A Messenger from Nephelokokkygia

Briar Triumphant

Chapter 31: Briar Triumphant

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain.

--Emily Dickinson, "If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking"

The streets in Grace's neighborhood looked different. Then again, she was viewing them from the sky. That explained it. A few buildings were spruced up. But for the most part, architecture endured what could only be called "decay." Large chunks of cement and brick were carved away. If not by hand, then erosion.

Some buildings were familiar, but found in the wrong places. On landing, she saw street signs had different names. The streets themselves were cracked in more places than they were solid. Things like that matter little when one's eyes are cast ahead. For Grace, there was no mistaking the building before them, nor its place in the city, the era, and her soul. Her family's apartment was four floors up.

She left Goldtalon on the sidewalk, figuring what Astral force hid Bennu from human views ought to extend to griffins. Not that many people were on the street anyway, though it seemed a perfectly temperate midafternoon. Goldtalon suggested he drop her off on the apartment roof, but she worried the door might be locked.

It was hardly a secret he wanted to tag along. Mostly, Grace felt concerned he would be too large to fit in stairwells. For now, he entertained himself chatting with a crowd of pigeons embroiled in debating the merits of the postal system. The little birds looked the huge supernatural newcomer over with no evident surprise or alarm.

Grace pushed past the front door and ran up the stairs, counting steps as she once used to. The same number, but now the steps looked grimier, with chipped corners and edges. Natural wear-and-tear, of course.

This time of day, Rocky Ashcroft should be blasting away on his trumpet. But the floor he called home was quiet. Then, she was on her own floor. The hallway carpets had frayed in places, the cloth's dye faded. Easily explainable by overzealous cleaners. If that were so, however, surely there would be less dust.

She did not exactly stomp to her family's apartment, but neither were the pads of her footfalls especially gentle. The door number across the way hung on a loose nail upside-down. At her approach, it opened. Saba Grundy peeked out.

Mrs. Grundy looked even more haggard. Her hair was colored blue. Seeing Grace, her eyes bugged out. Her frown practically melted into her chin. "Ju..ju...jumbie?" It was hard to get words out with her mouth hanging so. "What's that? Oh, coming hubbie!" She slammed her door so hard the number fell off.

Grace heard a man's voice inside, but it sounded like it came from a television. With no distractions coming at hand, she knocked on her parents' door. Her palm was moist with sweat.

Desdemona Grey opened the door. Grace's mother adjusted her glasses. (The familiar ones shaped like cat's eyes, with mini-diamonds at the corners.) She did not exactly stare, but never took her eyes off the girl. More than a few wrinkles nested under her eyes and about her forehead.

Did I make her so tired? Aloud, Grace said "I'm back, mom..." Other words were smothered by the woman laying hold and clutching the girl to her breast. The white nurse uniform was starched and scratchy, but no tortures existed that could compel Grace to complain in that moment.

"Oh baby, oh Gracie! You're not a ghost, are you? Most frightening thing to a parent is outliving their child, so please don't be."

"Erhm nawt," said Grace. Then, when she was finally allowed to breathe again, "I'm not, mom. But I think Granddad Oberon once said the same thing."