Page 52 of The Beauty and the Griffin

Win growled, “Let me handle this,” then started crooning encouragements. “Pound it out, big guy! Show that stuck-up Chicky who’s the baddest griffin around!”

I could only hope her form of encouragement wouldn’t cause sibling strife in the future. Dodger seemed to appreciate it. His scratching got louder, and the eggshell quivered constantly.

But progress was slow. The minutes turned into an hour of tapping punctuated by Dodger’s brief rest periods, then dragged on into two hours. Win began to prowl the room.

Meanwhile, when I checked on Chicky, her shell had hardened. She purred as I gently stroked its surface.

A low voice spoke near my shoulder, sending a tingle down my spine. “Being magical, griffins usually hatch more quickly than birds do, but they’re unpredictable.”

I puffed a little sigh. “Maybe we both need to find a book to read. Or I could play the piano.”

“Oh, please!” Win groaned. “That is, pleasedon’t!”

“Music might inspire the griflets to get on with their job.” The gentle humor in the Gamekeeper’s voice warmed me. “Pleasedoplay.”

To Win’s disgust, I sat on the piano bench, tried a few chords to get the feel of the keys, and began to play a classical piece I’d memorized as a child. Next came a hymn. Once my fingers warmed up, I attempted a more challenging jazz song. I made a few mistakes, but nothing egregious.

When the last notes faded away, I lifted my hands from the keys. “Thank you. Playing a piano of this quality is a treat.”

Win stretched her back with a groan. “Thanks for nothing! You play boring stuff. If you have to make noise, can’t you at least play something modern?”

“The child evidently lacks musical taste.” The Gamekeeper’s voice sounded simultaneously irritated and admiring. “You play quite well, Beatrice. A woman of many talents.”

Glowing inside, I closed the keylid and returned to Chicky’s box, just a few steps away.Chicky hatch soon, the little creature repeated.Sooner soon. Beeetrice watch?”

“Of course, I will!” I touched her shell.

By the sounds Chicky made and the way her egg wiggled, I guessed she was stretching inside her shell.Dodger hatching now,she said.

“Now?”

Now. He wants Beeetrice.

Breathless with anticipation, I hurried over to hunker down across Dodger’s box from Win and join her in staring at his shell. It was as dark as a starless midnight, and the crack spanned its diameter, glowing a lurid chartreuse. “You can do this, little guy,” Win murmured, her voice the sweetest I’d ever heard it.

Then she glanced at me. “Go. Away.”

“No. Chicky says Dodger wants me.”

She inhaled sharply, preparing to chew me out, just as the top half of his shell snapped off and landed in the hay. We got our first glimpse of a griflet, who was panting open-beaked.

Hearing Win suck in a sharp breath, I looked up and saw horror in her eyes.

“I expect he’ll look better once he dries out, like a baby duck does,” I tried to reassure her.

Dodger was scrawny and scraggly, with blobs of what looked like white goo sticking to his grayish-pink head, neck, chest, and front legs. His wings, partly covered with pinfeathers, were small, and his bulging eyes were closed. His beak and front feet were bright yellow and looked too large for the scrawny rest of him.

Win blinked in disbelief. “I thought he would hatch cute,” she whispered. “Do you think he’s all right?”

“He’s resting after all that work.”

I left her alone with Dodger long enough to check on Chicky, who was beginning to peck at her shell. I sensed rather than heard her working.

By the time I returned to Dodger’s box, his eyes were open, and he was trying to lift his head. Win ran a finger down the back of his head, then gave me a defiant scowl. “I’m not interfering. Just reminding him I’m here.”

With a burst of energy that startled her into snatching her hand away, Dodger flailed his front half until the rest of his soggy body emerged from the shell. His back legs and paws came into view, still kicking, and then a stringy tail.

We both stared in amazement. “I mean, I knew he was a griffin, but . . .” Win’s voice trailed off. “Weird.”

---