by L. R. W. Lee
“When we get there, I’ll refer to you as Rose, for your safety.”
I give him a long look. He knew my first name, of course he knows my last, but he’s giving me an alias. I bite my lip.
“You’ll refer to me as King of Roses.”
I do a double take. “Wait, are you calling yourself my king?”
He doesn’t reply, and I roll my eyes. Of course, he doesn’t respond.
“Harpoc, where are you taking me?” I’d wanted to go with the flow, but this feels… bigger… scarier.
“You’ll see soon enough. Get dressed and let’s get going.”
I drain my cup before surreptitiously sliding out of bed and crouching beside it so he can’t see my undies.
Some of his humor is back because he wags his brows as I snatch my sweatpants off the floor and fumble to put them on.
Like he’s never seen sexy panties before, Pell.
He hasn’t seen “mine,” I insist to myself as I head for the bathroom.
He’s back in his impeccable gray leather duster and vest and I’m in an again-clean jacket and cargo pants thanks to Harpoc’s domestic skills as we walk out of the hotel several minutes later and head down the drive to where we first arrived.
“Are we flying or tripping?” I ask, afraid of the answer as we head for the seclusion of the bushes.
A corner of his mouth hitches. “Tripping? What are we, overdosing on psychedelic drugs?
I snicker. I hadn’t thought about that.
“That’s tripskipping, and yes.”
“You’re a sadist.” I’d started enjoying having his arms cradle me in flight.
“Can’t have you relaxing too much, it dulls the senses.”
I don’t know what senses he’s referring to because his hands don’t dull anything with me.
He holds an arm out, and I step in, enjoying the closeness as he pulls me closer still, and I wrap an arm around his trim waist.
Darkness and disorientation claim me in an instant, but I swallow down a scream this time. I’m becoming a real professional.
My world brightens seconds later and… I’m in Harpoc’s arms gliding over a sea of red roofs, the only punctuation, a domed mosque and those towers with speakers calling the faithful to prayer.
Where in the world…?
I glance up at Harpoc. “I thought we were only ‘tripping.’” I chuckle.
A corner of his mouth hitches despite his eyes being focused beyond the edge of town where an enormous rough rock outcropping looks oddly out of place, the only hulking landmark for miles, and beyond that, open fields of green.
Curiosity nibbles at me, and I take a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm my roiling stomach as I squint, but I can’t quite make out what crop is growing.
Harpoc beats his wings, and we soar past the town, then glide ever lower. Something particularly foul smelling sets my nose reeling, and it’s only getting worse the closer we get to the ground. It reminds me of skunk.
He touches down near the edge of one of those rolling fields and stands me up, and I take one look at the field to the left and know exactly what I’ve been smelling. There’s something distinctive about that seven-part leaf that while I’ve never tried the stuff, anyone alive recognizes.
“Harpoc, what—” I try keeping my voice a whisper. “—why?”
“It’s King of Roses,” he whispers back.
What is he getting us into? My breathing labors. “Are you a drug dealer?” I’ve known he’s dangerous, but I never once pictured this.
He looks into my eyes. “This isn’t a government sanctioned grower so the owner may not appreciate my presence. I need you to do exactly what I say, when I say it. Can you do that for me?”
Not government sanctioned. As in illegal?
Somehow that does nothing to calm me. Whatever the relationship between Harpoc and this grower, it doesn’t sound good, because otherwise, why the pseudonyms and the need to follow his lead to the tee? My spidey senses are tingling. Things smell wrong, and it’s more than the stench of cannabis.
“King of Roses…” The title still sounds stupid. “… what does this have to do with King Midas?”
“Everything and nothing.”
I roll my eyes. More riddles.
An ominous feeling floods every fiber of my being, and I shift from one foot to the other. Government sanctioned or not, it feels like I’m about to be part of a drug deal, or worse, going down in some foreign Muslim country. How many years in prison will this earn if law enforcement happens to drop by because I can’t imagine a Muslim country condoning anything weed related. I pray I’m wrong.
I’ve fantasized about being a bad girl a time or two, who hasn’t, but I’ve never acted on it. I laugh to myself, yeah, me, a bad girl. That’s funny.
“King Rose,” I whisper, chuckling inside—this manly man’s flower honorific amuses me. “You smoke weed?”
“I enjoy the euphoria, but the side effects dull my senses, so I don’t indulge often. You?”
I laugh out loud. “Never.”
A corner of Harpoc’s mouth hitches up.
“You figured, huh?”
His beautiful eyes dance.
I’ve been only a boring, brown-nosing, archeological weenie.
Somehow the thought doesn’t sit right.
Where’s it gotten me? Unemployed, that’s where.
You’re a proud weenie, Pell, the proudest, my inner voice validates me.
Yeah, unemployed. I can’t escape the facts. I’ve played it safe my entire life thinking it’ll get me ahead, but it hasn’t.
I gaze over the countryside, weed swaying in the gentle breeze. I’m unemployed even though I discovered the find of the century. I barely staunch a growl. It sucks royally, and I’m sick of it.
It’s time for a change. It’s time to stop playing it safe. It’s time to start living.
Pell, you are living; being reckless is just dangerous.
I ignore the voice in my head and lean in to hear Harpoc whisper in my ear. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” His voice is firm.
I’ve no idea what’s about to go down, but somehow I believe him.
No, Pell, you’ve no idea who he is. Don’t do something brash you’ll regret.
Oh, but I am so ready, no, I’m beyond ready, to be carefree.
Harpoc’s been only protective of me since I met him, and the commitment I sense in his voice tells me my trust is not misplaced, regardless of who I discover he is. I know I’m rationalizing, but hey.
Pell… my inner voice rises.
Shush, I tell myself.
“Some secrets cost more to keep than others,” Harpoc says.
I look over at him unsure why he said that. It doesn’t matter. I’m going with the flow… on steroids. I’m ready for an adventure. Weed and Midas. Midas and weed. Golden euphoria. I laugh to myself. Bring it on.
I refocus. “So you’re what, some secret-keeping vigilante working on behalf of…” I wave my hands making something up. “… the Greater Galaxy Secrecy Federation to make sure everyone…”
Harpoc smiles. “Everyone…?”
I furrow my brow. “What’s even involved in keeping a secret anyway? You got a badge and a secret handshake?”
He laughs. “Watch and learn, Rose. Watch and learn.” With that he takes my hand, turns me around, and we head into a field of plants taller than me, down a dirt path between the rows.
I feel amazing. I feel free. I’m riding high on adventure, probably on the overwhelming scent surrounding us too, but whatever.
After a good amount of tromping through the crop, we emerge near a wooden shack with a sloped, ribbed-steel roof—spots of rust pock it every now and again. Several feet away, to the left, stands a large white tent, the light fabric of which ruffles in the breeze—it’s nothing like the canvas command tents I’m used to especially when I spot row upon row of baby plants through gaps in the fabric.
Harpoc points ahead, tow
ard the wood shack, and I follow him across the bare dirt yard, up the rickety steps, and onto the porch. He knocks on the door, and I survey the area while we wait. The place seems deserted. Only three dirty, white-haired goats stare at us, chewing their cud behind a primitive fence, to the right, not far away.
Harpoc takes to pounding when no one’s appeared in a couple minutes.
But seconds later, I spot a half-dressed boy—despite the chill he’s got no coat nor shoes—dart behind an old pickup parked beside the goats’ corral. I’m no good at guessing kids’ ages but I’d put him between eleven and twelve.
“King Rose…” I whisper, then nod.
A chicken in our path squawks as we hurry it to join its fellows, as we descend the steps and head toward where the boy disappeared.
We navigate through a section of waist-high, potted-nursery-graduates that look ready to join the rest of the crop before long, and finally find the guy Harpoc has been looking for, at least I assume it’s who he seeks.
A middle-aged, burgundy-turbaned man sits sideways to us, stroking his long beard, puffing on the profits, under a shade tree, before a smoldering fire. His gut tells me he’s not starving despite the modest surroundings.
I take in a tattoo of Islamic writing with a dragon breathing fire that graces his neck. It sends a shiver up my back.
From the six java cups resting on a host of old wood cores arranged in a circle, he hasn’t been alone long. The coffee’s probably still hot.
“Stay here and watch your back,” Harpoc whispers, sauntering toward the dude who’s turned his head toward us.
I scan the clearing. The missing men could be hiding anywhere, and a chill runs up my back.
You wanted adventure, Pell.
Shush.
I swallow hard and scrutinize, for any signs of movement, the chest-high weed that surrounds the clearing.
Harpoc stops before the guy and says, “Zeki, you’re a hard one to find.”
“King of Roses, why are you here?” Zeki asks, sitting up.
“You know why.” Harpoc takes a commanding stance, legs spread, staring down his nose at the guy.
“I did what you asked.” Zeki puts out his joint on the side of the stump playing it cool, but I distinctly see his hand tremble.
“You sure about that? You don’t sound like someone who wants to keep this secret of yours hidden.” Harpoc crosses his arms, his duster shifting.
He hasn’t told me word one about the whole secret-keeping business so far, including his role in it, and I listen intently.
Zeki stands, an elbow of his gray shirt peeking through his red and black wool plaid jacket. “You said you’d make my operation appear legal if I gave you a fifty percent cut.”
That’s the kind of secret Harpoc deals in with this guy?
Harpoc told me to watch and learn. I am definitely learning, because it’s the first time I realize there’s a cost involved in hiding a secret. I suppose it is a “service,” so I guess it makes sense, but still, what kind of shady business is it?
Although fifty percent sounds like extortion. Would Harpoc really do that to someone?
I wonder what the sphinx or Zephyr or Midas had to pay.
Harpoc chuckles. “That I did, and I have, exactly as we sealed your secret. But your partners have started selling the crop and you’re not including that in my share of the profits.”
Zeki raises his hands. “Fifty percent’s a lot of money.”
“You knew that before you agreed to my conditions. No one held a weapon to your head forcing you to make the deal.”
“I know but…” The guy’s voice is turning whiny. I can’t stand whiny.
Zeki isn’t disputing the facts. So he’s reneging.
But my mind’s still spinning. I’ve been thinking some ancient dude or dudes scribed a secret, and Harpoc’s tasked with preserving them. But this conversation feels like what I’ve deduced so far about secret magic—cleaning, shielding, healing, and more—and Harpoc’s involvement in it is all in support of what suddenly feels like the heart of it because…
Harpoc has some sort of power to hide secrets, too… today.
And if that’s the case…
My stomach clenches.
What part might Harpoc play in the political double standards that make me steam?
Chapter Thirty
The thought blows my mind and my breathing hitches.
Harpoc hid Zeki’s secret, recently. My brain starts following the path. Whatever it means to hide a secret, he did it recently.
We’ve been chasing down ancient secrets, or rather the results of them being revealed.
I’m not saying I understand the half of that, but I can wrap my head around something being recent. Harpoc’s here, in the now, and he did whatever he did to keep this guy’s illegal crop secret from the government.
Yes, the government. My thoughts drift to secrets that politicians have these days that create a whole array of double standards. Double standards that drive me ballistic.
I grind my teeth and my shoulders tense.
Is Harpoc at the center of all of it?
How does hiding a secret even work? I know my mind can get really creative, but I’m at a complete and total loss to figure this one out.
Is that why he’s so secretive? The question rises unbidden, and I almost laugh, almost.
I’ve trusted him, but has he been withholding all sorts of things from me? Things he knows tee me off?
I shift from one foot to the other, thinking of Margo.
But before I can go ballistic, I stop myself. It’s a mighty big charge, and I may be completely wrong. I hope I am. I need more proof before I go off on him, but so help me, if he’s…
I take a deep breath. I’ll probe my secretive companion and get some real answers. I’m sick of his secrets, and I’m not letting him off the hook again. I know I’ve told myself that before, but not this time.
Zeki’s pleading returns my focus. Harpoc and Zeki continue talking, or perhaps I should say Harpoc talks and Zeki begs because Zeki’s kneeling and sounding even more desperate.
“I know you’re a smart man, Zeki.”
I barely stifle a laugh, yeah a real savant.
“This is your first infraction—”
I yip as I feel a hand grab the fabric of my jacket’s hood, then something sharp pricks the back of my neck. A low voice with an Arabic accent whispers in my ear, “No sudden moves and you won’t get hurt, now move.”
Harpoc’s head pivots in an instant, and he stares down whoever’s directing me.
Gold eye, silver eye. The image shoots to the forefront of my mind, and I finger my ring, anything to find some small measure of comfort in this grand adventure, as that fist compels me forward.
At least my inner voice stays quiet. The last thing I need is for her to say “I told you so.”
Zeki’s shoulders hunch, I can’t tell if he’s defeated or relieved at the actions of his compatriots.
“Your agreement was unfair, King of Roses,” another, higher pitched voice says from behind me.
The grip on my hood doesn’t slacken, and I’m forced to continue forward.
Harpoc doesn’t so much as look at me, and I don’t know what to make of it. He’s promised me he won’t let anything happen to me. I still believe that, but he could at least reassure me.
I take step after step until that hand jerks me to a stop.
Harpoc forces a smile to his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes, then shifts, arms crossed as if relaxed, so he’s looking straight at whoever spoke behind me.
If I didn’t know him, I’d believe the act, but in just three days I’ve come to know his tells. He’s anything but relaxed. His jaw is tense.
Harpoc leans back and says, “Zeki, it seems you have a management issue to deal with. It’s never fun to have to set your underlings straight, but you’ll need to because I made the agreement with you and you alone, for this entire production facility.” He waves an
arm about. “Now I can easily let your government—”
Zeki raises his folded hands, still kneeling. “No. Don’t.”
“Zeki,” Higher-Pitch-Guy behind me says, “why are you begging when we control the king’s greatest weakness, right here.”
Greatest weakness? I’m no one’s weakness, especially not Harpoc’s. I nearly laugh, but the blade pokes my neck again, with intention this time, and I snarl.
Harpoc grins, still not looking at me. “I’d be careful what you say about, as well as, to her. She may look harmless…” Thanks Harpoc. “… but she’s deftly dealt with creatures of mythic proportions.”
His death-eye stare only intensifies and quiet descends on the group, like everyone’s sizing up each other’s BS quotient.
A second later, the hold on my hood eases. Guess Harpoc’s convincing.
But I’m still captive.
I replay Harpoc’s words whether he means for me to or not. He’s right, I’ve been part of dealing with Irik, then a sphinx, as well as a damn harpy. Granted Harpoc did the heavy lifting, but I was there and learned a thing or two. I am dangerous, sort of.
The higher-pitched idiot starts blathering to Harpoc about the injustice of the situation while Zeki remains quiet, still on his knees.
Why doesn’t Harpoc just knock them all out like he did Irik? We’d be out of here in no time. Maybe he can’t handle more than one at a time, I’ve no idea. I tune out, because no one’s making any moves, and consider our predicament.
You can do it, Pell, my inner voice encourages the plan that begins to form, but it gets more complex when I hear scuffling in the dirt behind me, and it’s not from Mister Higher Voice. Damn, there’s at least two more goons from the sounds of things.
Duh, Pell, there were six abandoned cups.
If I deal with the guy with his grubby mitts on me, can Harpoc manage the others, because they’re above my pay grade.
If I can just get Harpoc’s attention.
I cough, drawing Harpoc’s gaze for only a second, and bob my head, then ram an elbow into the ribs of my captor and pivot, winding up my leg for a hard and accurate hit. I won’t miss this time.
I don’t either. The guy doesn’t know what hits him between my elbow that winds him and my boot, because I make a direct hit.
