaved greater and larger, and her barreling body set paws on the ground. In barely a moment of furious agony, she threw her weight forward and tossed the orderly over to crash on the bed. The griffin snarled as her wings brushed the ceiling, saw her ancestor’s limp form beneath the two nurses, the doorways so narrow. This was bad. Bad. Bad. What had she learned!? Where was the siren!?
“Get down!” A biped in dark blue police uniform filled the doorway, reaching for the holster on his belt. For the weapon there.
The griffin charged him into a wall before it could be drawn, crashing into the corridor. If he drew it, if they held it, she could die. No, she was in a hive of bipeds, she had to get out. Karen glanced back mournfully to her grandmother, the tiny woman shaking slightly still, her dark eyes staring unfocussed at the younger griffin.
Then she took off down the corridor. She crashed into another two orderlies, and one bald man ducked out of the way as she skittered across the wet lobby floor. Then she smashed through the doors, throwing them open with her wings, to leap over a van and up into the night sky, fighting against gravity as her lungs heaved.
Higher.
What had she done!?
Faster.
Where was the Bad Egg?
Further
She circled and screamed, frustration, pain and hunger boiling over. Where was it? She couldn’t hear any fluttering wings over the thunder of her wings. Had it poisoned her Gramma? Or, worse, had she been wrong?
Karen veered, considering the roads below, the commotion of sirens blaring to life. Should she go back to be close to her ancestor? To guard her? The image of her grandmother writing in pain was sickening. Painful. No, no, Gramma was with nurses, professionals. She’d be fine. Wouldn’t she?
It took another circle for her to find a direction, back the way she came, if only to leave this mess behind. She longed for her home, for movies with Maddie and Logan held near, for pizza and meat and blood. It was so far, but what else did she have in this world without answers? Panic, fear, instinct and desire.
She flew until her eyes lolled and her beak foamed.
She flew until her stomach roared and her wings screamed.
She flew until gravity won.
She fell.