“Probably because few had ever seen one up close, and those that had were not disposed to think of them as pets.” The dark vein in Matthew’s forehead pulsed slightly in irritation. “What on earth possessed you to conjure up a griffin, Diana? And why can’t you get rid of it?”
“It’s not my griffin.” I would have kept going, separating out the bestiaries from the books about fabled lands, the books on ancient gods and goddesses, and the accounts of the lives of Christian saints, but Matthew put himself between me and the shelves with the attitude of someone determined to thwart progress.
“So the griffin is Philip’s familiar,” Matthew said. “I didn’t believe Sarah when she told me.”
“He might be.” Familiars appeared when a weaver wove their first spell. They were a set of magical training wheels that helped to guide a weaver’s unpredictable talents as they developed. “Except our children are Bright Born, not weavers.”
“And how much do we really know about Bright Borns and their abilities?” Matthew asked, one brow raised in query.
“Not much,” I admitted. Weavers were witches with daemon blood in their veins. Bright Borns were creatures born to a weaver mother and a vampire father afflicted with blood rage, a genetic condition that could also be traced back to daemon blood. They were as rare as unicorns.
“Isn’t it possible that Philip could be both a Bright Born and a weaver, or that Bright Borns have familiars, too?”
There was only one way to find out.
* * *
—
“MOVE SLOWLY,” Matthew told Philip. “Keep your hand flat, like you do with Balthasar.”
That Matthew let Philip anywhere near his enormous, fickle stallion had always been cause for concern, but I had reason to be grateful for it today.
Our son toddled toward the griffin and me, the fingers of one hand grasping Matthew and the palm of the other bearing a Cheerio. Becca sat between Sarah and Agatha, watching the proceedings with interest.
The griffin chortled and cooed, lending Philip its encouragement—or possibly just begging for the Cheerio.
Philippe’s mythology books had been no help at all when it came to the care and feeding of griffins. We had to figure out what the creature liked through a process of trial and error. Thus far the griffin had been satisfied with more duck, generous helpings of cereal, and sporadic visits from Tabitha, who brought it a vole when it was beginning to get peckish.
“Good Lord, it’s huge.” Marcus studied the griffin’s back paws. “And it’s only going to get bigger if the size of its feet are anything to go by.”
As Philip got closer to the griffin, the griffin began to hop up and down with excitement, clacking its beak and swishing its tail.
“Sit. Stay. Down. G’boy.” Philip, who was used to living with dogs and therefore familiar with all the nonsense adults said to them in an effort to curb their behavior, spouted out the commands as he continued to advance.
The griffin sat.
Then it lowered its body between its paws and waited.
“Well, Diana, you wanted proof the griffin belonged to Philip,” Sarah said. “I think you have it.”
Philip extended the Cheerio to the griffin. All the adults in the room held their breath as the griffin studied the piece of cereal.
“Treat,” Philip said.
The griffin leaped up to a sitting position and took the small oat hoop. As he swallowed the cereal down, I counted to be sure that all of Philip’s fingers were still attached to his hand. Mercifully, they were.
“Yay!” Philip hugged the griffin with great enthusiasm and pride. Its beak was perilously close to my child’s delicate ear. I moved to separate them.
“I wouldn’t interfere, Diana,” Sarah said mildly. “Those two have something special going on.”
“What will you call it, Pip?” Agatha asked our son. “Big Bird?”
“I think that name is taken,” Marcus said with a laugh. “What about George, for George Washington? It is part eagle.”
“Name not George.” Philip was patting the griffin’s head.
“What then?” Agatha wondered aloud. “Goldy?”
Philip shook his head.
“Tweety?” Sarah asked. “That’s a good name for a bird.”
“Not bird.” Philip scowled at Sarah.
“Why don’t you tell us, Philip?” I didn’t like the idea that my son and a creature straight from the pages of a fairy tale were on a first-name basis.