Page 53 of The Beauty and the Griffin

Dodger’s eyes opened wide, and he let out an insulted squawk.

“And . . . and . . .” Win looked to me for help.

“Weird and wonderful, right?” I exclaimed.

“Yes.” She eagerly accepted my cue. “Weird, wonderful, wild . . .” Her inspiration ran dry.

“Wet,” I added, “and weary. Needs to bewarm.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wow, you’re a showoff.”

“‘Wow’ counts.”

When her chin snapped up and her eyes narrowed, I gave her a genuine smile. “Heisamazing. I expect he’ll get cuter when he dries out, like chicks do.”

Disarmed for the moment, Win relaxed, returning her gaze to her griflet. “He’s purring!”

At first his purr was so quiet I could barely hear it, but when she gently rubbed his back behind his wings where a patch of fur grew, the buzz grew louder. “He’s soft,” she said with a sigh. One mission accomplished: Win was in love with her griffin. I figured it was a good time to let the two bond.

I had just sat down to enjoy a sandwich from the tempting buffet—which must have appeared while I was too distracted to notice—when Dodger sat upright and demanded to be fed, each shriek louder than the last. His birdlike parts bristled with pinfeathers amid the down, and his yellow beak and eyes were almost scary.

“Do something!” Win cried, hands over her ears. “Stop that horrible noise!”

I turned and immediately met the Gamekeeper’s gaze.

“The griflets’ food is here.” He indicated a contraption rather like a drying rack . . . except that it bristled with small creatures impaled on sticks. “To quiet him, cover his head. But first, he needs to eat.”

Since Win freaked out at the idea of feeding her griflet, I fed him, giving her instructions as if I were a seasoned griflet-feeding pro. Each time Dodger’s mouth opened wide, I stuffed a disgusting morsel down his throat with a pair of chopsticks.

Eventually, his screeches faded into purrs of contentment, and his eyes closed.

“Within a few days, he’ll be finding his own food and begin to practice flying.” The low rumble of the Gamekeeper’s voice soothed me.

“Flying?” I stared at the pathetic plucked-turkey wings folded along Dodger’s cat-like body.

“Prepare to be amazed. Griflets are precocious.”

I struggled to take all this in. The blend of natural and magical in these creatures was difficult to comprehend.

“What’s that about flying?” Win demanded.

I’d nearly forgotten she was there and hearing only my half of the conversation. “What? Oh! Yes, flying. Dodger and Chicky will be flying before we know it.”

Her lip curled. “You’re so weird. Go away. I’ll take him now.”

Relieved of duty, I got myself a drink and stretched my aching muscles before checking on my gold egg. As I approached her nesting box, the griflet spoke into my head:Chicky hatch.

Already?Inwardly, I panicked a little.

Beeetrice speak in my head!

Awww, she sounded so pleased.

Oh. Wait. I did it! For the first time, I’d spoken to her in my thoughts!

At that moment, Dodger let out the most horrific screeches I’d ever heard. Ear-splitting. Heart-rending.

“Help!” Win let out a screech of her own. “Beatrice, get back over here! He won’t stop screaming.”

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