by L. R. W. Lee
“He… he nearly…” The bulk of my jacket feels almost like a blanket as I hug myself.
My whole life I’ve had no one to watch my back. I’ve been alone, and I’ve learned how to look out for myself, but this time I’m in way over my head.
What if Harpoc hadn’t intervened? My limbs start to shake and tears well up.
I swipe at the rogue traitors and realize Harpoc’s still watching me. His metallic eyes, so like the ones that have comforted me for years, radiate concern.
My lips quiver.
Breathe, Pell. Get it together. Unlike usual, my inner voice is gentle, seemingly understanding.
Problem is, I can’t get “things” together despite taking several slow breaths. I’ve been shaken at my core.
Harpoc takes one step and draws me into his firm and steady arms. And that’s all it takes to release a floodgate of tears.
“You saved me,” I blubber over and over, hugging him tight, an anchor in stormy seas.
He doesn’t tell me to shhh or still, he just holds me as all the terror I’ve felt gushes out.
At length, I push back and wipe my wet face on my sleeve. I haven’t cried in years, and now I’ve shed tears twice in two days. What is it about Harpoc? He must think me a wuss.
Don’t go soft, Pell. You don’t even know him.
That thought brings me up short.
Harpoc drops his arms, and I scrunch my face, realizing I’ve made a wet mess of the fine gray leather vest, inside his duster.
“I’m so sorry.” Before rationale thought can catch me, I go to work.
I raise my arm and press it against his very hard and very sexy chest, then draw it down. Only as my dirty sleeve reaches the bottom button does horror catch up with me.
Pell, you’re making it worse!
My face burns as I spot a trail of smudged limestone dust from my jacket, down his front.
His eyes sparkle as he looks down, then grabs my hand, trapping it against his stomach in his firm grip. “Don’t worry, I have plenty more.”
Plenty more? Why does that not surprise me? But he says it as if it’s an unreflected statement of fact, meant to ally my fears, not to brag.
Being of modest means, I’m not up on the latest fashion trends but even I know Harpoc’s wardrobe reeks of wealth. The leather of his duster still looks amazing even after the beating he’s given it dealing with the sphinx. His finely tailored, leather vest is soft against my cheek. His boots, despite looking well worn, bear no visible scratches.
He lets go of my hand and looks away as if just now realizing he’s dropped a tasty morsel about himself in my path and I’m still chewing on it.
“So… ” he says, glancing at Irik’s lumpy, unmoving form, then running a hand through his onyx locks as he steps away. “… you translated two more scrolls.”
My brain silently adds, “… despite knowing the consequences.”
I sigh as he ambles toward the two scrolls that still lay propped open by their corners, several feet away. “I did, and I’m sorry.”
“Why?” He turns his head and his metallic eyes pierce me as he rests his elbows on his thighs, squatting before them.
I shift, then explain everything that’s happened this morning.
He rises part way through my telling and stands like a statue keeping his expression neutral.
What must he think of me? I fiddle with my fingers.
“It’s no excuse, I know,” I say, finally finishing.
“I’m sorry about your dig master.” Notes of sadness fill his tone. “I know you think highly of him.”
I take a slow breath. “Thank you.” Then glancing through the dim, across the shelves brimming with scrolls, I add, “We may have a bigger problem. I think Irik took several of them. See how there’s no dust on the tops of a few? He denies it, of course.”
Harpoc meets my gaze. “I’m to blame for those.”
“What? How?”
“I sensed someone in the stairway listening in, and I couldn’t risk” —he waves his hands— “this happening. So I moved a few.”
“You heard Irik? Why didn’t you say something?”
“It wouldn’t have changed this outcome.”
I glance about. “Why did you take just a few?”
“Precautions.”
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t, so I ask, “You thought he’d tear the wall down?”
“I didn’t know who it was or what they might do. When it comes to secrets, you don’t take unnecessary risks.”
“How bad could the secrets of more creatures be? Worse than a sphinx… or a harpy?” My voice rises.
“You don’t want to know.” His expression’s serious.
I open and close my mouth like a fish.
Irik’s head shifts. We don’t have much time before he wakes, and I don’t want to be around when he does. Who knows what he’ll try?
Harpoc scans the shelves. “I’ll need to move all of them now that your associates know about them. We can’t let them loose all these beings.”
“Wait, what?” I hold up a hand. “You can’t do that.”
I want to beg, to say that this is the greatest archeological find in a century, that it’s my find. Yet even as the thoughts race through my head, my gut goes hard.
Nothing in my life has come easy. When I found the scrolls I wondered if karma has at last seen fit to bless me. I have my answer, and it stings. Why are the Fates toying with me?
I gasp as right on top of that realization, another piles on and makes my breathing labor. “Harpoc, if you move them, Irik will claim I’m jealous and stole them out from under him.”
He draws his lips into a line.
“Harpoc.” Panic laces my words, and I stride over to him. Looking up into his eyes I continue, “You can’t do this. If… if they think I stole them… Harpoc, they’ll never let me work here again.”
My pulse races, and my words turn pleading as the bigger picture forms in the forefront of my mind. “Harpoc, don’t do this to me. Please. I love archeology. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do with my life. If you do this… they’ll hunt me down and when they find me…” I draw my hands over my face.
Harpoc stares daggers at Irik whose head twitches again. “Do you really think you can continue to work here?” Fury laces his words, but I know it isn’t directed at me.
I’ve had plenty of people get mad at me, never has anyone gotten angry for me.
“Males like him aren’t to be trusted.” It comes out a growl.
His protectiveness is a balm to my aching heart, but it does little to ease the pain of the situation. What have I gotten myself into? Three days ago, I was happily digging up and decrypting ancient secrets and now, because of a series of unfortunate events…
This can’t be happening.
My inner voice is silent. Big help you are!
“I’ll tell Jude what happened,” I counter, pleading. “He’ll believe me. He’ll fire…” The words are half formed, but even I know I’m grasping at straws.
Harpoc’s eyes fill with sadness. “Pell, Jude may honestly believe you and want to help, but even he can’t stop what a jealous scoundrel alleges, especially when Jude was out cold. And from what you tell me, he has a long road to his own recovery before he’s ever going to be able to help, no matter how much he respects you.”
“More injustice, and this at the hands of… of… of a snobbish prig!” I throw up my hands and stomp about.
A minute later I freeze and study my companion. I don’t understand secret magic, at all, but this can’t happen, so I throw out my wish, “Can your secret magic make Irik forget he saw the scrolls, that he heard me interpret them? Make him forget this room, the broken wall, make him forget the whole thing.”
Harpoc looks into my eyes. “That’s not how it works, Pell. Secret magic doesn’t erase memories, it only hides things so a memory is never formed to begin with. With him blabbing all he knows, these scrolls won’t be a secret f
or long. It’s why I need to move them.”
And irreparably damage my reputation and career.
This can’t be happening, but what is he, what am I, to do?
Chapter Twenty
My dreams are turning to dust. Again. And I’m helpless to stop it. I feel like I’m free falling.
“Pell, I'm sorry how this all turned out.”
“Are you really?” He and his damn secrets are the reason I’m about to lose everything, one more time.
That’s BS, Pell, and you know it. Stop blaming him for what that earthquake started.
I fume. Damn inner voice calling out my horse hockey.
“Of course I’m sorry!” He throws his hands up. “Who do you think I am?”
I give him a long look. I don’t know. I’m mad at myself. At the situation. At feeling helpless.
Harpoc frowns but doesn’t comment.
Irik moans. Time’s running out.
“Not to be insensitive or rush you, but…” Harpoc nods toward my attacker whose eyes flutter.
Time’s up, Pell.
Time to suck it up despite my breaking heart. I sigh, I’m the queen of bad timing.
It’s tempting to turn cynical, to curse my life. Every damn time things seem to be looking up, it turns out to be a cruel ruse. The three times—yes, count them, three—I was nearly adopted I got my hopes up only to have them dashed for one reason or another. How can I not take repeated rejection personally? What’s wrong with me that nobody wanted me?
And there’s the time I thought I found my father only to discover the guy was some douche posing as him online. I shake my head. The wounds are still raw. When will I learn not to trust circumstances?
Pell, stop. This isn’t you, and you know it. Don’t be a bitter quitter.
I sigh. No one’s to blame, not really. It’s hard to stomach. Who’s the Greek god of earthquakes, anyway? Blame him, or her, some spiteful bitch, probably.
Shake it off, Pell. You’ve done it before.
I staunch a growl. I’ve “recovered” before; I have the emotional scars to prove it. But I want to nurse my hurt. I deserve to.
Pell… negativity’s never restored the sun to your outlook.
I know that. I don’t want to admit it, but I know.
Come on Pell, you won a full-ride scholarship to UT, Austin. Not everything’s been gloom and doom.
I bite my lip.
That scholarship. It’s what opened up a whole new world to me, a kid no one wanted. I showed them, too. Graduating fourth in the archeology school, whupping the butts of my privileged, mostly male classmates. Ha!
But I’ll never be a world-renowned archeologist. It seems not to be in my cards…
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to collect myself, collect my dreams, and bury them somewhere safe.
I take one last look around. “I’m ready.” It’s a lie, but what else is there to say. I’ll start over one more time. But that’s what life is, for better or worse, a series of new starts. I just need to find my footing.
Harpoc approaches, and I look up into his metallic eyes, remembering the eyes, that presence that has never left me, no matter what’s happened; those eyes have been the only constant in my life. Things will be okay—I make myself believe it because it’s all I can do.
“No more beings will be brought back. No one else will come to harm,” Harpoc says.
I bob my head, then put an arm around his waist.
He draws me close and holds me, longer than either time before until I look up.
“I’m here for you.”
“Thank you.” It’s a nice sentiment. At least he’s trying, it’s more than most guys even if it can’t be true—he entered my life just the day before, and I don’t know him. Once we deal with… whatever we have to deal with, he’ll be gone, and with him my window for understanding secret magic. I’ll be left alone to figure out how to restart my life again.
I glance at Irik. His gaze locks onto mine, and I suck in a breath.
“Let’s do this.” Harpoc’s baritone voice is flat, monotone as the scrolls disappear from the shelves.
“Hey! Hey!” Irik scrambles up. “Stop, thief!”
Blackness embraces us, disorientation and nausea assaulting me.
I successfully swallow back the contents of my stomach as my feet find something solid seconds later, thank god. It’s pitch-dark. A musty smell fills my nose and the sound of dripping reaches my ears.
Harpoc ignites a small ball of light in his free hand, and it gives off just enough glow to illuminate the interior of a cave hewn from white stone, probably more limestone.
“Where’d the scrolls go? Are we still in Greece?” The questions spill from my lips.
“I’d rather not say,” Harpoc says, scanning the space, his arm still around me.
“To which question?”
He doesn’t answer, just inhales deeply, then shakes his head. “No, definitely not this one.”
I furrow my brow.
“Let’s try another.”
I squeal again as discombobulation along with darkness fill my consciousness.
You’re right, Pell, this guy is crazy, my inner voice wheezes five spaces later. What in the world is he doing?
We flit between locations so quickly that I don’t have time to ask. Reality has become a continuous blur.
I pant, and I’m no doubt pale. I certainly feel pale judging by my stomach’s profane rumblings. Harpoc’s arm tightens as I sag against his side wherever we next stop.
Please have found what you’re searching for. I can’t handle one more tripping-anything.
I close my eyes still hugging him.
Breathe in, breathe out, Pell.
Except for the sound of him beside me, inhaling the stale air, everything’s quiet.
Breathe, calm, Pell.
I open my eyes again despite my stomach being only a little calmer.
He’s ignited that ball of light in his free palm and is looking about again. Progress. He hasn’t bothered doing so the last two places we stop.
“This could do,” he says at last, and I exhale.
“Where are we?”
“I shouldn’t say.” He releases me, and I try to steady my wobbling legs.
I roll my eyes. “Afraid I’ll blab your deepest darkest secret?”
“As I’ve said before, the less you know…” He stops himself, looking at me.
I furrow my brow. “What?”
His look lengthens, his expression remaining unreadable. Will he finally speak?
At length, he shakes his head.
No… of course not. A sarcastic tone fills my inner voice. Surprise, surprise. I’m getting sick of it.
“Here, let me help you sit.” He eases me down to the rough, but dry, stone floor.
I’m guessing I’m pale because concern mars his face. I’m prone to motion sickness and being stuck in the heart of the earth with no horizon to get my bearings isn’t helping.
Still bending over me, he holds up his pointer finger. “Wait one minute.” He straightens, then disappears in a swirl of shadows.
I’m alone, but he’s at least left his hovering ball of light.
I lay down in a fetal position, holding my stomach with a hand and using my arm as a pillow.
Shoot me. I haven’t felt this bad in years.
I focus on my breathing as I wait.
Several minutes later, he’s smiling when he steps out of his shadows, then walks over and sits down beside my head, holding out a can of ginger ale. “I’m told this will settle even pregnant stomachs.”
My eyes go wide.
“I mean… not that you’re… you’re not are you?” His baritone voice trembles.
My jaw drops as I push myself up to sitting.
“No, of course not.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Please… drink it. The ginger…”
I snort. My soda joins in, hissing with the escaping carbonation. “Thank you,” I say
grinning, then take a sip. “That was very sweet of you.”
Harpoc’s rings glint in the dim light as he draws a hand to his lips, covering a cute smirk. It’s too dark to see if he’s blushing. I certainly would if it was me, but then my cheeks turn red at the drop of a hat, thanks to being a redhead. His olive complexion probably covers a multitude of blunders… assuming he makes blunders. His secrecy probably prevents most.
Maybe you can take a few cues from him, keeping your thoughts to yourself a time or two, Pell.
I roll my eyes and take another sip.
“Feeling better?” he asks, as I tip the can up for a final swig.
“Yes, much, thanks to you.”
He rises, then helps me up. “Then it’s time to get the scrolls.”
I scan the space. “Is that what this is about?”
“Of course, I want to make sure their new accommodations preserve and keep them at their best.”
I look him up and down, drawing another grin from him. I can’t deny, I like that look on him.
“You’re a regular conservationist.”
“I try.” His chin dips.
Is he shy?
A corner of his mouth hitches up. “I want to ensure the accommodations pass the scrutiny of an accomplished archeologist like yourself.”
Despite that moving the scrolls will brand me a swindler and end my career.
He places a hand on my shoulder. “Pell, you’re no con artist. You’re accomplished, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise… even yourself.” He knows me too well. “Not everyone makes it as far as you.” He gives a squeeze.
He’s right. A lot of newbies bail during their first couple years in the field. I’ve done my time as a grunt and progressed to supervisor, and I need to remember that. I also made significant progress, bucking all the prejudices and stereotypes that I have along the way. I’m far from a failure.
I cover his hand and squeeze back. “Thank you.”
Dropping his arm and glancing about he asks, “So do you approve of my selection, senior archeologist?”
I look at the space from a different perspective, a professional one, and stride over to the seven- or eight-foot-high, curved wall, his ball of light floating above my shoulder, and scrutinize it.
