“It’s okay,” I whispered to the griffin. “She’s just visiting a friend. She’ll be back tomorrow.”
I could only hope I wasn’t lying.
3
MONSTERS SWARMED THROUGH MY DREAMS THAT night, making me twitch and shiver and sometimes bolt upright, positive that something was eating the flesh from my bones. Each time I woke up, I heard the whispery tolling of the temple bells. Softer still came an eerie, slithering noise, like fine, metallic chains being drawn over stones—the watch-demons making their rounds.
I had finally fallen into a blank, dreamless sleep when Old Man Kang’s rooster sang out its morning cry. I buried my head under my pillow and groaned. The next minute, a weight thudded onto my back, driving the breath from my body. Four sharp points dug into my back.
Chen . . .
Chen jabbed me underneath my right arm—hard.
I yelped and twitched away. “Stop that! I’m not in the mood for any jokes.”
A sharp jab in the sole of my left foot jerked me awake.
Chen, you stupid—
I threw off my bedclothes and sat up.
Chen crouched in the far corner of my bedroom, between the open door and my washstand. His spines were slanted back, his bristles, too, and he had an odd expression on his piggy face—as though he wanted to laugh but didn’t know how, and besides he wasn’t really in the mood. When he caught my eye, he tilted his head and stared pointedly at the foot of my bed.
There sat the griffin, chewing holes in the blanket.
“You,” I growled. “Look, I told you—she’s not here.”
It shot me a disbelieving glare, then fastened its beak on a loose thread and yanked.
“Stop that!” I tried shooing it away.
It snapped at me and hissed. I flung my pillow. With a shrill cry, the griffin launched into flight, scattering feathers and dander and bits of blanket all over the room. It circled twice around, just missing my head, then soared out the open door.
I swiped the feathers and dirt from my face. My head felt thick, and my mouth tasted like old vinegar. My room smelled musty. I couldn’t tell if that was the griffin or the clothes I’d dropped on the floor yesterday, before dropping myself into bed.
You look awful, Chen remarked.
Yeah, and I feel awful. I stumbled from the bed to my washbasin and splashed water over my head. Rinsed my mouth and spat out dust and feathers. I wondered if the griffin had been swimming in my washbasin. On second thought, I didn’t want to know.
Is she back? I whispered to Chen.
No.
What about—
Gone. Then he added, I checked everywhere. Nuó is gone, too.
Nuó was Ma mi’s companion spirit, a smoke-gray mountain cat. Nuó scared me even more than Ma mi did. She scared Chen, too. That Chen had deliberately gone looking for her meant he was truly worried by Ma mi’s disappearance.
I pulled on last night’s shirt and trousers and pounded down to Ma mi’s bedroom. It was empty, of course. I’d known it would be, but scanning the room, swept clean just yesterday, and the blankets neatly tucked around the bed, I felt a pain tugging at my gut.
I told you she wasn’t back. Yet.
I know. I just—
I swallowed hard. Chen made soft snuffling noises in my ear, as though I were a baby piglet that needed comforting.
Go away, I said. I’m fine.