Chapter 2

The walk to my dad's office was easy. I knew the way so well that I didn't really have to pay attention to where I was going. I let my feet guide me. As I strolled past the boutiques and offices and quaint little restaurants that lined the streets, my mind was free to ponder the events of the day. It had certainly been a strange day. There was my nightmare. I never had nightmares. It had definitely left me feeling a bit on edge. Then there was the incident with the lights. It was completely inexplicable, yet both Laurel and Mr. Crosley seemed to believe that I had somehow caused it to happen. Of course, that was impossible. I was sure Laurel had some idea of what happened, but why wouldn't she tell me? And that wasn't the only time she'd acted strangely that day. She'd seemed so worried when I answered that question about satyrs, almost as if she was afraid of me discovering some enormous secret. Even just now, at the bus stop, she acted like she was reluctant to leave me. Why she would be so concerned about me, I didn't know. But I did know she was hiding something. My curiosity was begging me to discover just what she was hiding, but something gnawing in my gut warned me that once I knew, my life would get much more complicated.

When I reached my dad's publishing house, I was greeted by the secretary. She smiled when she saw me.

"Ross will be out in a moment, dear," she informed me. "He's meeting with a client." I thanked her and took a seat. A few minutes later, my dad emerged from his office, followed by another man. The man bade my dad farewell and left. My dad turned to me.

"Hi, sweetheart. Ready to go to supper?" I nodded. He held out his arm to me. I took it and he guided me to the door. We both waved goodbye to the secretary and walked out into the warm afternoon air.

Later that night, after my dad and I had enjoyed our supper together, we talked to each other, inquiring about the other's day as we washed dishes. We had this sort of game that we would play. We'd tell a story about something interesting, funny, or odd that had happened that day and see whose story was better. My dad was telling a story about a potential client who had come in for a meeting, only to discover that he had somehow lost his manuscript on the way to the office and proceeded to recite the entire first chapter to my dad. When it was my turn, I decided to tell my dad about some sarcastic remark that Laurel had made at lunch. Just before I started to speak, I recalled another more perplexing incident.

"There was something strange that happened with the lights today," I told him. "I was in my math class and they flickered. Except it wasn't like normal where they fade for a moment and come back on. They got brighter. A lot brighter. For a second, it was like we were looking at the sun."

I heard the crash of a fallen dish and the sparkling sound of shattered glass skipping across the tile floor. Startled, I looked at my dad. His hand was still curved around the phantom glass that had slipped from his hand. All the color had drained from his face. He looked upward as if he were praying, a look of fear on his face. But there was a sadness there, too.

"Dad? Are you okay?" I asked sheepishly.

"Yes. I'm sorry. Would you pass me the broom?" I got the broom from the pantry and handed it to him. "You're right," he said, "that is very strange. I think you win." I wanted so badly to question him. I wanted to know what he was thinking and why he had reacted so strongly to my story, but the look in his eyes warned me against asking questions. I let the matter drop. The last of the glass was cleared away and we finished washing the dishes in silence.

I sat in my room doing homework. After what felt like an eternity of math problems and biology research, I decided to break the monotony. I walked to the bookshelf and scanned through the titles of the books. Every book I had ever read was here. To me, that bookshelf was a looking-glass into the past. It was filled with years of memories. My eyes fell on the book I'd been looking for: one on Greek mythology. I pulled it from the shelf and cracked it open. I flipped through the pages, trying to decide which myth I should select for my history assignment. The letters and words lifted up and darted around the page. My dyslexia was acting up again. Slamming the book shut, I wandered out into the hall in search of my father. I walked down the hall to his room. It was empty. I ventured downstairs. I saw a light coming from his study. I could faintly hear him muttering something. As quietly as I could, I moved closer until I could see into the room. Dad was sitting in his chair with his back to the door. I approached hesitantly. I glanced over his shoulder. He was holding an old photograph. In it was a beautiful woman of about twenty-five years with golden blonde hair and crystalline eyes. She was striking. But what most stuck out to me was the warm, hopeful look in her eyes. It was the same look that I saw every morning when I looked in the mirror. I gasped. My dad turned quickly in surprise, dropping the photograph. I smiled apologetically.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Is that my mother?" I indicated the picture, which now lay on the floor by my dad's feet. I had never seen a picture of my mother. I didn't even know that he had any. He sighed.

"Yes, Rory. That is your mother." I knelt and picked up the photograph. I stared at it for a moment. "You see what I mean? You look just like her."

"Dad, why don't you ever talk about her?"

"I suppose it is simply too painful. I loved her very much. And she loved me, too," he replied.

"Then why did she leave?"

"She had a responsibility to her family. She had no choice but to go. When you were born, she brought you to me and said goodbye. We both knew that day had to come." I glanced back at the woman whose face I saw every day in the mirror. A responsibility to her family. That was why I'd never met her. A responsibility to her family kept her away for twelve years? No visits. No birthday cards. No letters. No explanations.

"And what about to us? Aren't we her family?" I asked, my voice cracking with emotion. I wasn't sure if it was pain or anger.

"Of course, Rory. Leaving you behind was very hard for her. The morning she brought you to me, she told me that for her, you would always be the bright light on the horizon. That's why I gave you your name. Aurora means the dawn."

I was silent for a moment. I looked down to avoid his eyes. His fingers brushed against my face, pushing my hair back behind my ears, exactly the way he always did when I was sad or hurt. It was like his way of telling that he was there for me, that I didn't need to be worried, that everything would be okay. He pulled me into a hug. I squeezed him back, needing to know that my dad, at least, was here. That he wasn't going to leave me like she had. For so long, I had just wanted to meet mother. I somehow missed her terribly even though I'd never met her. The tension in my dad's embrace told me that he missed her, too.

"Well," Dad said as he pulled away, "did you need something?" I was grateful for the change in subject.

"Um, yeah," I stuttered, carefully keeping the emotion from my voice. "I have a history assignment, but I'm having some trouble reading. I have to pick one of the Greek myths to read."

"Alright. Well, bring that book over here and we'll find one." I sat down beside him at the desk. I started flipping through the pages, trying to decide on which myth I wanted to read, catching glimpses of illustrations and titles that I could only half understand. Suddenly, one caught my eye. I stopped on a page bearing an illustration of a bizarre creature. It had the head of an eagle and brilliant feathered wings. It's front legs had the eagle's razor-sharp talons, but it's hind legs and tail resembled a lion's. The caption at the bottom of the picture was written in Greek letters, but as I stared at them they began to shift, rearranging themselves until they revealed their meaning: Gryphon. I should have been shocked that I had just read what appeared to be ancient Greek as easily as if it were English, but something else about the image distracted me from that realization.

This was the creature from my dream.