by L. R. W. Lee
“What are we toasting?” I ask, raising mine.
“You, of course.”
My insides tense.
“Why me?” I smile uncomfortably.
“Aside from your beauty, you have a sharp mind and a good heart.” His voice is even.
My face, neck, and ears turn impossibly hot, yet I sense he’s speaking sincerely; it makes me blush all the harder.
“You don’t even know me,” I protest, shifting in my seat, then jiggling my legs.
“I’ve a good sense of character.” He holds my gaze, making my pulse race.
I’m hard on myself and have never been good at accepting compliments so this…
Pell, you’re losing it.
You’re telling me?
He clinks my glass, and I take a gulp of beer, making myself cough.
A corner of his mouth hitches up, but he doesn’t comment.
I hope he doesn’t notice my hand trembling when I pick up my fork and quickly shove a bite of moussaka in my mouth.
“Mmm. This is good, very good,” he says, chewing as if nothing has happened.
For him nothing has, clearly. But he’s just rocked my world… again, this time with a compliment. Who is this man? I hate feeling out of control, but it seems it’s natural for him to upend my reality.
I still haven’t said anything several bites later as my heart slows to its normal rhythm and, thank god, my face cools.
We eat in silence and my mind starts mulling more over what he warns.
“These flavors are amazing, Pell,” he says.
I look up. He’s practically licked his plate clean while I wool gather, staring at my plate. “What? Oh, sorry. Good, I’m glad you like it. I told you it was good.” My tone’s flat.
“A woman of your word.” He gives me an easy nod.
I bob my head.
“So, about that baklava.” He grins.
“Did that sphinx statue really come to life?”
He doesn’t take offense at my question this time, his earnest expression tells me as much, he just pulls the paper napkin from his lap and places it on his plate. It seems he understands my inquiry stems from a search for truth, not dismissing the fantastical out of hand.
“You saw the Louvre,” he says.
I bite my lip.
He draws his palms up. “I’m not going to tell you I understand how because I don’t, but I can tell you that it most assuredly did.”
“And we are supposed to stop it, somehow.” I fiddle with my hair.
A smile lights his lips, then disappears just as quickly. “That is correct.”
“Before people die.”
“Preferably.”
I shake my head. This is crazy. I’m crazy for even considering it.
“Do you know how to stop it?” Dread fills my words.
“I have a few ideas.”
“Have you ever stopped a sphinx before, reanimated or… other?”
“No.”
Perfect.
“How did the person who sealed this sphinx’s secrets to begin with, not get ripped to shreds?”
“I can only assume the sphinx knew…” He looks away, searching for words. “… that person was the only one who could help her, it was in her best interest to be nice. Unfortunately, she will be, shall we say, not a little upset that her secret was released.”
“Do you suppose she’ll know it was me that spilled the beans?”
“I’ve no doubt. Secret magic always leaves a trace.”
Great. Just great.
“You talk about secret magic like you’re familiar with it.”
“You could say that.”
He’s certainly been secretive enough about himself. He’s a regular professional—a real Houdini—at this rate. “Does that make you a magician?” I chuckle.
Crazy Guy frowns.
Guess not. “What exactly is secret magic? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It is a magic as old as time itself. It’s what preserves order in every civilization. Without secret magic, chaos would rule.”
“Secrets preserve order?” I press my lips together, unsure I’ve heard correctly. I’m furious again about Margo, thanks to the news report earlier. These aren’t the first scandals I’ve complained about.
“They do.” That’s all he says.
“With all due respect, it seems to me rich, powerful people are always getting away with stuff.” Crooked snakes. “They have to be paying someone off to keep their secrets. Secrets do anything but preserve order in my humble opinion.” I draw a hand to my chest.
He tilts his head but doesn’t reply.
What’s that supposed to mean? If this guy thinks otherwise, he’s crazier than I guess. And as mysterious as the secret magic he believes in—that he believes has rules, that must be obeyed.
I furrow my brow. How can he believe secrets are a good thing? My mind wanders as I take another bite of the spanakopita.
But a minute later, I set my fork down on my plate, stopping myself from looking at him. Crazy Guy maintains I’ve messed up some ancient secret and brought that sphinx back. If true, I can see where he might view exposing a secret as creating chaos.
But what about those corrupt politicians and their secrets? They create chaos by keeping them if you ask me, not that anyone has.
I drain my beer.
Crazy Guy’s certainly sure with his responses when it comes to that sphinx, and he’s downright masterful at keeping anything about himself hush-hush despite my asking. There’s more to him than meets the eye, I’m sure of it.
A sense of calm overtakes me the more I think about it.
How much does Crazy Guy know about this whole secret keeping thing?
I’ve chaffed and moaned about the unfairness of that government scandal, but with the exception of writing letters, lots of them, hopefully exposing Mister Handsy’s secrets so Margo could realize justice, I’ve never done anything about my frustration. Why would I? I’m powerless.
But Crazy Guy seems to possess knowledge beyond me.
What more might I learn about this magic if I spend more time with him?
Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you, Pell?
Butterflies rise in my stomach, and I snicker to myself, trying to stop my soaring emotions.
Stop, Pell, this is serious, I tell myself.
Still, my breathing speeds.
There’s more to Crazy Guy, and I will discover what while finding out more about this secret magic of his. Maybe it’ll also give me an opportunity to do something about that political scandal instead of just moaning about it. It’s a lofty goal, I know, but hey, go big or go home.
“You okay, Pell?” Concern mars Crazy Guy’s features.
“Oh. Yes. I think the beer went to my head.”
I sit back as Helene stacks our dirty dishes up and down her arm, smiling. “Your baklava sampler will be right up.”
“Thank you,” I say, as she turns.
Crazy Guy raises a finger to Helene. “Excuse me, the flavor was excellent.”
“Why thank you.” Helene oozes excitement.
I tilt my head, wondering what he’s doing.
“Do you perhaps happen to sell your signature spices? Atitamos’s Mediterranean Seasoning?”
Helene chuckles. “As a matter of fact we do. Can I get you one?”
“If you would, please.”
“You enjoy cooking?” I ask as Helene turns.
He gives a shrug.
Okay then. Crazy Guy indeed.
“I'll tell my dig master I'm still not feeling well and won’t be there tomorrow, and I’ll book a flight for the two of us.” Good thing I just got paid.
“You’re going to help?” A broad smile graces his perfect lips, as I text Jude. I just hope the message goes through, broken as my phone is.
“I am. If, on the off chance you’re right about this sphinx, you are correct that I can’t live with myself if someone’s hurt… or worse…”
&
nbsp; I glance over at him. He still hasn’t told me his name despite me… “prying,” it’s what it feels like. But if he expects me to go with him, it’s the least he can give me, I mean, come on, this girl has standards.
You go, Pell. Get this turkey to gobble.
I clear my throat. “If we’re going to be working together, would you at least tell me your name, or I may have to take to calling you ‘Crazy Guy.’” I don’t add, “… like I’ve been.”
Crazy Guy locks gazes with me, frowning.
I put on my sweetest smile in response. With all the baklava I’ve consumed, I nearly make myself sick.
“It’s Harpoc.”
Score one, Pell. I can practically hear my inner minion whistling and clapping wildly.
“Harpoc.” I run it around my mouth, then nod. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I add.
His eyes narrow. “I’m a very private being. It hurt tremendously.” But a corner of his mouth hitches, and I know he’s joking.
I crack up. I’ve only asked his name a million times. Apparently it took a million and one. Duly noted, persistence pays with this one. Right up my alley, little does he know, oh yes, little does he know. Well, that and calling him something he doesn’t appreciate.
I chuckle to myself. I’m learning your ways, oh secretive one. Mwhahaha.
His easy smile is back, like he can read my thoughts and I’m cracking him up.
“You’ve made the right decision, to help,” he says. “But no need to book flights, I’ll get us there.”
“Um… how?” Why does it feel like I’ve just told the devil I’ll go with him?
He chuckles. “You’ll see.”
Chapter Ten
“Ready to go stop a sphinx?” Harpoc asks as he opens the café’s door for me.
He stuffs the bottle of Atitamos’s Mediterranean Seasoning in his breast pocket as we step back outside into a downpour, but thankfully his anti-ugly-weather bubble shields us in an instant.
“You mean right… right this minute?” No way in hell am I ready.
“No time like the present. While we’ve been getting acquainted, that sphinx is probably almost to San El-Hagar.”
“And you think we’ll somehow catch it before it wreaks havoc? That’s hours from here.”
A corner of his mouth rises. “I think we might make it in the nick of time if we hurry.”
I give him a long look. This guy’s different, I remind myself. Different, yes, but he can’t bend time, can he?
He holds out an open palm.
I look between it and his face a time or two before slowly taking it.
My heart launches into an all-out sprint as he draws me close and closer until he turns me around and tucks me under an arm.
“Put your arm around my waist,” he says, giving a playful, fox-like grin.
I swallow hard. What am I getting myself into?
I ease an arm around the back of his duster, the scent of citrus with a hint of cloves filling my nose. Mmm. I can’t help but notice how deliciously firm his middle is as I tighten my hold around his lean muscles.
He winks. “Like the feel?”
My eyes go huge and I recoil, almost, because he holds my hand firm, leaving no escape from utter embarrassment as my cheeks burn.
Just shoot me.
He snickers, then draws me closer still with a strong arm. “Hold tight.”
I shriek as I become weightless and completely disoriented in an instant; an overwhelming feeling of being rudderless in a void of darkness crashes over me. I squeeze his middle making my arms hurt—I hope I don’t break one of his ribs—but there’s no way I’ll ease up.
My ears and nose ache with the freezing chill that fills wherever we are. Only Harpoc’s warmth mitigates some small part of it. Small mercy, his firm arm around my waist reassures, telling me he won’t let me fall.
My stomach isn’t happy with me after six pieces of baklava—don’t give me that, it’s baklava—but its gurgling has shifted into overdrive the longer this chaos reigns, and it’s only getting worse. Oh gods, I really don’t want to barf all over Harpoc, I’d rather die.
Focus on his sexy scent, Pell, I tell myself.
Perhaps I can divert my attention until my world returns to normal.
What am I talking about? If I didn’t feel like hurling, the thought would make me laugh. My world will never return to normal in Harpoc’s arms.
He squeezes my waist, and I feel his warm breath on my ear as he says, “We’re here.”
A chill races up my back, and a second later, we slow dramatically and I suck in a breath as a nighttime landscape comes into view. Swallowing hard, I attempt to breathe deeply, trying to settle my stomach while streetlights and lights from tiny homes below twinkle as we soar over.
We’re flying! First dark chaos, now this!? My death grip around Harpoc’s middle tightens, if that’s even possible.
The skies have cleared from the stormy ones we left in Mycenae, and the nearly full moon ahead lends additional light to reveal clouds as well as movement just to my right.
I look over in time to see a large, black… what is that? I squint only a second. Feathers, lots and lots of black feathers, covering a very large wing.
A quick check to my left confirms Harpoc has another wing and tingling erupts in my toes that isn’t from the cold.
Wings? Harpoc has wings? My chest tightens. What other secrets does he possess? Who is he? What is he?
But more, we’re gliding through the air with nothing but our arms keeping me aloft. I only barely suppress a shriek. I can’t stop my body from wriggling.
“I’ve got you,” he says in his calming baritone. “I’m not going to let you fall.”
It doesn’t matter. I squirm all the more.
“Look there,” he says, nodding toward a barren stretch that starts just past the edge of the glowing city lights.
The moon isn’t quite bright enough to make out exactly what I’m seeing at this distance, but it looks like a field of huge broken and weathered stones lying near each other at odd angles.
I still as I drink in the moment. The ancient city of Tanis, it has to be, and my mouth goes dry. So much history that’s changed mankind—that’s changed my life—lies below.
The site comes closer and closer as we descend, and my feet itch to find solid ground.
“Put your feet forward.”
He has to be kidding what with the wind rushing by, but I attempt to comply and bring my feet up despite anxiety peaking as the ground rushes ever closer.
Please don’t crash.
I screech when the hard-packed dirt looms mere feet away.
Harpoc only grins, no doubt thinking my terror is cute.
Cute my ass.
He tilts his wings up, then beats them, no different than a bird.
“Feet out.” He sets us down gently. “That wasn’t so bad now was it?”
We made it. We didn’t die. I’m not roadkill, or flightkill.
I stagger, then trip over my own feet as I try to stand. Grace, my agility-challenged compatriot, has come, too, it seems.
“Whoa, Pell, you okay there?” he asks, steadying me.
“Just peachy, can’t you tell?” I say, fighting for stability.
He eases his grip, seemingly testing my prowess at remaining vertical.
Breathe, Pell, breathe, I tell myself and finally release Harpoc.
“I think you broke only two of my ribs,” he jokes.
“Sorry.” I look down.
“You’ll get used to it.”
I bring my head up sharply. He’s assuming a lot. “Used to it? I don’t think so.”
He only smiles as his wings vanish.
I gasp, and my knees nearly buckle. What have I gotten myself into, wanting to know more about his secret magic?
Harpoc winks. He’s really getting his jollies out of startling me, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Good thing he’s easy on the eyes. Butterflies rise in my stom
ach.
He scans the area. “We beat the sphinx here, but we should let the dig team know she’s coming.”
“Dig team?”
He points to a modest grouping of tents a ways up the field.
Of course, Tanis is a virtual trove of antiquities and is still an active dig site. What’s wrong with me? That flight messed up more than my stomach.
It hasn’t been raining here that much is clear as my boots kick up dust as we pass the legs of a statue no longer connected to its torso, and my pulse speeds. Ruins always leave me feeling a connection with the people who once lived here when I touch the artifacts they left behind. I long to run my fingers over them, but first things first.
Halfway to the encampment, we pass mega blocks of granite that are loosely stacked to mark where a wall of some ancient building must have stood. But the whole time we walk, Harpoc keeps scanning the skies, making me nervous.
I still don’t want to believe him, but he has some really unimaginable stuff going on—materializing out of shadows, magically transporting us here—why the heck not a sphinx? I can’t believe I’m maybe starting to believe him.
My inner voice remains silent, unable to counter my arguments. I wish she could.
It’s downright balmy here, and I unzip my heavy coat as we pass four broken obelisks that have been repaired, after a sort, and stood up again, marking what might be a large courtyard. No doubt hieroglyphs are inscribed on them, and I’d love to study them, but not right now.
The encampment turns out to comprise six large, blue tents that sit near three partial stone walls with what I guess is a statue of Ramesses II or some other big shot pharaoh along one of them.
“The temple of Amun.” Harpoc points. “This is where the sphinx will come. It used to guard it.”
He knows this how? I glance over at him, but he’s looking at the sky again.
A flap of one of the tents opens and two men dressed in cargo pants and lightweight white cotton dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up step out. One carries a clipboard.
They haven’t heard us talking because they both startle when they spot us, then head our way.
“Can we help you?” Mister Clipboard says, giving us a stern, you-shouldn’t-be-in-this-restricted-area look.
Harpoc opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up a hand. No matter what’s happened, this is not the time to have them throw us out because they think we’re crazy.