CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

TWEETY RETURNS

WE WERE TOAST. Aly, Marco, and I dove for the ground. We hit the dirt where the greenhouselike building met the cliff wall.

But the griffin passed right over us. It flew at the side of the cliff, digging its talons into the wall above our heads. A clod of dirt and rock shook loose.

Letting out a ferocious cry, it sprang away and attacked the wall a second time.

“It’s trying to get inside!” I shouted. “It wants something in there.”

“Something that starts with L and ends in oculus,” Marco said.

The cliff wall shook again. We had to roll away to avoid being crushed by an avalanche of rocks and dirt.

My mind was racing. Cass was unreachable. The Loculus was ungettable. For a split second I thought about Dad. About how he always said a problem was an answer waiting to be opened.

Help me, Dad, I thought.

As the griffin attacked the wall for a third time, I heard another rifle shot from above us. One of Brother Dimitrios’s men was on his knees by an olive oil urn, pointing the rifle down at the griffin.

The griffin landed just a few yards from us, roaring angrily. The man quickly descended the steps. He planted his feet at the base of the staircase and shot a third time. We all flinched. As the bullet penetrated the griffin’s skin, the beast cocked its head at the shooter. It took two quick steps toward him and lashed out with its wing. The rifleman tried to scramble away, but he wasn’t fast enough.

He tumbled forward and disappeared over the edge. His scream made my stomach churn.

The griffin didn’t seem concerned about either the monk or its own bullet wound. It paused a moment, looking toward the caves to the north. I didn’t have to be an expert on griffin facial expressions to know that it was hungry. It had its own problem. It needed the Loculus, but it also needed to eat.

In that moment, I knew exactly what to do.

“If the Loculus is in there,” I said, “we have to help the griffin get it.”

“What?” Aly said at the same time.

“It’s programmed to get the Loculus,” I said. “It’s going to do that first—and I say we let it. But look. It’s starving. My bet is that once it has the Loculus it will head off for a meal.”

“Yeah, fillet of Cass!” Marco added.

“Exactly,” I said. “We just have to get to him before it does.”

“Awesome, dude!” Marco said. “We can scale the cliff!”

Aly whirled on him. “And how do you suggest we do that, Mr. Immortal? Rappel down with our shoestrings? There are dozens of caves. We’d need a week to find him!”

“I know it’s risky,” I said, “but it’s the only chance we have.”

“Uh-oh,” Marco murmured. “Heads up.”

The griffin was turning slowly, as if noticing us for the first time. It blinked, then bared a set of sharp teeth, glistening with saliva. It let out a guttural hiss that whipped up the stones from the ground.

Aly’s hand found mine and gripped it tight.

Marco’s eyes drifted upward, above the griffin’s head. He swallowed hard. “Um, Angry Bird? You can’t understand what I’m saying, but you’re some in serious trouble….”

I looked up. The two olive oil delivery guys stood at the top of the cliff, nearly a hundred feet above the griffin, balancing an enormous boulder between them.

Behind the beast, a metal door cracked open against a wall. The griffin turned its head sharply—just as the men released the boulder.

It hurtled downward, glancing against the raptor’s shoulder. Its foreleg buckled. Letting out a roar of confusion and pain, it launched itself straight upward. The olive oil men took off at a run.

As the griffin leaped, Brother Dimitrios emerged from the monastery. He began struggling up the wooden stairs toward the first level. In his arms was a huge object, covered by a gold-embroidered cloth.

Hovering in midair, the griffin turned to look.

Then it dove, shrieking, at the monk’s head. Brother Dimitrios stumbled. The object fell out of his hands and bounced downstairs with a strange, ringing sound. It rolled to a stop near the fence on the far side of the ledge.

The cloth had slid off to reveal a bronze sculpture of an enormous flame, about five feet high.

“No!” Brother Dimitrios bellowed. Wrenching free of the griffin, he threw himself down the wooden steps after the flame.

And I ran toward it, trying to get there first.

I didn’t know what a Loculus looked like. But I knew the Colossus had held a flaming torch in its hand, like the Statue of Liberty. And the griffin had been focused on Brother Dimitrios and his sculpture.

All of which meant to me that maybe the Loculus was in the sculpted flame.

Marco and Aly were right behind me. “Give it to the griffin, Brother Dimitrios!” I shouted. “Let him have it!”

“Over my dead body!” Brother Dimitrios replied. He shoved me aside, scooped up the flame, and began running, dodging the griffin as he rushed up the steps. Marco, Aly, and I dashed after him. But he stumbled as he started up the next set of stairs—and the griffin swooped down again.

The monk screamed as the griffin dug its talons into his shoulder. It shook him like a chew toy, slamming him against the wooden railing that ran along the side of the stairs. With a crack, the banister broke.

Brother Dimitrios’s robe tore and he tumbled down the stairs, landing at our feet with the flame still clutched firmly in his arms. The griffin perched above us and prepared to pounce.

“Hey, Rotten Breath!” Marco called out, leaping over the monk and running right for the griffin. “Ever play Whac-a-Griffin?”

He yanked off a section of the broken banister. Holding it over his head, he raced up the steps and brought the rail down hard on the griffin’s beak.

The beast let out a roar of pain. It fluttered its wings. It had endured bullets and a flying boulder. A bat to its schnozz was the last straw.

As Marco slipped past it and raced to the top of the cliff, it flew upward. They both disappeared out of sight on the top level where we’d first arrived.

Aly and I ran. We could hear Marco taunting the beast. It screeched back at him. I heard the crash of glass, the crunch of metal. “Marco-o-o-o!” I called out.

We emerged at the top and stopped in our tracks.

The griffin was hunched over, facing away from us, bent forward. All we could see was its massive wings and haunches. It looked like it was feeding.

There was only one thing it could be feeding on.

Marco.