by L. R. W. Lee
Oh, I’ll abide by my promise to stop asking direct questions because no way will I let it hurt Harpoc again, but I won’t stop watching, listening, and gathering facts, because while Harpoc didn’t say it explicitly, his expression as I laid out my observations in a logical manner like the good scientist I am was encouragement enough to keep pursuing this.
I mean, come on, he said, “Pell, you’ve absolutely no idea how much I want to answer your question,” just before secret magic attacked him… attacked us. I still can’t believe he was so earnest when he said it. Shock of all shocks, he really wanted to tell me. I believe that.
And Nuria was strangled after I asked if she’d seen my ring before. She got as much as, “Beings fr—” out before secret magic silenced her. I swear she’d started to say, “Beings from,” like there’s a bunch of beings who wear a ring like mine somewhere. But where?
Nope, there are way too many questions for me not to keep watching and learning and deducing.
I towel off, brush out my hair, and smile as I slip into a pair of magenta undies.
You go, girl!
I smile at my inner minion’s enthusiasm. She definitely supports Harpoc’s actions to reform my body image.
I add a white T-shirt along with white sweats and a hoodie, then wander out to the living room and flip on Harpoc’s eclectic music.
I shake my head as I move my trashy, hieroglyph romance, then sit. It’s definitely a love/hate relationship with secret magic. Despite my disdain for it, especially after what it did tonight, my reading speed has increased as a result.
I pull the throw over my legs and get comfortable against the cushions, focusing on the music’s quick rhythm—a little sax, a little clarinet, and an instrument I can’t identify—for this particular number.
Song after song plays, but Harpoc still doesn’t return.
I scoot down, trying my best to stay awake.
_______
The live music, a jazz band tonight, makes hearing difficult. Darwin’s is crammed and the beer is flowing. No surprise, it is a Friday night on Sixth street.
Steve, one of the six guys in study group, leans over. “Loosen up, Pell. It’s supposed to be a celebration. We finished Grier’s class. Toughest bastard in Archeology.”
No thanks to my riding each and every one of you six lazy, worthless asses.
Despite my feelings, I clink my cold, foaming glass with his, because “I’m one of the guys.”
I discovered long ago that women in this male-dominated major can either be “one of the guys” and “go along to get along” while sacrificing an A, or we can be tough bitches and go for the grade, but doing so alienates the fragile-egos of the guys. There’s no winning.
We’ll get a B+ because I chose to “be nice,” this semester. But it’ll cost me. It’ll bring my overall GPA down to 3.8.
I barely squash a growl.
Cooper and Tanner, on my other side, join in the celebration.
Grant, who got here first to save us a table, stops behind me. His face is flushed. Seems he’s had a bit too much to drink already.
I twist on my wooden chair.
He holds up his glass, “Here’s to being done with the fucker.” He leans down and loud-whispers in my ear, “And to you, Drill Sergeant. But I’m never gonna fuck you. You got no assets to fuck.” He guffaws as he stands straight.
Cody, standing beside him, scrunches his face. He heard him. It would have been impossible not to, yet he doesn’t say anything to counter the charge. Wimp.
It’s clear, they all agree with Grant.
The dream fades into another.
Mr. Foutsey, the headmaster of the group home, drums his long, bony fingers on his desk, running his beady eyes up and down me where I sit in one of the two ancient rust-color leather chairs.
“So it was you who ratted me out to the bishop. I bet you thought I’d never find out.”
There’s no way I was going to stay quiet when Margo, my best friend, was being molested. I just want to know what the diocese is going to do about it.
My heart starts to race and I clench my jaw but remain silent. Foutsey is a creep in the creepiest of ways and there’s no way I’ll let him touch me.
The door is unlocked beside me if I have to make a run for it, because I will. I’ll miss Margo, even though she’s vowed never to talk to me again, but I won’t look back. I’ve still got two years to go in the system, but I swear I’ll bolt.
As if reading my mind, he continues, “The diocese has decided I’m to remain in my position, but they’re sending a watchdog to keep an eye on me.”
Anger ignites inside. That’s it? Are you kidding me?
He chuckles to himself and in his disturbing version of a charming tone, asks, “Do you know why I never took an interest in you, Pell?”
Ain’t no way I want to know, but he apparently feels differently because he says, “You may be sixteen, but you’ve got nothing to woo a man; you’ll never attract the guys at this rate.” He grins, then his look turns sinister. “That said, if you choose to do something like that to me again, I can be persuaded to go after what little flesh you have down your shirt. Trust me, I’ll be watching you, Pell.”
I wake myself whimpering—I always looked over my shoulder after that.
Harpoc still isn’t home, but there’s no way I want to return to those dreams—nightmares more like—so I resituate myself on the couch. Harpoc’s “ministrations” tonight, have stirred up memories I’ve no desire to revisit.
Chapter Nineteen
Harpoc
I’m exhausted when my guards open the doors to my apartments and I stumble through. All I want is to find Pell and fall asleep with her in my arms after the night I’ve had.
I make my way through the quiet living room with only the nightlight in the entry to illuminate the space.
I stink. I need a shower, too, I decide as I amble down the hallway toward the bedroom.
But first, I’ll kiss Pell good night. She’s always so beautiful when she’s asleep, mussed hair and all.
I can’t help but smile.
But when I tiptoe into the bedroom and over to the bed, she’s not there. Where would she be at this hour?
Did she wait up for me?
Lightness lifts my heart at the thought.
I pause and take my boots off, then head back out to the living room.
Stopping behind one of the sofas, I peer down.
I swallow.
She did wait up for me, or tried to.
Something about being missed by another being affects me like not much else.
She waited for me.
My stocking feet are silent on the steps and I kneel before her, watching her sleep. She looks so peaceful. I’m one lucky male. She’s such a beautiful being both inside and out.
What is the Ancient One doing to me? I run my hands through my hair.
I’ve taken my share of lovers to my bed, but never have I felt in-the-same-galaxy near the way I do when she’s around. She makes me feel alive in ways I’ve never felt before. Maybe it’s that, having grown up on Earth, her view of the world is different than mine. Maybe it’s that she’s unafraid to speak her mind. I don’t know, but with her, I find I’m attracted to her not only physically, but also mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.
It’s as if I wasn’t complete before—as a god that thought has never once occurred to me—but with her, I suddenly am. Crap, this female makes me yearn for her to know me. It’s scary shit, but I want her to. Never in my existence have I longed for a relationship like this; I’ve never known one was even possible.
Yet, when she struggled to show herself to me earlier this evening…
A painful tightness hits my throat, but I can’t resist smiling as she sighs, still slumbering.
She was so brave. She warred with herself and put down those damn thoughts that keep her trapped, at least for a few minutes.
My shoulders droop. She can’t see how amazingly good
she is.
I’ll never push my will on her, ever. I clench my jaw.
But she can’t experience life to the fullest if she hides.
It’s only been days, but already my heart belongs wholly and completely to her.
How can I help her see how amazing and beautiful a being she truly is?
Chapter Twenty
I wake from a wonderful dream about Harpoc, with the sensation of strong arms hugging me, just like in my dream. Except I can’t move my arms.
I open my eyes to find I’m in Harpoc’s bed, and I’m again his teddy bear.
How? Not that I mind, especially as his subtle-citrus-with-a-hint-of-cloves scent fills my nose. He smells so good. I can really get used to this.
As a rule, I don’t sleep soundly, so how I ended up here, like this without knowing…
He tightens his hug and nuzzles my neck. “You smell good, too,” he murmurs, half asleep.
I furrow my brow. How in the… universe, did he know that I just thought about how good he smells?
I’m not awake. I have no freaking clue.
Harpoc breaks every one of my rules, even of being a light sleeper it seems, because this is the second time I’ve woken like this, without ever feeling him pick me up, much less remove my sweats, put me in bed, or wrap himself around me like a giant python.
Amazingly enough, my bladder doesn’t command me to pee, and I snuggle back against Harpoc’s bare chest, enjoying the feel, the scent of him around me. Yes, I can definitely get used to this.
I must drift off again, because the next thing I feel are Harpoc’s lips on my ear. His hand moves up and skims my breast—only my thin T-shirt separates us—then he cups it, holding it with his warm hand, and I’m awake, maybe not wide awake because my eyes haven’t opened fully, but consciousness has definitely returned.
He’s getting an early start to working on my body image. What will this day bring?
Another kiss on my ear, and he eases up on an elbow.
I sigh. My breast misses his hug in an instant.
He chuckles, drawing my messy hair behind my ear and sending a shiver through me. “I’m taking you with me to seal a secret today.”
My eyes are fully open in an instant. Who needs coffee? Who?
I bolt up to sitting.
A corner of his mouth hitches. “It seems orgasmic coffee has some serious competition.”
I snort. “Who are you sealing a secret for?” On one hand, I still detest this sealing of secrets business, but I now know Harpoc has no vote, so I’m not going to hold it against him. On the other hand, I’m curious to know what it takes to seal a secret, because I’ve become a sleuth of more than just leaks.
What might I learn about this secret that I seem to be the subject of, if I see how a secret is sealed? I learned plenty from watching Harpoc deal with Zeki. I also wonder if anything I learn can be used to kill the double standards that make me steam, because despite all that’s happened, I still want to help Earth fix that, even though my objective got more difficult because I’ll never hurt Harpoc in the process.
“The client is Chen Li, President of People’s Data of China.”
The name doesn’t mean anything to me.
He smiles. “He’s sealing a secret with Professor Emery Terrason.”
I give him a long look. Professor Terrason is only the top computer sciences geek, at least he was when I attended UT. Despite being an archeology major, I had to take a couple computer science core classes, and Terrason had just won a huge award for some sort of data skimming innovation that monitors terrorist activities. The whole department fawned over him, practically worshipping the ground he walks on.
He smiles. “I thought the name would sound familiar.”
“Why would he be sealing a secret with some Chinese guy?”
My stomach tightens. I’ve heard horror stories about China bribing university professors to sell US intellectual property to them, and this doesn’t sound good.
“I don’t know the details, Aura just said Mister Li requested my presence to seal another secret.”
“Another secret, so you’ve sealed multiple for him.”
He shrugs.
I roll my eyes. “I thought Nuria’s lieutenants sealed the secrets of all but kings and such.”
“My clients don’t have to be monarchs. They just have to have power to significantly influence. Mister Li is worth over twenty billion US dollars. He’s the thirty-sixth richest person on Earth, so he’s my client.”
I barely hold back a growl. US data skimming technology and China, not a marriage made in heaven. I don’t need the details to know this will not be in anyone’s interest but China’s.
Look out double standards, here we come.
Harpoc and I will be tripskipping to Earth I realize as I dress, and my stomach clenches.
Earth is a very long way away, at least based upon the time it took for us to reach Secrets a couple days ago; flying is not an option.
Motion sickness is always better if we control things, Pell, my inner minion reminds.
She’s right, it is, and that starts me thinking.
She giggles at my admission that she’s right, and I roll my eyes, not wanting to make her head any bigger, telling her how brilliant she is.
I snicker. Nothing like congratulating yourself for your own brilliance.
“Harpoc…,” I say, several minutes later when he holds out his duster-clad arm for me to snuggle beneath, for tripping—yes, I still refer to it as “tripping” because it certainly gives me an out of body experience. “Teach me how to tripskip.”
A corner of his mouth hitches. “I’m surprised you’re asking.”
“I’m hoping if I control it, perhaps I won’t feel as sick.”
“You will be pleasantly surprised to learn that secret magic might mitigate much of the sensation.”
My eyes light up. “It does?”
“It might. Take off your ring.”
I do as he bids, controlling my shadows as I slide it off and stick it in my black slacks pocket.
“Ready?” he asks, as I button my long coat to my chin, then step close, drinking in his scent.
I nod, a spark of optimism buoys me and gives me a shred of hope that things might be different this time.
A void of darkness swallows us, but rather than an overwhelming sense of disorientation and that rudderless feeling like every other time I’ve tripped, a sense of calm settles over me; I feel no need to squeeze Harpoc’s waist like a python.
Dare I think it’s working? Dare I have cause to appreciate secret magic after what it’s done to me and Harpoc and Nuria, because not ralphing is one stupendous accomplishment.
The blackness persists, but still I’m calm, unruffled, like a veritable sloth.
Me and sloths, sloths and me, we be sisters. We be simpatico. I snort to myself. I sound high. Tripping indeed.
What feels like several minutes later, Harpoc says, “We’re going to fly the rest of the way, so don’t panic when I shift you into my arms.”
I’m so proud of him, I could kiss him. He remembered to warn me—he scared me to death the first time we transitioned from tripping to flying because I free fell for a second or two before he caught me.
Despite the warning, I still yip when that awful weightless feeling of falling hits. I go koala until I feel his strong arms pulling me against him, then easing me to sitting, cradled in his arms.
The morning sun reflects off clear blue water that we fly over, and I calm.
“I feel fine. That’s amazing. What does secret magic not do?” I ask, as I sit back.
Harpoc just smiles.
It’s not an answer and I frown, but I won’t be too upset because my stomach’s feeling fine. Better than fine.
Redwoods and pines congregate along the edge of the shoreline, as if the lot of them are readying to dive in and take a dip. With Harpoc’s client of Chinese origin, I figured we’d be headed to China, but this ain’t it. A
t least, not what I’ve seen in pictures.
“Where are we?”
“Lake Tahoe. Mister Li has a home here.”
But of course he does. He’s a criminal and seriously loaded. No doubt he’s got homes all over the world, paid for by nefarious activities.
We glide over the clear water, toward a large, brown-shingled house… I take that back, it’s more the size of a compound with multiple buildings. As we circle, I discover it’s a Tudor-style with a honking huge pier extending out over the water. You could park a luxury yacht with room to spare. No doubt Li does.
Harpoc sets us down on shore, behind a copse of towering pine trees, the huge dock to the right. Dew and grass clippings from the manicured lawn immediately latch a ride on my boots as I step from Harpoc’s arms.
We emerge from the trees and trek across the relatively modest backyard and I take in the monstrous, two-story, brown-stained home. It’s optimized to maximize a view of the lake judging by the army of windows.
We pass an area set off by gray flagstones; it’s a quaint outdoor kitchen complete with fireplace, Adirondack chairs, and a white picnic table on our way to the double French-doored back of the house.
No doubt we should have gone around to the front and rung the bell, but Harpoc couldn’t be bothered, assuring me that Li will let us in this way, or he won’t bother sealing this secret—not that he has a choice. Harpoc raises his hand and knocks on the door’s glass.
I scan the outdoor Jacuzzi and peer in the windows while we wait. Yes, call me snoopy. It looks to be the living room with exposed, pine beams, pine floors, casual furniture atop a huge, red-toned oriental rug, and a stone fireplace that stretches to the peak of the sloped ceiling.
I look back when I hear the door open.
“Welcome,” a uniformed woman greets, opening it to us. “Mister Li is expecting you. Please.”
She motions us to follow, and I trail Harpoc, hastily wiping my boots on the mat, lest I be a barbarian in this fine home.
We pass a casual family room and kitchen as well as a room with only a brown-felt-covered pool table for furnishings. Natural pine lines the floors and walls and there’s more exposed pine beams throughout. It’s casual and inviting and I almost wish we could linger, but we’re in this criminal’s home for a reason.