by L. R. W. Lee
I barely resist shaking my head. What is the deal with this secret magic? I need to understand more.
This line of questioning is also bearing no fruit, so I return my attention to Zephyr, and my breathing labors.
“Can’t we address Midas before Zephyr?” I ask.
“You think we should let a harpy roam free longer than a batty old geezer?”
“Batty old geezer?” His words come out soft. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you know the guy.”
I swear he purposely dips us more dramatically the next downbeat, and I grab the collar of his duster. Is he still a primary schooler?
“I was starting to trust you, don’t make me regret it.”
He chuckles.
What’s going on with him? First he defends Midas, now he deflects, or at least tries to. Fine. I’ll deal with it later, like so many other things. He’s shown me persistence pays off; I’ll just keep on him. Like snot on a doorknob, I will stick to him until he answers my questions.
“So batty old Zephyr is up next?” Joking fills my voice.
His brows shoot up, nearly to his hairline. “Zephyr may be old but she’s a harpy. Do you honestly believe any harpy might be batty?”
“You referred to Midas as old and batty, why not Zephyr?”
“Oh no, never underestimate a harpy’s cunning and ferocity.”
I swallow. Damn, stories I’ve heard may indeed accurately depict her. If so, we’re screwed.
“What can you tell me about her? Her secret was disobeying Zeus. Pretty gutsy, if you ask me, but I can respect that.”
Harpoc gives me a long look. “Disobeyed Zeus a time or two, have you?”
I laugh. “It’s something about her having to drag an abomination that stunk to high heaven, to Hades, and she can’t stomach it.”
“It is.” He sighs.
I furrow my brow. Why’s he sad? It’s not like he knew her.
“You mean to tell me Zeus wanted to punish her for refusing to do something that’d make her sick?”
He gives me a long look.
“What? It’s a simple question.”
The long silence tells me everything. He was the god of gods; he could do anything he damn well pleased.
It’s all my mind needs to start imagining worst case scenarios with a harpy being punished by her boss. And if that’s her treatment, ain’t no way is she going to be happy with me when she figures out I’m the one who spilled the beans. Hounds of Zeus indeed.
My breathing labors.
I need to distract myself or I’ll be a basket case by the time we get there. Ordinarily, I’d pull out my phone, but it’d be just my luck I’d drop the thing, so I take to playing with the button on the hip pocket of my cargo pants as the blue water passes by.
Harpoc breaks the silence not long after. “Why do you suppose the Sphinx, Zephyr, and Midas divulged their secrets and allowed them to be recorded?”
I furrow my brow; it’s an excellent question.
“I don’t know. Why did they divulge their secrets? Enlighten me.”
“To unburden themselves.” His voice is filled with gravity and certainty.
“You would know, how?” I interject.
He ignores. “They decided to trust another with their deepest secrets so they didn’t have to bear the burden of worry that they might be found out, anymore. As I said before, there’s great freedom in trusting another, Pell.”
“Who do you suppose it was that they revealed their secrets to anyway? Who played scribe? They had to trust him or her completely.”
I groan a minute later when he still hasn’t answered me. Surprise, surprise.
“Harpoc, this avoidance is getting really old. When are you going to start ‘unburdening’ yourself and finding freedom with me?”
He grins. “When you start asking the right questions.”
Does that mean he wants to? Is it an opening?
Pell, get a grip.
“What kind of questions are the ‘right’ kind?” I ask.
Mischief dances in his beautiful eyes.
I hold up a hand. “I know, I have to figure that one out for myself, too.” What else is new?
My brain ruminates on what the right questions might be as we fly on until Harpoc takes an abrupt right turn, and I grab his collar.
“Shhh,” he whispers in my ear, sending a chill down my back as I open my mouth to complain. He nods to the left.
The sound of honking that had been nothing but background noise until now, reaches me and I survey the area he indicates. A whole flock of geese from the looks of things, fly not far from us. Mottled, barred gray-and-white plumage with orange beaks and pink legs, these birds are good size.
“Greylag, they’re one of the most aggressive types of geese.”
“A regular ornithologist are you? And you would know about their dispositions, how?” I ask, not letting go of his collar.
“I’ve heard. I don’t have to experience something to know to avoid it.”
I bob my head.
Maybe you could learn a thing or two, Pell.
I harrumph.
Their honking fades as he gives them a wide berth.
Concern about what I’ll face with Zephyr bites me as the endless blue sea stretches on and on below us; there isn’t an island, birds, or anything of interest for miles to distract me.
Time to create my own distraction. I reach over and run a finger along the leather strap of one of the buckles on his duster. Mister Sexy Guy. My heart picks up pace.
What will he do if I undo it?
Whoa, Pell.
My brain doesn’t stop undressing him, and I stifle a snicker. Bad brain. Bad brain. As if I’ll ever get up that much nerve.
I glance up. His attention is focused ahead.
Don’t do it, Pell.
Will he notice?
Pell… the tone rises.
I abandon caution to the wind. I have a harpy to deal with, and I need distraction. This is certainly it.
Pell, no.
My heart races full out as I ease the end of the leather strap back toward its metal buckle, getting it to rise a little. I bite my lip and look up. He still studies the horizon ahead.
Abort, Pell, abort.
A little more… The leather arches inside the rectangular buckle.
I sneak another look up. He’s still occupied.
Pell, stop, listen to yourself.
I slowly and carefully pull on the arch of the bunched strap, guiding it free, then grin as I exhale quietly.
Pell, work with me.
This next part will be the hardest, pulling the end free and him not feeling it as I clear the buckle’s prong.
My inner voice growls in frustration.
I draw my other hand over to assist and have braced it against his chest when… he laughs.
I jerk my head up. Busted.
He meets my eyes. “Undressing me with more than your eyes? You don’t mess around.”
My face burns in an instant.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Pell.
Shut up, I growl at myself, then cover, “Um… I was just, uh… keeping myself distracted.”
A small, sly, oh my, seductive smile rises on his lips, and my lady bits respond.
Whoo, is it suddenly hot?
“We’ll pick this up later…” It isn’t a question, and I inhale sharply. “… because we’re here.”
A stretch of land’s not far off. I’ve done such a good job distracting myself I haven’t noticed.
Zephyr.
We’re here.
The thought stops my hormones in their tracks.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Harpoc glides over the mountainous topography way too fast for my liking, and I clutch my coat. Too soon, we’ll be face-to-face with the bird woman, and I doubt I’ll ever be ready.
He sets down before a towering, gaping-mawed cave, then stands me up and his wings vanish in a swirl of shadows.
; I hate his secrecy, but I can’t deny those shadows add a bit of intrigue to his mystery. I’ve skirted a few rules in my time, but I’ve never gotten up the nerve to be a “bad girl.” I have to be honest; I find his badass-ness seductive.
My attention returns as all the leather straps down the front of Harpoc’s duster undo themselves, and he winks.
I’d have blushed fiercely as I unzip mine, but I’m distracted by the abundant “Do Not Cross” yellow tape suspended from waist-high orange rubber posts blocking the paved walkway before us.
“Good to see they closed it to tourists,” Harpoc says.
Tourists. Shit. I haven’t given one thought to the fact they’d be here; this is a major attraction. I hold my breath as I glance about praying I spot none. I don’t.
A scream for help ricochets from within the depths of the darkness, and my legs nearly buckle as my heart crawls into my throat.
“You don’t suppose someone crossed the line?” My voice quivers. I fear to even think what a harpy might do to a tourist.
“That’s not someone calling for help, that’s Zephyr. Looks like we found her. That screech is as damn awful as a peacock’s if you ask me.”
How would he know what she sounds like? I open my mouth to question, but “Zephyr” if that is indeed who it is, lets go of another screech, and my inquiry evaporates as my limbs start to shake. I have to deal with that thing.
Harpoc stares into the dark entrance, whether he’s summoning his courage like me, I can’t tell.
“You’d never dealt with an angry sphinx. Any chance you have hellion harpy experience?” A girl can hope.
He shakes his head. “No, and I’ve no doubt Zephyr will be… unhappy.”
I give the “king of understatement” a long look.
“So what will we do?” I draw a hand to my chest and fist my jacket.
Another scream ricochets from within the depths of the darkness and inches my fraying nerves to the edge of some mental abyss.
“It’s not going to get any easier,” Harpoc says, extending an open palm toward that dark maw. “Let’s see what we’ve got on our hands before we decide anything.”
My legs freeze.
Harpoc catches the fear in my eyes when I still haven’t moved a minute later. “Do you trust me?”
I can only bob my head. He dealt with the sphinx. Had it not been for idiot archeologists, no one would have gotten hurt.
“Give me your hand. We’ll get through this… together.”
My arm trembles as I reached out and he takes it and gives it a squeeze.
“Ready?”
No. “Yes.”
Mrs. O’Grady dragging my nine-year-old ass to the dentist when I had an abscessed tooth, bolts to mind as we skirt the makeshift barricade. I still can’t stand the sound of the drill, tool of the devil, that’s what it is.
Zephyr’s next screech is no better. The hard rock amplifies it all the more as we navigate the illuminated concrete stairs that descend into the bowels of the earthen cavity.
I clutch the metal handrail with my left hand.
You can do it, Pell. You’re being responsible.
Getting myself killed more like.
Harpoc keeps squeezing my right hand as we make our way past a wall of stalactites and stalagmites that’s lit up with green and yellow lights, or perhaps that’s the natural color of the rocks, I can’t tell. I would stop and marvel at their beauty if I didn’t have a pressing prior engagement.
The concrete stairs get slick as we continue. It’s apparently the perfect invitation for my alter ego, Grace, to make another appearance because I feel the stair slip out from under me, and despite Harpoc’s reactions, my arms pinwheel, but I can’t stop my hip from meeting the edge of the stair.
I yip, grasping for the railing.
Of course I land just below where my coat stops—it can’t be higher. Nope. Just like mine, Grace’s mantra is “go big or go home,” and like always, she never fails.
My side starts throbbing. I’ll have a colorful bruise, maybe as colorful as the walls, one to match my other side where I crashed and burned playing mountain goat for the scrolls, but what else is new.
Harpoc leans over and extends a hand. “Are you okay?”
“Does it look like I’m okay?” I frown.
“Little Miss Graceful, I see.” He barely staunches a smirk now that he knows I’ll live. “I have to say, I’ve never seen anyone fall with quite that much flair.”
“Ha ha, glad I can be your comedic relief, now help me up.”
Another heart-rending screech echoes as I rise. No avoiding Zephyr any longer because with her shrill cry I also hear the sound of wings brushing rock, and it’s getting closer.
That sinking feeling of plunging over the first rise of that rollercoaster, again, overwhelms me as a shadow swoops across the wall from around the bend ahead.
I grab the lower rail of the handrail, crouching despite my hip smarting. Harpoc stands as still as a soldier beside me.
This is it, don’t chicken out now, Pell.
Gold eye, silver eye. Gold eye, silver eye.
Zephyr isn’t completely avian, I note in an instant as the lights illuminate her as she rounds the corner in the distance and screeches again.
I’m frozen from fright and can’t cover my ears as I squint through the rails. Her head and torso are that of a naked woman, with breasts that rise and fall with each flap of her enormous black, feathered wings; they may look like Harpoc’s wings, but I have zero desire to touch them.
As for her bosom, whew, her knockers are huge. They’d give me a backache for sure.
Long white hair flows behind her, and her shins are covered in what look like green scales at this distance. She turns sharp talons on us and flexes them as she soars closer, adding another ear-piercing screech as her gaze locks on us. Her breasts undulate wildly as she banks in the large cavity we stand at the edge of.
I feel my bowels loosen and squeeze my butt muscles.
She’s who I brought back? She fears Zeus? My whole body starts to shake.
She’s a wind spirit, a hound of Zeus, and she leaves no question as to why she and her kind have earned that reputation.
I clutch the rail, knuckles turning white, forgetting about my smarting leg. Harpoc hasn’t so much as flinched. He raises a hand, then bellows, “Zephyr, stop.” His words bounce around the hard walls.
I hold my breath as Zephyr keeps coming.
We don’t stand a chance. We’re Frick and Frack—I’ve seen the old reruns.
“You have a choice, Zephyr,” Harpoc booms in Greek, ignoring her squawks. “Go to Atrop on Sonmel Island and guard the gates to the Underworld with your sisters, or I’ll be forced to employ other measures to stop you.”
The thunder of his voice rams the fear of god into me, packs it down hard, and keeps filling me, to overflowing.
It takes a second for his words to register, but when they do my hands turned clammy. “Your sisters,” it’s what he says. There are more of these things in the world? She isn’t the only one? Wherever Sonmel Island is, it’s way too close.
I gulp down breaths to stay quiet.
Get up, Pell, face her, it’s the only way. He says so.
Are you crazy?
I chance a look at Harpoc beside me.
Shit!
His flaring nostrils, bared teeth, and cold, flinty eyes make him look like a completely different person, a brutal cutthroat. I’ve guessed he’s dangerous, but this… it’s a glimpse of who he really is, and he scares me shitless. If he said that to me, I’d be on my knees, grabbing the hem of his duster, begging for leniency.
But not Zephyr. She’s neared to within maybe twenty yards and shows no signs of slowing.
Pell, get up. Get up. People can die.
I can die!
Zephyr shrieks again, and from the wild look in her eyes, she has no intention of stopping.
Pell! Now! Are you “one tough bitch” or not?
Since when does my inner voice use my favorite title against me?
I bite my lip. Arguing with myself is pointless. If what Harpoc says is true—and I’ve no reason to doubt, not anymore—I need to be the one to stop her, not Harpoc, his crazy secret magic demands it.
Do it, Pell. Do it! Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
I grip the rail and bolt up, my heart accelerating. “It was me! I brought you back! It was an accident.”
“You!” Zephyr locks her steely gaze on me, just ten yards away.
“Pell,” Harpoc whispers out the side of his mouth. “I’ve got this.”
“Doesn’t look like it to me,” I say, before returning my focus to the bare breasted, avian woman.
“Yes, me! Like I said, it was an accident. It’s not his fault. Please don’t hurt him.” My heart’s sprinting full out.
Am I really risking my life to protect him?
“Pell!” Harpoc bellows, as Zephyr closes to within five yards. Her enormous wingspan and those bobbing boobs make me feel like a fish before a hungry hydra. She’s got no sense of personal space.
“Pell, duck!”
Zephyr extends her claws fully and reaches for me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I scream, sounding nothing like the winged hussy.
Harpoc fists my coat by the shoulder, and everything goes dark. Weightlessness and disorientation gobble me down until daylight appears again a second later and I stumble, trying to get my feet under me.
Grace wins again and my knees meet the paved path. Damn it! At least I haven’t ripped my pants.
“Zephyr! Out here!” Harpoc yells, hands cupped around his mouth.
I make like a meerkat and sit up.
Outside. We’re outside the mouth of that cave. I’m sprawled beside the “Do Not Cross” tape. Zephyr hasn’t eaten me. We aren’t dead.
I brush my smarting knees off and scramble up as another of Zephyr’s nerve jarring shrieks boom from the darkness. It sounds like she’s headed this way.
“Come and get us, Zephyr!” Harpoc taunts. “Hang on, Pell,” he adds, turning to me.
I’ve no time to reply because the harpy shoots from the cave’s mouth and darkness and disorientation again consume me.