Guardians of the Gryphon's Claw Read online

  “She’s harmless,” Sam explained. “She’s just a woman I was sitting next to on the bus. She must have gotten worried when I didn’t come back. I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I can fix this—”

  Sam was already climbing back down the rocks. Phylassos peered over the edge. “Don’t, Sam,” he warned. “Let her go.”

  “No, I can make this right. Just stay here. I’ll be right back,” Sam responded. And he was instantly off and running.

  Although Sam was gaining on his seatmate, it was becoming clear she would make it to the highway before he could reach her. He was already preparing himself to lie through his teeth and tell the woman—and anyone who heard her side of the story—that it was all just a hallucination. Her claim that a half lion, half eagle was on that rocky outcropping was simply a result of the harsh desert sun and the dust in her eyes. It was actually Sam, and only Sam, standing on that ledge. How could anyone believe otherwise?

  Sam screamed after her, “Wait!” in the vain hope she would stop running and let him explain. But she was too terrified to even notice. He at least expected her to stop at the highway’s edge; unfortunately, much to his shock and dismay, she never paused before crossing the busy roadway. Gladys barreled across the pavement as if completely oblivious to the cars speeding toward her. For Sam, what happened next felt like it was occurring in slow motion.

  * * *

  SL001-180-31

  SUBJ: Larkin, Jane

  SOURCE: WS

  DATE: ********

  Twenty-one-year-old Jane Larkin of Bakersfield, California, was the first driver to veer off the road to miss Gladys. She was returning from Las Vegas with her boyfriend, Vincent, after celebrating her birthday. Jane spotted Gladys almost immediately, but her reaction was less than ideal. Instead of veering onto the shoulder, a frazzled Jane jerked the steering wheel to the left and careened into the eastbound lane. She hit the brakes as the car leapt across the yellow line and headed for the gas station. Unfortunately, the brakes on her late-model sports car hadn’t been serviced in some time, and the car was still moving at quite a clip when it smashed into a vehicle that was being refueled.

  * * *

  * * *

  SL001-180-32

  SUBJ: Halsey, Reginald

  SOURCE: WS

  DATE: ********

  Monterey, California, residents Reginald Halsey and his wife, Claire, were gassing up on their way to Henderson, Nevada, to visit two of their six grandchildren. They had always wanted to see Death Valley, and this trip was the perfect opportunity. Claire was inside the store when Jane’s car slammed into their luxury sedan. Reginald had seen it coming and dove out of the way. The impact sent the gas hose springing from the tank and spewing fuel onto the pavement. Reginald was about to grab for the hose and stop the release of gasoline, when he looked back toward the highway and realized it would be too late.

  * * *

  * * *

  SL001-180-33

  SUBJ: Caulfield, Frank

  SOURCE: WS

  DATE: ********

  Frank Caulfield’s ’79 pickup truck was a classic and looked that way. It was dented and rusty and sounded like six washing machines were working overtime under the hood. He had recently gotten a call from his brother-in-law in Las Vegas about some construction work at a new casino. Having been unemployed for a few months, Frank had little choice but to sell most of what he had, put the rest in a U-Haul trailer, and venture east for the much-needed paycheck. When Jane’s car turned into his lane, Frank reflexively hit his brakes. But the speed at which he was moving made the truck unstable, and the vehicle turned slightly as it screeched to a halt. The turn was enough for the U-Haul trailer connected to the back of Frank’s pickup to tear free from its hitch, tip over, and skid toward the station. Sparks sprayed from beneath the trailer as it hurtled across the pavement.

  * * *

  People had already sensed the impending disaster and were running frantically from the scene. Everyone—from Jane to Reginald to Milad to Frank to anyone else in the vicinity—was scrambling to get enough distance between themselves and the potential firebomb. Everyone except Gladys, that is. She had frozen like a deer in headlights at the sight of the first collision and remained that way even as the U-Haul skidded into the station. Sam gaped in horror as the sparks from the trailer ignited the puddle of gasoline. The ensuing flames followed the fuel source and raced toward the pump. Sam was the only one not running and still watching when Phylassos swooped down from the sky and snatched up Gladys in his claws. Sam was euphoric, but then the fire reached the pumps and the gas station erupted into a massive fireball. Sam lost sight of the gryphon and Gladys as a mushroom of flame went shooting skyward. Sam was thrown back from the tremendous force of the blast and everything went black.

  * * *

  SL001-180-34

  SUBJ: Salazar, Cynthia

  SOURCE: BG

  DATE: ********

  There were a great many reasons why San Francisco reporter Cynthia Salazar knew she had found her calling, the most essential being the alliteration of her name, which she loved reciting on television at the close of her segments. She always delivered it with the same inflection—an emphasis on the “Cyn” and a rolled “r” to cap off Salazar. Besides her TV-friendly name, Cynthia’s predisposition to delivering news went back to her childhood, when she was, without fail, the first to tell you what happened, how it happened, and who it happened to. Rest assured, if you lived in her hometown of Modesto, California, and there was a rumor spreading about you, Cynthia Salazar planted the seed and tended the crop. If there was a story you didn’t want anyone to know, she would make sure everyone knew. She was a thrill seeker, but the thrill didn’t come from bungee jumping or snowboarding or some death-defying stunt; it came from uncovering and sharing people’s private information.

  Although she would never admit it, the consummate gossip hound found that delivering bad news was somehow more exciting than delivering good news. Good or bad, she always added her own spin to a story, depending on how she felt about the people involved. That particular habit was one she had carried from childhood into her professional life.

  * * *

  Stuck in Bakersfield after the news van got a flat tire, Cynthia commiserated with her cameraman about how they never got the “big” stories. The day before, she’d been reporting live from a gas station in the middle of the desert. A gas station that just so happened to sell a few winning lottery tickets. Big whoop, she had thought. She hadn’t wanted to come down to cover such a non-story in the first place, but the station producer had insisted, and she needed to stay on his good side. After all, he would be choosing the new evening-news anchor once veteran reporter Peggy Peggleman finally retired. Cynthia couldn’t stand Peggy, especially the way she overemphasized the “p’s” in her name.

  Cynthia was sitting in the news van waiting for her cameraman to load the rest of the gear when she heard something interesting come over the police band radio. Apparently, there had been an explosion at the so-called lucky gas station.

  “How big?” was the first question her producer asked when she called him with the news.

  “From what I’m hearing, it was completely destroyed,” Cynthia replied enthusiastically. “We’re on our way there now. I think we should go live at five o’clock. It’s an exclusive lead.”

  Cynthia’s producer agreed. As they headed out to the station, Cynthia began writing out the story. She didn’t have much to go on, but that wasn’t important. What was important was having a great opening line. She settled on “It was a life-and-death struggle in Death Valley today.” Much to her cameraman’s chagrin, she spent the rest of the trip practicing the line with various intonations. He hadn’t seen her this excited in quite some time. The truth was, Cynthia Salazar couldn’t wait to deliver bad news.

  The gas station Cynthia had reported from hours earlier was now just a smoldering mass of debris. The emergency vehicles were still arriving on the scene as Cynth
ia prepared for her live report. But the bad news proved to be not so bad after all. In fact, Cynthia’s opening line would have been more accurate had it read “There was a miracle in Death Valley today.” That was a change her cameraman suggested after learning that everyone involved had miraculously survived. No one surveying the damage would have believed such an outcome was remotely possible. Even a bus parked near the station and filled with elderly passengers managed to emerge unscathed. That was attributed to the quick reflexes of the driver, who threw the idling coach into reverse at the moment of the first collision and got enough distance between the bus and the station to avoid calamity. Cynthia knew that all the talk of miracles combined with the fact that the explosion wasn’t intentional or suspicious meant her major news event had become a minor one. Unfortunately for her career aspirations, there was no chance this report would go national.

  As the five o’clock news team prepared to lead off the newscast with Cynthia’s coverage, the ambitious reporter saw one last chance to ratchet up the excitement level. She had gotten word that the woman who ran onto the highway and caused the chain reaction that led to the explosion was being transferred to an ambulance. When Peggy Peggleman handed off the newscast to Cynthia at the top of the hour, Cynthia delivered her opening line and the details of the accident before rushing to interview the woman at the center of it all.

  “Why did you do it? Who were you running from? Was someone trying to harm you?” Cynthia yelled to the woman over the clamor of the emergency vehicles.

  “It was a winged lion,” responded a wide-eyed Gladys Hartwicke. “It saved me. It swooped down and saved me. The boy. The boy knows everything….He was speaking to it on that rock.”

  Cynthia pulled the microphone away, but it was already too late. Through her earpiece, she could hear the news team back in the studio laughing hysterically.

  “Obviously, she is still in shock,” Cynthia added in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.

  “Maybe you should stick around down there a little longer, Cynthia,” Peggy Peggleman suggested wryly. “There may also be a bigfoot sighting.”

  As the laughter continued, Cynthia Salazar delivered her closing line. “This is Cynthia Salazar reporting live from Death Valley. Back to you in the studio.” She didn’t even bother with her special pronunciation. It was the most deflated, uninspired way she had ever said her name.

  —

  Sam London awoke as he was being loaded into an ambulance. The sirens and the lights were disorienting, and it took Sam a moment to register what was happening. As soon as he did, he quickly felt his body to ensure that all his limbs remained intact. The nearby paramedic noticed and assured him he was still whole. Externally, Sam was fine, but internally, he was dealing with a nasty headache and an overwhelming sense of guilt. The obliterated gas station, the charred husks of cars, and all the people impacted by the accident: everything was ultimately the result of Sam’s actions. He didn’t want to be taken to the hospital; he just wanted to go home, crawl under his bedsheets, and hide from the world. But it was made clear by a California Highway Patrol officer that he didn’t have a choice. He reluctantly told them who he was, and when asked why he had come to this place, he explained that he’d wanted to buy a lottery ticket for his mom from the “lucky” gas station. As for the reason behind wandering out into the desert—a fact relayed to officers by the bus driver—Sam said he was just trying to snap a great picture of the landscape and lost track of time. They didn’t even bother asking him about Gladys and her “hallucination.”

  It was a little more than two hours later when Ettie arrived at the hospital. Sam had spent that time getting poked and prodded by doctors and searching his book for any mention of a gryphon’s claw. He found nothing about the claw in Knox’s book and wondered why it was important enough to cause the gryphon such concern. When his mother entered the room, Sam immediately began apologizing. But Ettie just raced to the bed and embraced her son, crying tears of relief. She held him for what seemed like an eternity but was probably just a solid minute or two. When she finally let Sam go, she looked into his eyes for an extended moment.

  “You are in so much trouble,” Ettie said with a mix of comfort and disappointment. “It was that dream, wasn’t it?”

  Sam nodded. Ettie shook her head, still digesting the day’s events. For the next thirty minutes, she relayed the anguish she had endured after stopping home between jobs to look in on Sam and finding him missing. She checked with the neighbors, called the local hospitals, and eventually contacted the police. She wound up spending over an hour at the Benicia police station imagining all the possible outcomes, none of them positive, until a detective appeared with news about the accident and Sam’s condition. Fortunately, the bus company had a plane ready to take relatives of riders to Bakersfield. They were especially concerned about Sam’s situation and the potential legal ramifications that came with having allowed a minor to board without a parent or guardian.

  When Ettie’s nerves finally subsided, she began complaining about how hungry she was. The doctors planned to keep Sam a few more hours until his tests came back, and Sam had already been served his hospital dinner. With her stomach loudly rumbling, Sam suggested she slip down to the cafeteria to snag some sustenance. It was only a few minutes after Ettie left that a man in a white doctor’s coat appeared in Sam’s room. Sam was watching the news reports of the explosion and didn’t even realize the man was there until he spoke.

  “They’re callin’ it a miracle,” said the doctor. Sam didn’t recognize him as one of the physicians who had been treating him. “But I think it had more to do with luck, don’t you?” He spoke with a slight Southern twang.

  That word “luck” sent a shiver up Sam’s spine. Sam knew, given his reading about gryphons, that people who encountered the creatures experienced good luck in the days that followed. But it wasn’t until this man said it in relation to the accident that it dawned on him: it wasn’t a miracle that had saved all those people; it was the luck of the gryphon. But how would this doctor know? Was it simply coincidence that he used the word? Maybe he just didn’t believe in miracles.

  “And that’s not to say I don’t believe in miracles,” the man added, to Sam’s surprise. “But miracles often leave far less devastation.”

  The man switched off the television and walked toward Sam. Sam guessed he was in his thirties, probably the same age as his mom. He was tall and good-looking and wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Handsomeness and marital status were two traits Sam automatically considered whenever he encountered men who could be possible suitors for his mother. He’d started doing that some years ago, when he noticed an underlying loneliness in Ettie. The man was carrying a large black duffel bag, which he carefully placed on the bedside chair.

  “Who are you?” Sam asked.

  “I’m Dr. Vance Vantana. I’m here to ask you some questions about what happened today and to run a few tests. Nothin’ that involves needles,” the man explained with a warm smile.

  “Well, I already told the other doctors and the police everything,” Sam responded, almost defensively.

  “Not everything,” Vantana suggested. With that, the doctor pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. “I’d like to try somethin’, Sam. Is it all right if I call ya Sam?” Sam nodded. Vantana pulled a card from the deck and turned it so Sam couldn’t see its face. “Can you tell me what card I’m holding?”

  “I’m not very good at these sorts of things,” Sam said. “I tried the whole magician act a few years ago. I’m not coordinated enough.”

  “Then humor me. Take a wild guess,” Vantana replied.

  Sam concentrated on the card and then on Vantana, just to see if he was communicating anything through his stare. He wasn’t. Sam took a shot in the dark. “Five of clubs.” Vantana flipped the card, revealing a nine of diamonds. “I told you I wasn’t good at this,” Sam reminded him.

  “Let’s try again,” said Vantana. “This time, we’ll make it a
lil’ more interesting. Five dollars if you can guess the card.” He pulled another card from the deck and held it up for Sam.

  “That’ll just make me feel worse about not getting it right,” Sam quipped.

  “Give it a go,” requested the doctor.

  Sam focused on the card, squinting, as if that might enable him to see through the rigid paper. He was about to guess four of hearts when something stopped him and he blurted out “Seven of spades.”

  Vantana turned the card to reveal a seven of spades. Sam gasped. “Looks like I owe ya five dollars. Tell me, Sam, what was different ’bout that one?” Vantana asked.

  “I wasn’t going to guess that card. I was going to say four of hearts, but right before I was about to speak that one jumped into my head and I just said it,” Sam explained with bewilderment. Vantana had Sam do the card test a few more times, each time producing the same unusual result. It was only when the doctor offered money that Sam was able to guess correctly. He even tried a trick involving a ball and three cups. Sam could not for the life of him guess which cup contained the ball, until Vantana replaced the ball with a quarter. In all the excitement, Sam didn’t have a moment to consider the implications of it. He was too thrilled to have found something he was good at. Especially something involving money. So Sam was hardly paying much attention when Vantana asked him a question as he was moving the cups.

  “How did Phylassos look?”

  Sam responded without thinking. “Amazing.”

  Vantana stopped the cups and Sam pointed to the middle one. “There. I…” Sam suddenly realized what he had said—and more importantly, what Vantana had asked. He looked up at the doctor and swallowed nervously. Vantana was smiling back at him. Sam thought quickly.