He takes a step closer, glancing toward the stairs. “I don’t think you should see her anymore. Can you make up some excuse—say you’ve stopped giving lessons, or you need a break?”
I shake my head. “Why? That’s crazy. I’m not going to drop one of my students.” Forget about the fact that I’m not going to drop the only student who ever pays me on time.
“I can’t explain it all now, but you have to trust me. She’s not just a regular student. There’s more to it. There’s a reason she’s in your life now.”
I think back to all he said in the park. “Wait,” I whisper. “You think Veronique is … you know …?”
Griffon doesn’t touch me, but I feel his urgency all the same. “She is, but not like us. Some Akhet come back only for revenge, to right the wrongs they feel have been done to them in the past. I got a sense of that from her essence. I don’t think she’s just another random cello student.”
I can see the anger in his eyes, and a shiver runs up my spine. At this point I’m not sure if anyone is who I thought they were, especially Griffon. His face is still beautiful, so beautiful that it makes my heart ache to look at him, but everything that comes out of his mouth makes him seem more distant and paranoid. His words are having an effect, just not the one he thinks. “You’re scaring me,” I whisper.
“Good,” he replies, not dropping his eyes from my face.
I push the door open, the air in the room suddenly thick and foreboding. I need to be around other people. As we reach the practice room, Veronique is just coming out. “Hey there,” she says cheerfully. “I was just looking for the bathroom.”
I glance at Griffon. His face is unreadable. “It’s back downstairs,” I say. “Just to the right of the main hall.”
Veronique smiles warmly. “Right. I should have asked. I’ll see you down there.”
I duck into the room, put my sweater on, and grab my things. I rush around, pretending to be distracted by looking for stuff, because the last thing I want is to make small talk with anyone here. Griffon stands outside waiting, and by the time I get back, he’s more like his regular self.
“Let me carry that for you,” he says, reaching for the cello case.
“It’s okay,” I say. I like carrying the good cello myself. Even Dad has stopped asking to help. It’s not that I don’t trust people, it’s just that if anything happens, I don’t want the blame to be on anyone but me.
Griffon seems to read my mind. “I’ll be careful,” he says. “I know it’s expensive.”
I hesitate.
“Now you don’t trust me enough to carry your cello?”
“It’s not that,” I say. I look up into his amber eyes. The funny thing is that I do trust him, despite all of the things he’s said, and all my conflicted emotions. I hand him the cello case, as if to prove it to both of us. “Thanks.”
He slides the shoulder strap over his arm and points to the steps. “After you.”
I change places with Griffon so that I can walk near the wall. I hate looking over the railing straight down three stories to the café on the ground floor. Even glancing down from this high up makes me feel woozy. We start down the stairs, but Griffon seems to lose his balance on the third step and lurches for the handrail just as the cello begins to fall.
“Oh my God!” As soon as I realize what’s happening, I lean out and try to catch the cello, not thinking about how high up we are, not thinking about anything but stopping it from tumbling down the stairs.
“Cole!” Griffon yells. In a blur, I feel someone reaching out for me and grabbing my arm, but not before I twist and my head hits the railing with a crushing thump. Pain explodes in my right temple and my vision is filled with bright spots as I’m lowered to the floor.
“Are you okay?” Griffon stands over me as my head clears.
I try to shake it off, but that only makes the pain worse. “I think so.” I start to stand up but Griffon holds me down.
“Stay there, you might have a concussion,” he says, looking around for help.
I put my hand up to the pain in the side of my head and feel a lump already starting to form.
The stairs shake as people swarm around me. It looks like everyone in the place saw me fall. Just great.
“My God, honey, are you okay?” Dad asks, kneeling down.
I sit up on the edge of the step. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” he says, looking into my eyes. “You hit really hard.”
“I’ll go get some ice,” Griffon says. “The café’s still open.”
Looking through the crowd of people, I watch Griffon take the steps two at a time. When he gets to the bottom, he rushes by the cello’s case, which is shoved against the railing at an awkward angle. “My cello!” I try to get up, but the pain in my head makes my knees buckle. “Is it okay?”
Dad glances down the stairs. “I’m sure it’s fine,” he says. “The main thing is to make sure you’re not hurt.” That’s sweet of him to say, but we all know the main thing is that my insanely expensive cello is currently lying at the bottom of the stairs.
Mom opens the case and lifts the cello out gently. “Looks okay,” she calls up. “The case is a little banged up, but otherwise it’s fine.”
I relax a little, enough to accentuate the pounding in my head.
“What happened?” Veronique asks, slightly out of breath from climbing back up the stairs so quickly.
“I’m not sure.” I look at Dad. “Did Griffon drop it?” I should have gone with my instincts on this one.
Dad brushes some hair off my forehead. “Griffon let it fall so that he could grab you,” he says. “I saw the whole thing from downstairs. If he hadn’t been there, you would have fallen down the whole flight.” He leans in and kisses my forehead. “It could have been bad, Cole. Really, really bad.”
Mom sets the case gently on the step next to me. “Looks like the shoulder strap broke,” she says, holding up the end that should be connected to the case. “A bolt must have come loose. This was not a cheap cello case. You can bet I’ll be calling the company in the morning.”
Griffon rushes back up the stairs and thrusts a bag of ice in Dad’s hand. I wince as Dad holds it gently up to the bump. I’m at that point where I know ice will make it better, but right now it’s making my head hurt even more.
Mom leans down in front of me. “Let me see your pupils.”
I glare up at her. “Now? Seriously?”
“She’s okay, Sofia,” Dad says, and for once, she backs down.
I glance down the stairs, and the foyer seems to be emptying. Now that my part of the show is over, I guess it’s time for everyone to go home. I hope to God nobody got it on video.
“I’m going to head out,” Veronique says. She puts one hand on my shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure. Thanks.”
Griffon is kneeling a few steps down and won’t even look up as she speaks. I’m shocked that nobody else can see the waves of hatred coming off him.
“Nice meeting you, Griffon,” Veronique says as she passes him on the stairs. He nods, but says nothing. She seems totally clueless. She must just think he’s an ass.
After a few more minutes, it’s determined that I’ve been immobile long enough, and they let me get back on my feet. Dad carries my cello and the slightly bruised bunch of tulips, and Griffon gets my bag so that I can keep the ice on the giant knot on my head that’s getting bigger by the second. It takes everything I have to convince them not to call an ambulance, and I know that Mom’s watching carefully to make sure I don’t go into convulsions or anything as we head for the door. The cold night air hits us as soon as we get outside; it must have rained during the concert, because the streets are wet and give off that sharp smell that happens after a downpour.