by L. R. W. Lee
I shake my head, unable to hold back a grin. “No idea.”
So goes the afternoon with Harpoc’s reactions to my exposition continually cracking me up, but no opportunity presents itself to probe into his understanding of whatever language he and the sphinx spoke in, and perhaps, more importantly, whether it’s his secret magic that allows him to know other languages quickly and easily. It’s okay. I can be patient.
As the sun, at last, sends long, orange rays across the field, I turn to Harpoc. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting me blather on and on about old and dusty artifacts.”
“I actually found some of your interpretations enlightening. Like the purpose and use of some of the tools.” He wags his brows.
I furrow mine. “Do you know of a different purpose for some?” I’d given him the generally accepted understanding.
He grins as he puts a finger over his mouth and shakes his head.
Then why that reaction? Maybe the sexy dude thinks they look more like sex toys. I snort to myself. But it again feels like he’s hiding something. So what else is new?
His eyes stop dancing, and he glances over the site again. “You ready to go?”
I scan the field one last time, the blue tents a long ways down. It’s been an amazing day, one that I’ll never forget both in watching Harpoc’s reactions as well as—my cheeks warm—ogling his fine, fine bod. Of course, there’d also been the site and its artifacts. I squelch a snicker.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
I draw my hand behind his back like before and breathe in his citrus and clove scent. It doesn’t feel nearly as awkward as it did the first time.
Watch yourself, Pell. You still don’t know much about him.
I ignore my inner voice as he draws me closer and shadows swallow us.
As before, I shriek as disorientation and darkness scare me shitless for what feels like an eternity and my stomach nearly empties itself.
Cursed tripskipping!
Thankfully there’s no flight involved this time—I won’t ask why. I certainly don’t miss it—because I find myself beside him in my ramshackle motel room. I’m never so glad to see it, smelly carpet, peeling paint, and all, once more. Perhaps there’s a certain charm to it, after all.
But the confines of my small room make things feel weird again as I step out of his arms—I enjoy feeling his firm arms around me, too much.
Snap out of it, Pell.
I head for the safety of my desk to lean against, then turn. “Um… would you care for a drink or something? We can go out for dinner, to a different place tonight.” I want to pepper him with more questions about his secret magic.
He smiles a smile that I’m quickly finding lights me up inside, then straightens the collar of his duster. “Thank you for the invitation, but I need to attend to a few things at home.”
I clear my throat, trying to push back sadness that besets me with those words. “Where is home for you?” I still haven’t placed his accent, and it can’t hurt to ask.
He forces a smile. “As I mentioned before, the less you know about me the better. I had fun today, though. Thank you.”
His eyes look tired all of a sudden, and I bite back the question of why? He said before it would put me in danger, but from who? What’s wrong with knowing more about him? Regardless, his tiredness tells me it’s been a while since he’s played like we did today.
I bite my tongue wanting to ask when… or if… I’ll see him again.
Just stop, Pell. Don’t be needy.
I rub my ring. Is that it, then? Is my opportunity to better understand him and his magic gone?
“Okay then, until later,” he says, then dark shadows swirl around him and he vanishes.
He said “later.” My stomach flutters, and my thoughts start to swirl. Is that definitely “later” or the noncommittal, “later” later? He doesn’t seem the type to flower his words. Wait, no, he said, “until later.” Is that different than just “later”?
Pell, get a grip.
I smile as I again chose to ignore my inner voice.
Who is this guy who’s crawled into my brain and is slowly making me crazy?
Chapter Sixteen
I fight my way inside the flap of the command tent’s undulating blue canvas. The rain has abated over night, but not the wind, and it’s still miserably cold. Welcome to Greece.
“Where’s Jude?” I ask, killing conversation between three of the guys who sit sipping coffee from paper cups at one of the picnic tables.
“And good morning to you, too, Pell,” Terin, the finds manager, says, chuckling.
I frown as I cross over to the coffee carafe perched on the food table alongside paximadi, a hard bread, hummus, yogurt, and fruit. My stomach rumbles in eager anticipation.
“Jude’s at the cistern. Irik dragged him out there first thing. Wouldn’t even let him finish his breakfast.”
I inhale sharply, and my stomach goes hard. “The cistern? Why?” I attempt to keep my tone light and fail.
“No idea.” Terin takes another sip of his coffee.
I grab a cup of coffee and throw a top on it, hastily slather hummus on a piece of paximadi, and stuff it in my mouth before heading back out into the elements.
My thoughts mirror the swirling gusts as I clutch my coffee and chew, sloughing my way through the mud past overturned wheelbarrows and buckets. What’s so urgent to have Irik drag Jude all the way out there before he finished his breakfast?
Harpoc resealed that room. He did. I keep telling myself.
Despite my best efforts, my mind can conjure no possibilities except that Irik has somehow found it, and my stomach twists.
Please, no.
Dust and faint voices greet me as I reach the top of the cistern stairway.
I don’t bother licking my fingers, just wipe them on the limestone blocks before turning on my Maglite and plunging into the depths.
I sneeze within twenty steps, and halfway down, through the haze, my light reveals several loose rocks strewn across the landing.
Crap.
I scurry down the remaining stairs and stop dead in my tracks as I turn left at the bottom. A pickax rests amongst a host of broken and scattered limestones, beside a gaping hole in the wall.
Shit!
I sneeze again as I pick my way toward the no-longer-secret room with trepidation. How did Irik know about it?
“This may be the greatest find in the last decade, Irik. Unbelievable.” Jude’s voice drifts into the landing, oozing enthusiasm and awe. “I still don’t understand how you found it.”
Neither do I.
Irik laughs. “Just a little thumping here and there.”
Call me a fiery redhead but my temper ignites in an instant. He plans to take credit for my find. But what am I going to say? Yeah, Jude, I found this trove of scrolls day before yesterday and then a sexy guy came and together we dealt with a sphinx that came to life as a result?
“I’d no idea there might be something so extraordinary right under our noses,” Jude continues.
It about kills me to bite my tongue, but I manage it, just barely, crushing my empty coffee cup as I fist my hands, then stuff it in my pocket.
Play it cool, Pell. Play it cool. Focus on the problem and pray they haven’t read any of those scrolls.
I put on my best face of indifference and stride into the room. “Good morning. The guys told me I could find you here.”
“Pell,” Jude says, glancing up at me from where he kneels before two ancient manuscripts that lay open. “Look what Irik discovered.”
Irik, the dumb ass, lets the corner of his mouth rise. I do my best to ignore the idiot, gazing across the shelves bursting with ancient knowledge that still inspires awe in me, but my stomach sours as I realize, not counting the scrolls on the floor, several more are missing. Did Irik make off with them? I wouldn’t put it past him.
I return my focus to the open scrolls and bite my
lip before asking, “What do they say?”
“We’ve only just started translating them, Pell,” Jude says. “It’s odd considering we’re in Greece, but they’re in hieroglyphs.”
Yes! They haven’t read them.
I quickly wipe the smile off my face.
“Hieroglyphs are your specialty if I remember, Pelly,” Irik says, winking as he unzips his navy parka where he stands near the shelves.
I struggle to push down the fury he knows he’s unleashing with the use of that name. “Irik, have you ever heard of a bony-eared assfish?”
He grins. “Can’t say I have.”
“Not a wonder. They have the smallest brain-to-body weight ratio of all vertebrates, and you’ve just proven you are one.”
The royal snob’s eyes go wide, and I laugh.
Jude cuts off our bickering. “I have to admit I’m a bit rusty with my ancient Egyptian. Why don’t you help us out?”
Crap, crap, crap.
“Should you be trying to decipher them out in the field? Won’t it hurt the scrolls?” I ask. It’s worth a try.
“One or two shouldn’t be a problem, right, Jude?” Irik winks at me and my eyes go wide.
Pay the jerk no mind, Pell. I exhale loudly.
Jude motions for me to kneel beside him. “This find is historic and I have to know what they say before I contact headquarters.” Jude’s anything but emotive usually, but excitement laces his every word.
Damn. Where’s Harpoc when I need him? I can’t release another centuries-old creature.
“Go ahead,” Jude says, after I hesitate for a minute. I steal a look out of the corner of my eye to see his eyes sparkle.
A little help Harpoc?
I clear my throat as Irik the Oaf lands on his knees across from me. “Yes, go ahead, Pelly.”
Don’t be like him, Pell, be the better woman. I barely stifle a snicker.
I focus on the text that Jude shines his light on, and my stomach goes hard. Whatever it is, there’s only two or three sentences devoted to it. I’ll decipher it in no time.
Crap, crap, double crap. How can I delay longer? Harpoc, get your sexy ass over here.
“Go ahead, Pell,” Jude encourages.
“I con…” Irik says, trying to beat me to it. “Wait, what’s that next character?”
I give him an evil eye. If I dally longer, these two’ll no doubt attempt to translate it and all hell will again break out.
They can’t know the true nature of these scrolls. With his big mouth, Irik will blabber Harpoc’s secrets in that arrogant, snobbish droll of his to anyone who’ll listen. They’ll be public knowledge quicker than I can say “Irik’s an ass” and who knows how many other creatures might be brought back once they’re fully translated.
I glance at the papyrus.
Please, oh please, be the secret of an ant or tiny, tiny, tiny cockroach. Who knows if such creatures have secrets, but I can hope.
I refocus on the first line of the text. Like the sphinx’s scroll, this missive begins with a title. My shoulders curl forward as I read, “Secret of Zephyr the Harpy.”
Shiiiit!
“A harpy? They were the dogs of Zeus, agents of punishment who abducted people and tortured them on their way to Tartarus. They were vicious, cruel, and violent,” Jude says, and his eyes start to dance.
Harpoc! I don’t know how you knew I translated that scroll before, but get your sexy ass here, right now!
“A harpy had a secret?” Irik adds, like it’s no big deal. “Hmm, interesting thing to be written on this scroll.”
No, no, no, no, not interesting. Not one little bit. Jude’s right, Harpy’s are indeed Zeus’ minions. They’re big and bad and have a reputation for exacting all manner of evil and violence for their boss.
I exhale heavily. I can’t translate this. Harpies are nothing to mess with.
“I remember the story of when Zeus gave King Phineus of Thrace the gift of seeing the future, and he accidentally said too much,” I say, attempting to stall. “The fool gave away one of Zeus's secret plans so he punished the king by blinding him and putting him on an island with a buffet of food he could never eat because his harpies always arrived to steal it out of his hands before he could satisfy his hunger. Do you remember, Jude?”
I bite my lip. Come on, Harpoc. Where are you?
“Of course,” Jude says. “It continued until Jason and the Argonauts arrived. They’d been having problems figuring out a way around a perilous island. Phineus promised to tell them the course to take if they would deliver him from the harpies.”
“This is all fascinating, but what’s the rest of the scroll say?” Irik asks. He wags his brows. “I’m dying to know what secret a harpy could possibly have.”
Be careful what you wish for, Mister A. Nnoying Smartypants…
I clear my throat preparing to continue translating against my better judgment.
What if I mistranslate it? A flutter rises from my stomach at the completely random thought.
Yes. Mistranslating would surely keep Zephyr the harpy at bay. Right?
I shift and prepare to continue translating. “I confess that I”—I glance at my companions whose focus remains on the script— “I leaked Zeus’—”
“Wait, wait, wait. That’s a lion followed by two strokes, a single reed, and then a hand,” Irik blurts. “That’s ‘lied’ not ‘leaked,’ Pell.” The jerk wags his brows.
Urg. Busted!
“Sorry, my bad.”
Jude frowns. “You okay, Pell?”
“Yes. Sorry. Got ahead of myself.”
My boss bobs his head, indicating I should continue.
“I confess that I lied to Zeus.”
I again glance between the guys but get nothing but silence in return.
I can’t be held responsible.
You can, Pell. I exhale heavily.
The guys are waiting…
Blast it all. Harpoc.
“‘He instructed me to…’ Do you really want me to continue? Doesn’t it feel like we’re breaking some kind of confidence?”
Harpoc, come on, help a girl, would ya. The tone in my head turns pleading.
Jude and Irik furrow their brows.
“Why the hesitancy, Pell?” Jude asks.
“Oh, no. No hesitancy. It just feels… private is all.”
“Keep going,” Irik says, motioning.
I go back to my task. “‘He instructed me to haul that chupacabra off to Hades, but I didn’t.’ A gutsy move if you ask me,” I add.
Again only silence greets my exposition. I have just one sentence left.
You’re killing me, Harpoc. Killing me.
“‘The thing stunk to high Elysium, and I couldn’t do it.’” I exhale, tasting failure. “That’s everything.”
“That’s quite a secret, I must say.” Irik laughs. “Wonder what it means. Why would someone write something like that down? It doesn’t sound like any cultures I’ve yet studied.”
Jude’s smile eclipses his entire face. “Perhaps we’re about to discover a civilization predating Mycenae.”
Glad they’re excited because heaviness besets me. If this is like that sphinx, I’ve released Zephyr the harpy on the world and who knows what she’ll do?
Chapter Seventeen
“What’s this other scroll say, Pell?” Jude asks, motioning to the right, toward the other open manuscript. What’s left of its ragged corners are weighed down by chunks of loose limestone.
I barely resist closing my eyes with dread. As if a harpy unleashed on the world isn’t bad enough. They have no idea.
Harpoc, where are you? Get the lead out, I plead with the universe.
He came the instant I finished translating that other scroll. What’s taking him so long? He said he was “headed home” when he left last night. Exactly how far away is “home” for him? Was he “in the ‘hood’” and came immediately, before? So many questions. Surprise, surprise.
I fiddle with the rin
g on my finger as I try to come up with some excuse not to continue translating. The three of us have done enough damage.
As if in answer, the ground starts shaking and my eyes go wide. “Aftershock!”
Loose dirt begins raining down on us.
Irik looks at the ceiling. “Let’s get out of here.” His elbows press into his sides in fear.
If not for the situation, I would laugh at the big sissy.
“Yes, certainly,” Jude agrees, rising to standing.
No need to tell me twice.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, whoever you are who caused this. Not to be ungrateful, but if you can maybe also create a cave in, I’d really appreciate it. Oh, but wait until we’re out, okay?
More shaking is the only response. I’ll take it.
I grab my Maglite and bolt for the opening, taking the stairs two at a time. Those metallic eyes jump to the forefront of my mind as I propel myself upward as the shaking intensifies.
Okay bad idea, bad idea. No cave in, no cave in, please.
Everything will be okay, I keep telling myself.
Irik lumbers past me after ten steps.
Yeah, don’t mind me, ya pansy.
Halfway up, I start coughing as dust fills the stairway.
Faster, Pell, faster!
I steady myself with a hand against the trembling wall ten steps later.
Hey, I said no cave in!
The shaking continues, and I stagger out of the stairway and into the wind, coughing. A cloud of dust billows after me, but a stiff gust disburses it just as quickly.
Irik stands with his hands in his coat pockets, panting. “That was close.”
The tremor still shakes things, and I whirl around. “Where’s Jude?”
I look back into the mouth of the stairway, but it only belches more dust, and my heart crawls into my throat.
I run to the billowing dust, cupping a hand to my mouth. “Jude! Jude!”
“Pell, stop! You can’t go back in there.” Irik puts a meaty hand on my shoulder.
I jerk it off as I whirl around, teeth bared. “Don’t tell me what to do. Some friend you are.”
“What, you want to get yourself killed, too?” He throws up his hands.