by L. R. W. Lee
Notus and another gryphon snarl, but the three-foot-tall furry warriors don’t back down. Rather, they close in around our backs, blades extended.
“State your business.” The shrill tone comes from behind us and I twist in the saddle to see a large white rat, sword holstered, step from the ranks, paws on its hips.
Make it count, I encourage myself despite my inner minion’s silence.
Idris turns Notus to face their leader, and I sit up straight in the saddle. “My name is Pellucid Rose. I am an emissary of the Empire of Secrets. I request a hearing with Arimanius.”
That gets a reaction. The warriors shift, necessitating their commander to lift a paw, which stills them.
Okay, then. I sense a wee bit of hostility. Understatement, much?
Gold eye, silver eye.
They keep us waiting a good long time while their commander sends a messenger across the bridge and under the portcullis, but our troops don’t so much as flinch the entire time.
They’re well disciplined. I credit Idris with that accomplishment.
At length, the messenger rodent scurries back across the bridge and to its commander, gesturing animatedly, after which their leader says, “Your mounts and weapons will remain with us while you have an audience with his majesty.”
I translate for Idris, who I realize doesn’t understand what the rat commander said because he doesn’t have secret magic.
The general nods. Seems he expected it. “Dismount.”
Callie helps me down, and Idris steps beside me as all fifteen of us stride toward two rats guarding the bridge.
The rat guards supervise our warriors as they divest themselves of swords and daggers. Then the rat guards do a very personal search before clearing us to cross.
My companions don’t flinch at the feel of tiny paws patting everywhere and checking pockets for weapons. I can’t say I do as well, but at least they don’t stick their mitts in my pockets.
The rat commander beckons us forward. Now that that’s over, I’m not too worried despite our warriors being without arms. The rats don’t possess magic, and the seven who ferried us possess secret magic—they’re weapons unto themselves. Plus, who knows how many hidden weapons the rats missed.
The commander leads us down a towering hallway. The sound of rat paws clicking on the shiny floors trails us; I don’t even have to look to know half of those rat soldiers outside have fallen in behind us.
But as I take in a variety of reclaimed trash sculptures, I cringe—knights being eaten by dragons, the minotaur goring a human-looking warrior, a gryphon being mauled by a sea monster, and a host of other creatures being disemboweled or something equally disgusting at the teeth of monsters.
The stained glass windows, while amazing to contemplate the skill involved in crafting them, follow a similar theme, and I look away.
Worry takes a bite out of me.
Gold eye, silver eye.
From the strained looks on Idris and the face of the other warrior flanking me, I’m not alone. I’m glad I’ve got a helmet and warriors protecting my back. Arimanius may be the Rembrandt of Reclamation, but he’s got a weird gore fetish going on. What are we likely to face?
I don’t have long to wonder because we turn right and walk beneath an elaborate archway that opens into a long, sweeping chamber.
We pass ornate columns—who knows what recycled material the savior of salvage crafted them from—with carved serpents wrapped around them as we make our way toward the throne. I swallow because another cringe-worthy sculpture, this one of rats consuming some dead thing, covers the whole of the wall directly behind the elaborate, but empty throne.
The commander stops us at the foot of twelve steps. It’s hardly normal to have that many steps leading up to a dais, and it makes me wonder if this dude is seriously compensating for an inferiority complex of some sort.
A horn sounds, a regal-sounding tune—something like “Hail to the Chief” at the White House—and every rat in the place genuflects.
We do not.
Arimanius roars from that lion mouth of his as he appears through a door to the right. I admit the loud bellow reverberating around the chamber makes my stomach tense.
He flares his wings and his lion eyes gleam, devouring us, as he struts toward the throne.
I barely keep my jaw shut because the muscular, bronze-skinned dude is butt naked, like the couple of statues I’ve seen of him. I’m no judge of male junk, but he’s got plenty going on as far as I’m concerned—even though Harpoc still bests him in that department.
It’s clearly a ploy to make unwanted visitors as uncomfortable as possible. It’s working.
Chin held high, he strokes the large albino snake draped over his shoulders.
Can anyone say, nude Voldemort and white Nagini?
His still splayed wings brush the back of the elaborate chair making him look as big and bad as possible as he stops to one side and turns, giving us a frontal view of his generous maleness.
I will my eyes up.
But the next second, the snake drops to the floor, forked tongue flicking, and slithers toward us.
My heart starts to race.
Idris doesn’t flinch, but the warrior to my left shifts.
“Rise,” Arimanius commands his rat soldiers.
I hear a rustling behind me, but don’t react even when protracted silence follows.
It’s his turf. He’s clearly not happy with us, so I wait for him to address me.
“You begged to have an audience with me, speak.” A muscle in his jowl bulges.
We didn’t beg, but that’s beside the point.
“Arimanius, thank you for seeing us.” There’s no point in beating around the bush so I decide to be direct. “I am Pellucid Rose, emissary of the Empire of Secrets, and I’ve come to ask you how you came to learn of the agreement between the City of Mete’s lead sanitation engineer and the Queen of Scarabs.”
He purrs, but it has none of the contentment cats infuse it with. No, this is a pissed purr. “That’s rich, coming from you. I bid on the contract in good faith, and you facilitate that bitch’s scheming.”
He doesn’t strike me as a guy who does anything “in good faith,” but I won’t point that out.
Not surprisingly, Arimanius and I are aligned even though I can’t tell him that. We both want to do away with the double standard that sealing secrets creates.
He steps to the edge of the top step, placing his junk right at eye-level so I have to avert my gaze or stare at nothing else.
I look up, and he chuckles, wagging his eyebrows as he brushes a hand across his tone abdomen.
Just don’t brush lower.
The snake slithers down the stairs to my left, and our guards on that side shift away.
“How did you discover her… treachery?” I need to keep him focused.
He turns, and I only barely refrain from ducking as his wings brush Idris and my heads, no doubt intentionally. I get a complete view of his muscled posterior as he saunters back toward his throne. He’s nearly as good as a runway model with the way he makes his hips sway.
I feel something brush my feet and I nearly shriek as that snake slithers over the top of them. Idris shifts beside me.
By the time I look up again, Arimanius is seated forward, on the edge of the throne, wings still splayed, legs spread wide.
But of course they are. Couldn’t cramp his pickled pecker.
A growl rumbles from his throat. “What will you do for me if I tell you how I learned of your little arrangement?”
I have no authority, but I need information. “I’ll see to it that you are awarded that contract.”
He sits up straight, eyes scrutinizing my face, no doubt looking for signs of trickery, but I’m not bluffing. If I can reverse this sealed secret, I’ll feel good seeing justice prevail and things made fair.
“You have that much sway, do you?” Another purr, this one happier, rumbles from his throat.
�
�I am part of the emperor’s Core, and as such, I do.” I add bite to my words. “It’s why I came.”
He leans back, putting his elbows on the arms of the throne and steeples his hands, tapping his fingertips. He doesn’t bother closing his legs.
Freak.
Cunning lights his eyes as he drops his hands. “Very well. I shall hold you to your promise.” He furls his wings as he stands once more and strides forward, scanning the floor. “Beelzebub, come.”
One of Satan’s names, how fitting.
The snake, crawling between the legs of warriors behind me, dispenses with its game and slithers back toward the stairs, but it brushes the side of my boot as it does.
Damn demon. I want to growl, but I refrain. Only barely.
The warriors behind me exhale.
The snake contents itself to slither around Arimanius’s bare feet as he says, “I learned of… your treachery from a messenger of Glass.” I staunch my surprise. “Seeing as Glass is committed to transparency, I had every reason to believe they told the truth. It seems I was right.”
I do my best to act nonchalant, swinging a hand at my side. “I see. And what exactly did this message say?”
Arimanius clasps his hands behind his back and leans back, giving me a feline grin, like he knows he’s showing off again.
I do my best to ignore his junk, focusing on his eyes.
“It indicated that the god of secrets had sealed as a secret, the fact that Mense’s lead sanitation engineer accepted a bribe from the Queen of Scarabs to guarantee her that very lucrative contract. Needless to say, I wasn’t very happy.”
That’s an understatement.
“Did it say anything else?” I probe, because if I have to somehow get Harpoc to go against the roach queen, I’m going to make it worth his while.
He shakes his head. “No, that’s all.”
I scan his face, looking for any tells, not that I’d spot them, but I detect no lies. I hadn’t expected to get any more out of him, but it was worth a try.
I nod because it’s time to hightail it away from this pervert. “Thank you for your time. You’ll be hearing about that contract shortly.”
He runs a hand up and down his bare chest, smirking. “I look forward to it.”
With that, Idris puts a hand on the small of my back and we step through our troops and lead them out of this insanity.
Arimanius is definitely eccentric, but I believe him. He wouldn’t have sent troops against us with such ferocity if he hadn’t been sure. But more, his words are the link we needed to know Glass is behind the leaks.
Now, what to do about it?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“On your knees.” The Glass soldier’s voice is as hard as steel.
They’ve got me surrounded. There’s no escape.
One soldier kicks the back of my legs from behind, and my knees buckle and hit the hard, packed dirt.
“This is your last chance, give us your ring.” It comes out a growl.
“No!” I scream, my heart racing.
Strong arms wrap around me, then jostle. “Pell. Pell, wake up. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
My eyes fly open, and my gaze darts about, taking in the dim bedroom… off-white walls, inlaid rose patterns, gray bedspread, tall headboard. Harpoc’s bedroom.
“You’re okay, Pell.” His voice is calm and soothing after that dream, or nightmare, I should say.
“Har… Harpoc,” I pant. I hug his strong arm that’s holding me against his bare chest. It’s a relief to feel him, firm and steady, surrounding and protecting me.
“You had a bad dream.”
I swallow, finally getting my breathing to slow, but I’m not letting go of him.
What’s happening to me? I’ve never been clingy. No, I’ve always been tough. I’ve had to be, because ain’t no one else going to protect me. But with him wrapped around me like he’s been since that first night, I’m going soft.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Sleep clogs his throat.
“No… but thanks.” I shift my head to get the hair out of my face. I’m using his other arm as a pillow and when shifting doesn’t work, I feel his fingers gently run through my locks and loop them behind an ear.
I don’t know how to say it other than, I feel cared for. I’ve never had anyone care for, or about, me like he does. I’m not clear why he cares, and it fills me with questions but for another time.
I clutch his arm more tightly, hopefully communicating my thanks.
He squeezes my middle in response, then nuzzles my neck, pressing a kiss near my jawline.
The fairies in my stomach take flight, but I tell them to knock it off and go back to sleep because it’s the middle of the night.
It’s not long before Harpoc’s arm goes slack and I hear his even breathing, but my brain’s not ready to sleep after that scare so I let my thoughts roam. So much has changed since I’ve come, and it’s all happened so fast that I haven’t had time to process it.
I can’t believe it’s been just six, going on seven, days since Harpoc brought me here, and four since he turned my world upside down with the revelation that I’m immortal.
It’s hard to wrap my brain around, and even harder to accept that every being I’ve met is immortal.
What does it even mean… immortal? I’ve asked myself that a million times, but I haven’t gotten any satisfactory answers. I get the concept of living forever—well, actually no I don’t, but whatever—but what does it mean?
My thoughts keep moving. I’ve seen sphinxes and gryphon fighting giant rats, as well as been told about a scarab queen—that gives me the willies.
I’ve watched Harpoc seal a secret that I disagreed vehemently with but couldn’t stop.
I’ve trained to control my magic… yes, mine—I still shake my head.
We ventured to the… Twilight Zone. It’s that all right.
We investigated a leak only to deduce it’s a chimera. It’s crazy to think there’s another fantastical mythical beast on the loose, although not crazier than a sphinx or harpy, so there is that.
Oh, and Glass soldiers approached us, apparently called after detecting secret magic used in the Empire of Glass—Secret’s rival since the beginning of time.
And I will never, ever forget—my eyes still burn from—the naked, snake-loving pervert from earlier who confirmed Glass’s involvement in the leaks.
Is this what eternity’s like? Is this what immortal means? Dealing with what’s bigger and badder and feeling more out of control than I’ve ever felt. It’s overwhelming. Or is it something else?
Where do I belong? Where do I fit in?
The questions plague me.
I’m not mortal. Do I still fit in on earth? It doesn’t feel like it. I’ve no idea what will happen once we solve these leaks. I came to Secrets to learn all I could about secret magic in order to break the double standards that drive me crazy. I’m still committed to seeing the gross unfairness fixed, but perhaps it needs to be fixed on a grander scale, because double standards exist everywhere, as I’ve seen.
Although Harpoc’s not the whole problem, secret magic is at the core. And no matter how badly I want to kill that double standard, I won’t in a way that hurts him.
Ah yes, secret magic… I want to growl because it frustrates me, taunting, daring, then forbidding me to ask questions about the sealed secret I’m obviously part of—because heaven forbid I figure it out. Yet, it’s allowing me to do things I never could have imagined.
I’m beginning to understand a tiny part of the love/hate relationship Harpoc feels for it because I’m right there with him.
Speaking of, I’m still not sure how to process his admission that he wants me to know the real him—he says he’s told me things and let me see him in ways he’s never allowed any other living being. I believe it, considering how secretive he is.
But why me when he’s eons old?
I won’t deny I have feelings for him and they’re growin
g, but I don’t pretend to know what to think.
My thoughts continue swirling, but I reach no conclusions other than I’m in way over my head when it comes to Harpoc, not to mention secret magic.
_______
Slumber must eventually win over my raging thoughts because I wake feeling a warm hand cup one of my breasts through my T-shirt.
I promised myself I’d try Harpoc’s ideas concerning body image so while the urge to move away is strong, I force myself to lie still.
Good girl, Pell. You can do this.
I raise a hand, locate his face behind me, and run it along his scruffy jaw. “Good morning, Harpoc.”
“Good morning, my little harpy,” he whispers in my ear, still doting on my breast.
He moves his hand to the other one and showers it with affection as well, but then that nomadic hand migrates to the bottom of my T-shirt.
“May I?” Passion laces his words.
My stomach clenches. And good morning.
I bite my lip… because I’m pretty sure where this is going.
I need to try.
I nod.
Goose flesh pimples my skin as his hand dives below the thin cotton and moves up my bare skin, slowly, luxuriatingly until I feel his fingers on my mounded flesh.
I’ll try.
I concentrate on how it feels, doing my best to beat back worry that he’ll want to see me. I overcame this monster the other night on the patio—I let him see me topless—but I’d been a bit amped up from secret magic practically strangling him.
Now…
I try to lose myself in sensations as his hand cups my breast, then strokes, then squeezes my pebbled nipple. It’s not hard to admit that it feels amazing.
“Your breasts are perfect, Pell.” I hear passion in his voice. These aren’t just words to him.
Harpoc’s fingers continue gently stroking the sides of my breasts, then move higher.
The sensations are what I can only describe as incredible, and heat ignites between my legs.
But when he nudges me with his other arm, the one I’ve used as a pillow, I know he wants me to turn over and face him.
My stomach clenches and all my efforts to subdue this minion flee like a bird on the wind.