“What?” he asks, turning back to the room.
“You haven’t said a word. Everyone else here has their reasons why I should do it, but you’re just sitting there.”
He looks like he’s been caught. “It’s your decision,” he says, his eyes everywhere in the room but on me. “I’m not part of this.”
“Then why are you here?”
There’s a slight pause. “Good question,” he says, getting to his feet and walking out the door.
A few people start to say something, but before I can think, I’m out the door behind him. I want to know why he’s hesitating, why he won’t come straight out and tell me to go.
“Wait a minute,” I call. He’s already to the stairs, but he stops when he hears my voice.
“What? You were right, I shouldn’t have been in there.”
“But you were. You sat there and listened to all of it.” I catch up to him. I want so badly to slide my fingers through his. To have him put his arms around me once more so that this time I’ll know it’s the last time. “Is it the truth?”
“You should be able to figure that out,” he says, staring at the wall. “You’re the one with the empath skills. You can tell when someone is lying from ten feet away.”
“I want to hear it from you.” I force myself to keep going. “You’re the only one I feel like I can really trust.”
His eyes flick toward mine for just a second. “It’s the truth. Everything they said. We’ve never had a situation like this before, and despite appearances, everyone’s running scared.”
“And why Giselle? Why are they having Giselle babysit me at Drew’s apartment?”
“Because she’s the best.” As he says it, a shadow crosses his face, and I know I’m not imagining it. Giselle and Griffon have a past together.
“Do you think I should do it?”
Griffon hesitates and glances at the closed door of Janine’s office. “No.” His golden eyes widen and he looks directly at me for the first time. “It’s too dangerous. Even with Giselle there. This thing is way out of your league.”
“Out of my league?” I repeat, crossing my arms in front of me. “You just don’t think I’m good enough to help the Sekhem. That I still need to be protected by people who are bigger and smarter and stronger than I am.” I can feel my words tumble over each other as I speak, the anger building in my body. “Protect the poor innocent Shewi girl because she can’t help herself. That’s what this is about.”
“That’s not . . .” Griffon starts to say something, but instead pushes past me in frustration and takes the stairs two at a time. I stand at the top watching him go until I hear the outside door slam on the bottom floor, giving me a sense of satisfaction I haven’t felt in a while.
I can hear everyone talking as I open Janine’s office door, but they all fall silent as I enter. I look around at their expectant faces and realize it’s not just about me anymore.
“I’ll do it.”
Twenty-Three
I look out the window and watch the buildings go by on Market Street. It would be so easy to just stay on the bus, riding until it doesn’t go any farther and I’m the last person on board. But I already told Drew that I’d come and the Sekhem are expecting my help, so I pull myself out of my seat and push the red stop button.
After jumping to the pavement, I head toward the Embarcadero, looking in shop windows as I pass. I’ve been thinking all week about what to get Drew for a housewarming present, because it’s not like I can stop at a store and get him a nice bottle of wine like a normal dinner guest, and he can obviously buy anything else he needs. There’s a flower stand on the corner that’s still open and I stop to take a look, but bringing him a bunch of flowers would be weird.
“Can I help you?” An older woman in an apron appears at my side.
“I don’t think so,” I say, backing away.
“Is there a special occasion?”
“Housewarming,” I say. “But it’s for a guy, so flowers won’t really work.”
“How about a plant? A house isn’t really a home until there are some plants.” She leans around a big bucket of sunflowers and pulls a small pot of ivy off a shelf. “This one is guy-proof. Doesn’t take a lot of care and actually likes to dry out between waterings. He’ll have to try to kill it.”
I look around. It’s getting late and I can’t think of a better idea. “Okay. I’ll take it.”
“I’m sure he’ll love it.”
I continue down the street, feeling a little ridiculous with the plant in my hand, like I’m taking it out for a walk or something. I turn right and head toward Mission Street, checking the address on my phone as I go. I almost never come this far downtown, and I’m not sure I have the right place when I stop in front of the tallest building down here that has the right street numbers in gold over the front door.
I walk through the glass doors into what looks like the lobby of the fanciest hotel in town. The lighting is low, but it reflects off the different colored marble on the floors, where several cleanlined couches and chairs wait patiently on a large, ornate rug. I feel eyes on me and look over to see a man in a suit behind a large marble counter staring at me, because a girl in jeans carrying a pot of ivy is so obviously out of place here. I duck back out the door and grab my phone.
I hesitate before I pull up his number. Maybe this is a sign I shouldn’t be here at all. I take a deep breath and push Talk.
Drew answers in one ring. I can hear music and voices in the background. “Hey! Are you on the way? I can come and get you.”
The sound of his voice makes me stop for a second. Nobody else in this whole city would be as glad to see me as Drew seems to be. “No . . . I’m not sure . . .” I look back through the glass doors. The snooty guy in the suit is watching me. I crane my neck in order to see the top of the gigantic building. “I’m not sure I have the right address.”
He recites the numbers for me again, and they definitely match what’s on the building. “Is there a guy at the desk down there?”
“Yeah. He looks mean.”
Drew laughs. “That’s Larry. Just tell him you’re here to see me and he’ll send you up. I’ll be waiting as soon as you get off the elevator. Hurry.”
“Okay.” I walk back through the doors and up to the counter before I lose my nerve. “I’m here for . . .” I look at the address again. “The apartment number he gave me is GPH.” I glance up hopefully.
Larry raises his eyebrows and looks pointedly at my plant. “GPH stands for Grand Penthouse.”
I swallow. Of course. Bugatti, penthouse; I should have known. “Right. Drew Braithwaite.”
He looks down at something on the desk. “Your name?”
“Cole Ryan.”
Larry slowly runs a pen down a list and looks up again. “Take that elevator all the way down to the left. I’ll call it for you.”
“Thanks,” I say in the sweetest tone I can manage. The doors open as soon as I approach and close silently behind me as soon as I enter. There are no buttons on the wall. Just some mysterious slots and what looks like a camera mounted in the ceiling. I think about waving, but figure that Larry is already watching me and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. The elevator shifts slightly and I realize it’s rising fast. Quicker than I’d thought possible, the doors open again, and instead of a hallway, I’m in what looks like Drew’s apartment. Or somebody’s apartment, but not the one of your typical twenty-year-old guy. The place is huge, with oversized brown suede couches and chairs set in groups around the room, with sophisticated lighting and what I think they refer to on the design shows on TV as “window treatments.” Not a discarded T-shirt or written-on whiteboard in sight. All the furniture is just a stage for the wall of windows that are opposite the elevator. I barely glance at them before I start to break out into a sweat. We’re so high up that you can see forever—over the buildings and the hills to the horizon, where there’s still the faintest hint of an orange sunset. I swallow hard and pull my eyes away from the view.