Transcendence

that’s been there since the fifteen hundreds. Late at night you can still hear the echoes of the prisoners pounding on the heavy wood.”

“Knock it off,” Griffon says. He turns to Kat. “There’s no pounding, no bloody heads. Just a little wind through the leaky windows on a cold night. It’s really no big deal.”

Kat shivers and looks toward the building, obviously enjoying Owen’s story more than Griffon’s.

“Now let’s go get that tea,” Griffon says. “Otherwise Dad’ll have my hide for not being a proper host.”

“I don’t really think that tea will help—” I begin.

“Of course it won’t.” Griffon stands up. “But the English believe that tea cures everything, so humor him.”

I get the sense that he’s only doing his duty, and I want to let him off the hook. How many crazy tourists does he run into every day? Okay, maybe not literally, but I’m sure he has better things to do than play tour guide. “Kat really wants to see the Crown Jewels,” I say, glancing toward the building. A quick trip to see the Jewels, and then I can go back to the hotel, lock the bathroom door, and lose it for real. I can probably keep it together that long. “Might as well get it over with.”

“The last thing you need is to stand in a stifling queue,” he says. He looks over at the growing line. “And it’s not going to get any better than this for the rest of the day.”

Owen looks at me. “Tell you what. If you really don’t care”—he turns to Kat—“and you really don’t mind, then why don’t I give you my famous tour of the Jewels, and Griffon can take your sister to the cafe right on the other side of the White Tower? We’ll meet them there when we’re done.”

Kat shifts her weight on the high heels that look so out of place, not to mention uncomfortable. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asks me, glancing meaningfully at Owen.

I hesitate. She’d never forgive me if I took this opportunity away from her. “I don’t if you don’t.”

“Great. We’ll meet you at the cafe as soon as we’re done.” She barely gets the words out before she’s wobbling across the cobblestones, walking so close to Owen that I think she’s going to knock him over. He reaches out to catch her and then leaves his hand on her arm as they continue walking. I suddenly see why Kat insists on wearing totally impractical shoes all the time.

“You sure you’re okay?” Griffon asks as soon as we’re alone.

“I’m fine. Really.” At least my stomach has finally stopped churning.

“Right. I’ll stop asking. The Armouries Cafe is right in that building over there,” he says. We walk a little way in silence, but I notice more than a few guards grinning at him as we pass. My mind is racing, but I can’t seem to think of a single thing to say.

“Two truths and a lie,” Griffon says suddenly, turning to look at me.

“Two what?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Truths. And a lie. You tell me two things that are true and one that is a lie, and I have to guess which is which.”

“Sort of like Truth or Dare?”

“Right. But instead of a dare, give me a lie. But make it a good one. Something believable.”

I think for a second, but my mind is a total blank. I can’t think of a single thing about me, true or not. “You first,” I say, trying to buy some time to come up with something that might make me sound interesting and a little mysterious.

“Okay,” he says. “Um … I’ve had dinner with Oprah Winfrey.”

I watch him carefully, but I don’t see anything, no matter how unbelievable this sounds. There’s no way I can tell him that I can pretty much always tell when people are lying. There’s something in their eyes or the way they move when they’re talking that always gives it away.

“My favorite food is peanut butter,” he continues, and in a split second I see it. A brief twitch of his mouth that tells me this is the lie. “And I have a tattoo.”

“So you’re probably not going to order peanut butter and jelly for lunch.”

He stares at me and breaks into a big grin. “Right! I hate peanut butter. How did you know?”

I shrug. “Lucky guess.”

“If you say so,” he says skeptically.

“So you really did have dinner with Oprah?”

“I really did. Do you want to see my tattoo?”

If he’s offering, I’m assuming it’s in a public-friendly place. “Sure.”

Griffon holds up his right hand and points to a spot between his thumb and index finger. “Right there.”

I don’t see anything. “Where?”

He moves his finger out of the way. “Just there. See that dot?”

I look closer and see a tiny black dot a few shades darker than his skin. “Looks like a freckle.”

“It’s not. My friend’s brother had a rig and offered to give us both tattoos. This was as far as I got before I chickened out.” He smiles at me. “Now it’s your turn.”

I laugh a little. I usually hate games like this, but somehow it’s making me feel better. I try to think of the craziest things that have ever happened to me. “Okay. I’ve met the queen. I was switched at birth. And “I don’t know how to ride a bike.”

Griffon stares up at the sky and looks like he’s thinking hard. “There’s no way you met the queen, so that must be the lie.”

“Nope. I met the Queen of Greece at the symphony last year.”

“I thought you said the queen.”

“She is the queen. Of Greece. Deposed, but still. You have two more guesses.”

“You can’t ride a bike?”

“Of course I can ride a bike. Almost everyone can ride a bike. That was the lie.” I pause, not knowing how far I can push him. “You’re really not very good at this, are you?”

He smiles, and I know he’s not annoyed. “So you’re trying to tell me you really were switched at birth?”

“My mom says it was only for an hour and then the hospital figured it out. Sometimes I wonder, though. Kat and I … we’re not all that much alike.” Understatement of the year. She’s the very definition of the gorgeous blond California girl. And I’m … not.

Griffon nods and flashes a dimple. “Too bad for her.”

His direct gaze gives me another kind of fluttering inside. I bite my lip and look down at the ground as we walk. Maybe he has a thing for short, brown-haired girls who don’t wear anything that requires a trip to the dry cleaner.

“I bow to the master,” he says, holding the door of the cafe open for me. “I think you won that round. Not even close enough for me to contest.”

“Just beginner’s luck.”

Griffon leads me to an empty wooden table by the window. “I’m going to get some tea. Sit here, stare at the tourists, and I’ll be right back.”

The cafe is crowded with families, and the noise echoes off the walls of the big brick building. I can’t help watching Griffon as he walks up to the counter. Where his dad is totally what you’d expect from a guard at the Tower of London—short bristly hair, white skin, and pink cheeks—Griffon is completely different. He has light brown skin and broad shoulders that dip down into a narrow waist, and his light brown curls have tiny blond streaks in them that I can tell come from the sun, not a bottle. A heavy black cord hangs around his neck, but it’s tucked into his shirt, so I can’t see what’s on the end of it.

Griffon is insanely good-looking, but it’s more than that. As much as I make fun of romance novels and chick flicks, I feel a tug of recognition down deep that is almost physical, and it frightens me. While my eyes are on him, he turns to lean against the counter as he waits for the tray. I look down, but probably not fast enough. I’m still examining the wooden tabletop when he comes back with the tea.

“I don’t know how you take it, so I brought milk, sugar, lemon, and honey,” he says, setting the tray on the table.

I look over the assortment of jars and packets. “I suppose it’s wrong to say all of it?” I ask, hoping I sound more confident than I feel.

Griffon grins, and my heart races. “Well, you’re allowed to do anything you want. Generally it’s either milk