Empire of Ash: A Passionate Paranormal Romance with Young Adult Appeal (God of Secrets Book 1)

by L. R. W. Lee

What is wrong with me?

  I rub my arm, knocking rice, chicken, and vegetable shrapnel off the front of me, as I stall.

  Come on, Pell, get it together, I pep-talk myself.

  I’m a scientist. This is a test. It’s only a test. I love tests. It’ll prove definitively whether I’m hallucinating again… or whether…

  I can’t begin to contemplate the ramifications if my imagination isn’t at fault.

  I can do this.

  My mouth feels dry. Will my hand go right through his like a ghost? I almost hope it does. I’ll be crazy, but my ordered world will remain intact.

  I feel like a skittish squirrel as I reach out my hand.

  He stands like a statue, his eyes following my every move, as my hand inches closer.

  Every muscle in my body twitches as my hand hovers over his palm, yet he doesn’t flinch.

  Moment of truth.

  I grit my teeth and place my hand in his.

  Then gasp.

  He’s as solid and real as anyone.

  He gives my hand a small squeeze and says, “That wasn’t so bad now was it?”

  Not bad? I feel dizzy and my knees grow weak as my ordered world turns upside down. People don’t materialize out of thin air. He’s right, I’ve never met anyone like him.

  He guides me to the end of the closer bed, and the box springs squeak as he pulls me down to sitting beside him, still holding my hand. “You look faint.”

  I swallow hard staring at our joined hands. “I feel faint.”

  “You weren’t hallucinating.”

  I can only nod as I pull my hand away. He’s real, and I have to somehow rationalize his smoke and mirrors comings and goings.

  I fiddle with a string of my hoodie as realization dawns that if he’s real… all those scrolls are too. My breathing grows labored. I truly found a trove of ancient papyrus manuscripts.

  “What’s your sweatshirt say?” he asks, diverting my attention before I hyperventilate.

  “What?”

  “Your hoodie, what’s it say?”

  I pull the bottom of the soiled front away from me then read, “Archeologist - one crackpot digging up another cracked pot.”

  He snorts. “Is that right? You consider yourself a crackpot?”

  “Archeologists have to be a bit off to ‘dig’ this gig.” I laugh. “So yes, I am a bit of a crackpot.”

  Now that he’s gotten me talking, his expression turns serious. “If you agree that I’m as real as you, you also know that you brought back to life that sphinx from the Louvre when you deciphered her secret.”

  I bite my lip and look up into his eyes, eyes exactly like the ones that always calm me. His eyes are doing nothing of the sort.

  “So what happens now?” Still reeling from the confluence of events, I can’t believe I’m even asking.

  “We capture it.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” My voice rises.

  “And what’s this ‘we’ business? You saw what that thing did to the Louvre! You said it yourself, it’s one of the largest sphinxes outside Egypt.” Even as the words come out, I can’t believe I’m saying them. This whole thing is insane.

  He just watches me.

  The guy might be real, but he’s definitely crazy! Crazy Guy, indeed. And he expects me to help capture a sphinx? No way. Not happening in this lifetime. The one in Thebes ate people who answered its riddle incorrectly. If this thing behaves… no, no, no, no, what am I saying? My heart’s racing. This whole notion is insane.

  “Let me get this straight. You mysteriously show up, twice now,”—I raise two fingers—“tell me some farfetched story that I supposedly brought a sphinx statue to life and ‘we’ are supposed to go capture the thing. I’m sorry, but I’m not about to risk life and limb…” I wave my hands. “I don’t know you from Adam. I don’t even know your name.”

  His face is grim. “People will die if we don’t.”

  “Why must I come? You seem more than capable.”

  He chuckles. “As I mentioned in the scroll room, secret magic will only answer to the one who wielded the power to release it.”

  “You said that’s why I had to put the scroll away, not that I have to—”

  “Address the consequences?” He raises an eyebrow.

  I furrow my brow. “What’s this consequences business? You invited me to come with you, and I declined.”

  “I didn’t want to scare you away from what ultimately must be done. I didn’t make the rules.” His jaw is tight.

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “How do you know I’m not?” He looks me up and down.

  I throw my head back and raise my hands, pleading with whatever higher being hears me to knock some sense into this guy.

  “You saw what it did to the Louvre,” he adds.

  I open my mouth to object, then close it again as he fixes his gaze on me. He’s not going to take “no” for an answer.

  “Are you afraid?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure what I feel, let alone what to think.” I shake my head.

  “This again?” He frowns. “We’ve been through this.”

  “Good of you to be so sure, but pardon me if I’m just a wee bit skeptical. This is just too weird.”

  He crosses his arms and starts tapping a foot. “I wasn’t kidding when I said people will die. There’s no telling how many. Can you live with yourself?”

  Nice… He’s trying to guilt me.

  I throw my hands down. “I don’t know if all this is real, how am I supposed to feel bad?”

  He gives me a long look, then says, “Go change.”

  I furrow my brow. “What? Why?”

  “We’re going out to get you something to eat since you spilled your soup.”

  “It was your fault.”

  He frowns. “Go.”

  My unwelcome visitor is ordering me around. What’s wrong with this picture?

  I roll my eyes but rise and grab a change of clothes from the dresser, hiding my clean undies in the middle as I pull them from the drawer, then head for the bathroom. I gnash my teeth when I remember that the lock on the door doesn’t work.

  Uncertainty over what Crazy Guy might do while I’m changing makes me hurry. I peel off my soupy sweats, wash up, then don my last pair of clean jeans and evergreen hoodie, taking time only to run a brush through my wet locks.

  When I reappear, Crazy Guy reclines against the headboard of my bed. I’m pleased to see he’s kept his dirty boots off. He might be dangerous, but at least he isn’t a barbarian.

  I scan the room to see what he might have gotten into and discover that the gross soup mess at my desk has disappeared. “You cleaned up after me. Thank you.”

  “It was the least I could do… since I was told it was my fault.” He raises a dark eyebrow.

  I grin. “Yes, well…”

  My cheeks warm as he looks me up and down, not saying a word. Damn cheeks. The guy’s sexy good looking, but he’s crazy, I remind myself.

  A corner of Crazy Guy’s mouth hitches up as if he can read my warring thoughts, and my face heats all the more. Argh.

  “Boots.” He nods toward the tile where they stand, one next to the other, as clean as the day I bought them.

  “You…” I draw a hand to my chest.

  “Yes, I cleaned them up, too. You’re welcome.”

  I snort as I stride over and grab them, then sit on the chair at my desk. “Thank you. You’re quite domestic.”

  His eyebrows hike up nearly to his hairline.

  My coat is equally pristine when I grab it, along with being dry. How?

  Despite my wonder, a smile escapes me when I shrug it on to discover it’s toasty warm. “Maybe I should keep you around.”

  He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

  Crazy Guy is kinda cute. Cute but crazy, I remind myself.

  “Just trying to expedite feeding you.”

  “Is it still rain
ing? We can take my car,” I ask, standing and opening the blind.

  “Doesn’t matter. Let’s walk. There’s a little café not far from here.”

  I turn furrowed brows on him. It’s only my absolute favorite café, partly because it’s within walking distance, partly because their baklava is to die for. “You’ve eaten there?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know about it?”

  The two locks on the door release, and it opens of its own accord. I open my mouth as I look between it and him.

  “Let’s go.” He directs with an open palm.

  The three flickering lights in the parking lot reveal rain coming down at an angle. Great. I throw up my hood as I cross the threshold. Crazy Guy follows, but when I turn around with key in hand, he assures me it’s already locked.

  I bite my lip, unsure what to make of him. Screw this. No way am I relying on the word of Crazy Guy when it comes to my safety. I push him aside and jiggle the handle. Locked.

  “Satisfied?” He smirks.

  “A girl can never be too careful.”

  His smirk becomes a grin. “Shall we?” He nods toward the parking lot.

  I give him a long look.

  My uncertainty only grows as I take several steps, because neither precipitation nor wind touch either of us. In fact, it feels as though we walk in a warm cocoon.

  I stop.

  “Who are you?” A mixture of awe and fear fill my voice.

  “As I’ve told you, I am just someone with gifts you’ve never experienced.”

  “And that’s supposed to explain everything.”

  “I think so. Now come.” He grabs my hand and starts off again.

  I have no choice with his grip holding me captive, so I follow. I hadn’t noticed before what with my mind occupied with my world being turned upside down, but his hand is warm, strong, and firm. Are his nails flawlessly manicured? In the dark, I can’t see, but he’s no pretty boy. No, he’s dangerous, wild, and untamed. What do the hands of a sexy guy like that look like?

  The second the thoughts register, I tug my hand free earning a wink.

  My cheeks warm again. Damn them. What is wrong with me? At least we’re outside with only flickering lights. Hopefully it’ll conceal their treachery.

  I’m never so glad when after walking nearly two blocks, noise spills out of the café through the open door as a patron leaves.

  “This is it.” I motion.

  Crazy Guy proves chivalrous, opening the door for me. I give him a point for that.

  The strong smell of meat, greens, olives, fish, and seafood tickle my nose as hearty laughter ripples across the probably twenty or so wood tables, as we stop at the lime-green hostess desk.

  Greeks are known for enjoying their food and spending hours after their meal talking and having a great time, creating a relaxed and jolly atmosphere. Tonight is no different from every other time I’ve been to Atitamos’s, this quaint family-owned café. As usual, it’s packed.

  “Pell!” Calix, the owner’s son, calls in Greek over the din, animatedly waving for me to come.

  “They know you,” Crazy Guy says, shifting to Greek and smiling as he extends a hand.

  I raise an eyebrow. I picked up Greek over the course of working on this dig, but he’s multilingual.

  I wind my way through the maze of tables to a table-for-two by the window.

  “Perfect timing, Pell. I just reset this,” Calix says as he pulls out a chair for me. “And you brought a guest. How wonderful. Welcome, sir.” He and Crazy Guy exchange nods, and then he hands us menus before continuing, “Helene will be your server tonight. Enjoy!” He waves as he walks off.

  “You must frequent this place.”

  I snicker. “You could say that. I love their baklava. Best I’ve ever had.”

  “You’re an aficionado?” Crazy Guy grins.

  I scrunch my face. “You might say that.”

  He chuckles.

  Helene, a young, bouncy ball of Greek goodwill, winks when she spots Crazy Guy from behind as she approaches, and I shuffle my feet under the table.

  “Why, Pell, you must be hungry tonight. You picked up soup earlier,” she says, stopping and pulling out a pad from her apron.

  I glance at Crazy Guy, as a corner of his mouth rises.

  “Long story, but I’m afraid my soup faced an untimely demise before I could finish it. The part I ate was delicious though.”

  “Oh dear, well, we’ll take care of you. What’ll you have?” She grabs a pencil from above her ear.

  “Do you know what you want?” I ask Crazy Guy.

  “Why don’t you order for me, sounds like you know what’s good.”

  I nod, then look up. “We’ll split an order of spanakopita, and another of moussaka, and let’s have dolmades, too.”

  “I presume you’ll finish with baklava? Pistachio, walnut, or honey?” Helene asks, grinning.

  “You know me too well, but let’s get a sampler.” I smile.

  Helene bursts out laughing. “Anything to drink?”

  “Two Mythos beers, please.”

  She finishes scribbling her notes and leaves.

  Crazy Guy leans forward. “So what will I be enjoying?”

  “Spanakopita is spinach pie. Moussaka is made with potato, eggplant, and ground meat. And dolmades are stuffed grape leaves with a rice mixture inside.”

  “Sounds like it’s a good thing I made you spill your soup.” Crazy Guy chuckles.

  I smile as I pick up a coaster and start playing with it. He’s dangerous, wild, and untamed, I remind myself.

  As if on cue, he locks eyes with me, and switching back to English, says, “So back to our earlier conversation about that sphinx.”

  Chapter Nine

  My insides tense.

  Still leaning forward, Crazy Guy moves his plate and utensils aside, then looks into my eyes as he lays his hands flat on the table; his rings click as they kiss the wood. A table-for-two has never felt so small.

  “Pell, unless I miss my guess, that sphinx is halfway to its destination.”

  I’m glad no one around us can understand our conversation. “Destination? What are you talking about?”

  “Beings who are brought back, usually return to where they sealed their secret.”

  “This happens often?” I tilt my head, holding back a smile.

  Crazy Guy rolls his eyes. “No, but that sphinx was…” He pauses, as if thinking about how to say what he’s about to say. “… found among the ruins of the Temple of Amun in San El-Hagar, Egypt. So that’s where it will probably return.”

  My eyes go wide, and I hold up a hand. “Wait. San El-Hagar?”

  Crazy Guy goes still. “You know it?”

  “Ancient Egyptians called it Djanet, the Bible refers to the city as Zoan, but it originally went by Tanis.” My voice rises, and I rub my ring.

  Crazy Guy stares back with a blank expression.

  “1866.” I laugh as lightness fills my chest.

  “Excuse me?”

  “In 1866, Karl Richard Lepsius discovered the Decree of Canopus at Tanis.” I beam.

  Crazy Guy furrows his brow, brings a hand up and begins tapping his lips with a finger.

  He’s not getting it, doesn’t matter.

  “The Decree of Canopus is similar to the Rosetta Stone. Its text was written in both Egyptian hieroglyphs and demotic as well as Greek and contributed significantly to figuring out how to decipher hieroglyphics.”

  Crazy Guy’s expression remains slack.

  “See this ring?” I hold it so he can see it. “I taught myself hieroglyphics so I could read the inscription.”

  His silver and gold eyes go wide. “You taught yourself? I’m impressed.”

  I dip my head and smile. “Thank you.”

  Helene interrupts as she sets two foamy beers down.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, reverting briefly to Greek again.

  “My pleasure, dear, enjoy.” She winks again as she
turns, and I cough, then grab the ice-cold stein and take a quick sip.

  Crazy Guy chuckles and takes a drink of his own. “Mmm, not bad.” He’s back to English.

  “It’s a local favorite.” I set my mug on the table.

  “Um, you…” Crazy Guy stares at my lips, then waves a finger.

  I’m the one with a blank expression, now.

  My heart accelerates as he reaches over and runs a finger across the corner of my mouth. “You had foam…” He smiles as wipes it on his napkin.

  “Th… Thank you.” I look down before he can see my warming cheeks.

  “So, Tanis,” he says, sitting back.

  “Yes, Tanis.” I rub a thigh beneath the table.

  “You’d enjoy seeing it?”

  I’ve never visited most of the places I study… only the Louvre, but that hardly matters at the moment.

  He’s dangerous, wild, and untamed, I remind myself.

  But what if he is telling the truth? I shift my feet.

  Crazy Guy watches me as he takes another swallow.

  “People will die.” His words run through my head, and I start jiggling a knee as a lump forms in my throat.

  The notion is still crazy… reanimated, granite statues? But Crazy Guy’s definitely real… different, but very real. Which means the scrolls are, too. It’s why he’s here, or so he says.

  I rub my arm.

  Can I live with myself if I really did what he says? No, I’d never intentionally hurt anyone.

  Crazy Guy looks out the window as I sort out my thoughts. His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes another swallow.

  Adam’s apple, I chuckle to myself. I still don’t know him from Adam, not even his name. And he’s got some really weird abilities. The clean carpet and my de-souped desk; like-new boots; my cleaned and warmed jacket; that door locking trick; and his anti-ugly-weather bubble, all cases in point. He’s right, he’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.

  Dinner arrives and I force back my melancholy.

  Crazy Guy grins as I turn perky, moving things around to make all three dishes plus our plates fit the small table.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” I say, setting more than half the moussaka on his plate, then adding spanakopita and finally divvying up the dolmades.

  He raises his stein.