by L. R. W. Lee
I run a hand across the surface, then wipe my now-chalky hands together. Definitely limestone.
His light follows me as I amble around the entire circumference of the probably fifteen-foot-diameter space noting no tunnels in either the roof or the floor that evidence a path for water as is common with limestone. It’s like a bubble in the middle of rock. “What carved this out?”
“I don’t know.”
“How’d you know it was here?”
He smiles.
I roll my eyes.
“As it happens, I sensed the cavity. I have no idea how it got here.”
“You ‘sensed’ it?”
He dips his head. “I did.”
“Using your powers for good and not for evil, I see.”
What did I expect? At least he answered for once.
“Something like that.” His grin’s back, and I’m quickly falling for it.
Get a grip, Pell. You still don’t know much about him.
“Is it your professional opinion that this place will provide the conditions necessary to store the scrolls?”
“Yes, I believe so. Bring ’em on, from wherever you put them.”
Harpoc vanishes in a whirl of shadows and is replaced by a wider, darker churn that swirls around nearly the entire space. My mouth drops open, and I shrink back, my jacket brushing the curved walls as the shadows expand to just inches away; thank goodness the ball of light still hovers over my shoulder.
Tingling erupts under my skin as more hovering balls of light appear out of the swirling darkness. The shadows thin, then mist away, illuminating a multitude of scrolls floating in the middle of the space.
I gasp. It’s like a floating library, each manuscript still rolled up, hovering horizontally, one above the other, floor to ceiling, in several rows.
“There’s so many.” I draw my hands to my mouth.
I hadn’t realized exactly their number crammed as they were in the dark, on those old, dilapidated shelves, but with them just floating here, filling nearly this entire space, my heart starts to race. Ancient history hovers before my very eyes.
Don’t get all sappy, Pell.
I have no control. Curiosity draws me like a snake to a charmer and, eyes wide, I take a tentative step forward, then another until I can reach out and touch one. I don’t. No way will I get my oils all over it, but I can.
Lightness fills my limbs, replacing the gloom that took hold of me minutes before and I nearly dance.
Harpoc might have taken this cracked pot out of the dig site, but he hasn’t taken the wonder of the dig site out of this cracked pot; and on top of that, his magic, what he’s done to bring these scrolls here, then make them float, it mesmerizes me, and I can’t tear my gaze away.
“Like it?”
I jump as Harpoc speaks from behind me. I didn’t hear him return.
I whirl around to find him, arms crossed, leaning against the curved wall, watching me, a satisfied look on his face. “I took the liberty of organizing them.” He points to the far left. “Least dangerous”—he moves his arm to the right—“to most.”
I take several steps to the left. “Not that I’ll be reading any more of these—” I chuckle. “—but I’ll be sure to stay on this end.”
Harpoc laughs. “Be sure you do.”
“Will they just stay this way? Floating?”
“Of course.”
Silly me, what did I expect, him and his hocus pocus, secret magic.
“That’s very cool.”
“I try.” He dips his chin.
He is shy. It looks good on him, and I smile.
“By the way, why didn’t you just add these to the scrolls you moved last night?”
He catches my gaze, and for a second, I think he might explain but, surprise, surprise, he schools his expression and asks, “Ready to tackle Zephyr?”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Tackle, Zephyr?” My eyes go wide. “You can’t be serious? I have to physically tackle her? I didn’t have to with the sphinx.”
Harpoc throws up a hand. “What I mean is, are you ready to deal with the harpy?”
I exhale, but I can’t stop my legs from quivering.
You brought her back, Pell, you need to own this.
Damn inner voice.
I hold my breath and bob my head.
“Good.” Harpoc pushes off the wall he’s been leaning against, looking oh so swank. His duster swishes as he closes the gap between us and draws my chin up with a finger. “I’m proud of you, Pell.”
Despite the dire situation, my stomach flutters.
My inner voice gags.
“It’s not too far so I thought we’d fly instead of tripskipping.” A corner of his mouth hitches up. “Unless you prefer to, of course.”
I bite my lip. Flying has scared me nearly as much as that damn trip-whatevering—gliding through the air with nothing but our arms keeping me aloft. The fidgeting in my legs intensifies.
But flying beats feeling like I’m about to ralph and I draw a hand to my stomach.
“Yes, let’s fly.” I force a smile.
“It’s okay to be scared to fly, Pell. Just know that I’ll never let you fall. You can trust me.”
“Do I have a choice?”
His metallic eyes dance. “You can swim.”
Some choice. I can’t help but frown.
I take a final look at the hovering scrolls, still awed by the multitude of the ancient manuscripts as well as Harpoc’s magic that I wish I understood better.
You’re doing the right thing getting that harpy, Pell.
It might be the “‘right” thing, but it still scares me shitless.
Harpoc buttons his duster, and I zip my jacket, then step beside him, our coats brushing. His citrusy clove scent fills my nose, and I close my eyes.
He inhales deeply in response, as if savoring whatever scent I emit.
The two of you deserve each other. Snark fills my inner voice.
“No other beings will be brought back. No one else will come to harm.” It’s the second time he says it, but still I can only nod.
I wrap my arms around his waist. He draws me closer and gives me a squeeze, as if echoing his encouragement.
“A quick tripskip to get us out of here, and then we’ll be soaring. Ready?”
I bite my lip.
Disorientation has its way with me in an instant, although I manage not to scream. I count it as progress.
I squint in the blinding light of the sun.
My eyes adjusted to the dim of that hole in the earth, wherever it is, and I struggle to adapt.
Frigid air rushes by, and I wish I’d zipped my jacket all the way up. My hair whips about, everywhere, out of control. Between that and the noise, it’s overwhelming, and breathing becomes difficult.
We bob as Harpoc beats his wings that have again appeared. I squeeze him tighter, praying gravity doesn’t rip me away. Will he think badly of me if I go full koala on him?
Pell… you’re not having sex with the guy…
I swear my cheeks warm despite it being my inner monologue.
A second later, my hair goes limp and silence blankets the air that’s no longer biting my cheeks. We still bob with each downbeat of his wings, but things have gotten decidedly quieter.
I long to brush hair out of my face as I steal a look up at his scruffy chin. My cheek’s still firmly pressed to his side.
“What’d you do?” I move my head this way and that, but my hair refuses to cooperate.
“It’s beautiful, look.” Harpoc’s baritone voice is clear, unmuted by the wind.
I chance a peek down. We’re flying over mountainous terrain, some parts forested, others not.
“No, look ahead. The sea.” Harpoc raises the arm not holding me and points, making me shift.
I shriek, clutching him yet more tightly. I’ll leave a bruise. I don’t care.
“Pell, I promised I won’t let you fall. Will you trust me?”
&
nbsp; My heart races. Why did I let him talk me into this? I’m Big Bird when it comes to flying, not some condor.
Gold eye, silver eye. Gold eye, silver eye. The image forms in my mind but does little to soothe.
I don’t let go of my hold on him.
“I’ve got you.” It comes out insistent, like he’s getting pissed at my questioning.
Tough.
I hadn’t pegged him as overbearing. Am I wrong? I glance up to see his jaw tense.
“Have you ever trusted anyone but yourself, Pell?”
“What, are you some shrink?”
He snorts.
“You’re one to talk, Mr. Secretive Swirly Shadows himself. Like a politician calling a lawyer dishonest.” It might be too harsh but give me a break.
A frown bends his mouth.
Good.
My arms start trembling from my death hold as the clear blue of the gulf streams by below us. Land frames us on the left and right as we head south toward the open Aegean. Ugh, my hair’s driving me crazy but no way will I let go to brush it back.
I bite my tongue, refusing to ask, ‘are we there yet?’
“Where are we going anyway?” Aka how long will my arms need last?
“Psychro, Crete—”
“Psycho? We’re going psycho?” My voice rises. “We’re already there!”
Harpoc laughs. “No, Psych-ro, to Diktaean Cave also known as Zeus’s Cave. It’s a little over an hour from here.”
Oi. My arms already ache.
Don’t be a hero, just tell him.
Oh no you don’t, Pell.
I own the title “one tough bitch.” I’ve been called it on multiple occasions, and truth be told, I like it. I’m tough, I’ve had to be. No way will I just give in to my wimpy arms. Show no mercy. They need to get with the program. I try to distract myself.
“Wait, I thought harpies call the Strophades Islands home. They’re to the west of Mycenae. I remember, Jason and the Argonauts met Phineas and the harpies, which kept stealing his food, at the Strophades Islands when they sought a way to get around a pair of islands that clashed together crushing any vessel that tried to get through.”
“You have a good memory.” Laughter fills Harpoc’s voice. “Do you remember the rest of that story?”
“Yeah, Calais and Zetes, sons of the north wind, also Argonauts, whupped their tail feathers when they tried stealing more food from Phineas.”
He chuckles. “True enough, but Iris, the sunshine and rainbows messenger of the gods herself, fearing the wrath of Zeus if the punishment he gave Phineas was annulled because of it, saved the winged menaces and helped them escape to a cave in Minoan Crete. In exchange, the exiled Phineas told Jason a safe course through those islands.”
“Hence we’re headed there, makes sense.” My arms are turning to spaghetti. How long can I hold on? I grit my teeth.
You’ve nothing to prove to him, Pell.
Whose side are you on? I ask myself.
Without warning, Harpoc dips and swings me away from his side, and I screech as my noodley arms give way. I panic and scrabble for him, for anything, to hold onto.
“Pell, I’ve got you.” A second later, I thrash, cradled in his rock-hard arms without so much as a smidge of grace. I don’t care, I go full koala, clutching his neck, my heart in my throat.
“I’ve never trusted anyone but myself,” I bite out, barely controlling my fury.
“You might try it sometime. I believe you’ll find there’s great freedom in it, Pell.” Humor plays in his voice.
I’m ready to kill him. “Warn a girl before you do something like that again.”
One of his hands starts running circles against my back, and despite the thickness of my jacket, I feel every bit of the movement. At first I arch away, but as he continues, I relax and actually lean into it, my anger abating.
I bury my forehead in his neck—he could have been a not half-bad masseuse.
At some point, I feel his nose on my head. Is he nuzzling me?
I can’t tell for sure. I don’t actually mind, but it’s a while before my heart slows. I’m still clinging to his neck, and my arms feel like lead weights with them above my head, but no way am I letting go.
Still we fly on, water below us, as far as I can see when I peek.
I bring my head up suddenly, curious to watch his wings at work. It startles him and from his sheepish look, I know he’s been nuzzling me, and butterflies start tap dancing in my stomach.
Does it mean what I think it means?
Just whoa up there, Pell. You still don’t know the man.
I might not know him… yet, but…
My inner voice groans.
What?
His wings span at least fifteen feet each and are covered in millions of onyx feathers that match the color of his hair. He brings them down in the next beat, and we lurch upward, then glide, floating on some invisible current. They’re magnificent to behold, and so close.
Held securely in his arms as I am, some of my fear ebbs, and I shift my hold of his neck to my left arm, freeing up my right.
He narrows his eyes, clearly wondering what I’m up to.
I smile as I brush hair out of my face, then reach up and run a hand along the top of a wing. Like the rest of him, it’s firm, but the feathers are so soft.
He shivers.
I grin, then run my hand across it again, to the same result. What’ll happen if I play with his hair?
“Do you mean to torment me?” He tugs me down, smiling.
I wag my brows. “Is that what I did?”
He snorts. “You know it is. Seems I need to give you something to occupy that devious mind of yours.”
I draw a hand to my chest in mock offense.
“You haven’t asked me whose secret you deciphered on the second scroll.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Crapshit. So much for distracting myself from reality with a certain sexy so-and-so.
My mouth goes dry in an instant, and I sit back in his arms, choosing to drop mine from around his neck.
He smiles at that. Yes, I’m starting to trust him.
Watch yourself, Pell.
I gather the bulk of my long hair in both hands and draw it behind my back, stalling, not that it’ll do any good.
“I’m afraid to ask. What other creature did I release?” I scrunch up my face as if that’ll make whatever he specifies any less likely to kill my ass.
“As it happens, you brought King Midas back.”
“Wait, THE King Midas? The guy whose touch turns everything to gold, King Midas?”
“The very one.”
“These secrets aren’t just those of hairy, scary beasts?” I have to be sure. It sounds too good to be true.
“’Fraid not.”
“That’s good. That’s great actually.” Lightness fills my chest.
The words I read to Jude spring back to mind. “I sought the throne when it was not mine. A willing actor played a convincing oracle. The people of Phrygia were desperate, and I lent myself as a panacea in their time of need.”
Duh, Pell, could some scary huckleberry usurp a throne?
Scary huckleberry? I roll my eyes, then refocus. “A power-hungry bastard then, I take it?”
Harpoc smiles but continues looking ahead.
All land has disappeared, and the smell of salt fills the air as Harpoc continues starring ahead not saying a word.
He’s a captive audience. Time to get back to my questions. “Was it secret magic that enabled you to speak to the sphinx in… what language was it anyway?”
A corner of his mouth hitches up, but he doesn’t reply.
“It’d be cool to have a whole host of languages at your disposal, for whatever the situation. I can see it now, you walk into a new place not knowing the language, and…” Dir di de dur. “…secret magic sniffs it out, and you rattle off a string of words.” I chuckle at my own imaginings.
A smile breaks out across his face.
“That would be handy.”
But he doesn’t commit to whether secret magic does or doesn’t do that, so I press on.
“If it’s like the sphinx, you can probably recite Zephyr’s and Midas’s secrets, can’t you? How do you know them? And do you know all the secrets on all of those scrolls?” My gut says “yes,” but I’ve no idea how. They’re ancient and haven’t been touched in forever. In addition to language, does secret magic somehow allow him to perceive things, kind of like Superman can see through stuff?
Harpoc clams up again, scanning the horizon.
I huff. I will get answers, but I have so many other questions, so I move on.
“So you’re some kind of mysterious genie-like guy, swirling into existence and trip… trip-whatevering. What else can you do?”
“Tripskipping.” He laughs.
“Yeah, that.”
“You fancy me a genie like Aladdin had, do you?”
“While you’re not blue, your ears aren’t pointy, and you could stand to work on your wisecracking, you’re definitely larger than life.”
He snickers. “Does that make you Princess Jasmine?”
I grin. “It all depends on what you tell Aladdin to whisper in my ear.”
My cheeks heat. Did I really just say that?
My inner voice is quiet, I’m guessing she’s unable to spit out words.
Harpoc barks a laugh.
Only now do I realize he didn’t answer my question, but I’m not retracing my steps on that one.
Once we both recover, I clear my throat, loudly, changing the subject. “So King Midas… the dude was corrupt, but his secret was sealed so no one ever found out?”
Boy, how familiar?
“Until today, that is the way of secret magic.”
“That hardly seems fair.” My inner sense of outrage at the injustice amps up in an instant. “Who would protect a secret like that? The guy was a con. It’s not right.”
Harpoc raises an eyebrow. “You would know his situation enough to judge?”
“A con is a con is a con, no matter how he tries to justify it.” How can Harpoc defend the guy?
This conversation has taken a dangerous turn. It’s doing nothing but riling me up, and it seems Harpoc doesn’t agree, not surprising based on our conversation at the café.