by L. R. W. Lee
He howls, grabbing his balls as he drops. A machete clatters to the hard-packed dirt beside where he writhes. I didn’t kick him hard enough to kill him, but he’ll definitely remember me.
Chaos breaks out around me for a second, then everything goes deathly still.
“King of Roses…” I scan the area, then exhale.
Five large thugs lay motionless behind me, plus the squirming, no-longer-machete-wielding dude. The insufficiently dressed boy we followed, darts back into the weed. Only Zeki’s still upright, still on his knees before Harpoc.
Harpoc doesn’t so much as give me a glance, just keeps talking to Zeki, “As I mentioned, she doesn’t look dangerous, but she packs a punch.”
Zeki turns and looks me up and down before returning his gaze up at Harpoc.
“We’ll honor the agreement.” I swear his voice quivers.
“That’s a wise decision, see that you do. Now if you’ll just get me those joints, we’ll be on our way.”
Joints? Harpoc wants a hit, or whatever drug dealers call the stuff? He said he rarely used.
Zeki has the good sense to tremble as he rises and scurries toward me, then past.
“And be sure they’re only the highest quality,” Harpoc calls after him. Harpoc winks at me, and I know he’s messing with the guy.
I hear the squeak of hinges in need of oil.
Harpoc nods at the squirmy dude I hit where it counts, and the goon goes still. I give Harpoc a long look, but he doesn’t comment.
Not more than a minute later, those hinges protest again and Zeki soon reappears with a plastic sandwich-size Ziploc bag stuffed full of rolled joints.
I furrow my brow. That’s got to be enough to be high for days, like I’d know.
Harpoc takes the bag, then nods, and Zeki collapses, sinking to his knees, then toppling to his side, on the ground, his red turban falling free to reveal a balding head in the process.
My mouth drops open. “What…?”
Harpoc exhales heavily, and it’s only then that I realize he’s barely been breathing the whole time. Five strides and he’s pulling me against his chest and wrapping his arms around me still holding that bag of joints. One of his duster’s buckles digs into my cheek, but I don’t complain.
“Well done, Rose,” he says, into my hair as he nuzzles the top of my head. I swear I hear him inhale, there’s no possible imagining this time.
It’s a minute or two, longer than a casual hug for sure, before Harpoc’s arms slacken.
That guy called me Harpoc’s greatest weakness. The thought’s crazy; there’s no way, he didn’t look at me the entire time, yet he’s still holding me.
I’d never have dared to ask such an intimate question before, but I want adventure and my heart speeds.
Surprisingly, my inner voice doesn’t caution me with the disappointment I’ll feel if Harpoc says, no. Maybe she’s getting on board.
I swallow and ask, “Am I your greatest weakness?” I hold my breath.
Chapter Thirty-One
Harpoc stiffens. Only in his arms would I notice it, he’s that subtle, but I do.
Harpoc forces a laugh, then asks, “With all that just happened, that’s what you want to know?”
“Well, that and why you didn’t just knock them all out when they put a machete to my throat.”
He steps back, and I love the smile that’s spread across his face. “Don’t hate me, but I was curious.”
“Curious?”
“I wanted to see what you’d do, after I promised I wouldn’t let anything hurt you.”
“It was a test?” My voice rises and my temper flares to life.
He raises his hands in surrender. “After your complete disbelief in anything I said when we first met”—My temper fades in an instant because he’s right—“I wondered how much trust I’ve managed to earn. There’s nothing like a serious situation to understand.”
“You’re right that I doubted everything you said at first, but come on, Harpoc—” I inhale quickly then glance around after I slip, not calling him His Kinglyness Rose. I’m relieved to find all the goons still sleeping. “—it was a sphinx you were trying to get me to believe in… a sphinx.” I wave my hands.
He shrugs. “I wanted to know.”
“Why’s it so important?”
He drops his gaze to the ground.
“Oh come on, give me a freaking break. Tell me.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I step back, my temper igniting.
“I’ll tell you what I saw.” He meets my eyes again.
I throw up my hands. “Fine, what’s that?”
“You trust me with your life.” He draws a hand to his chest. “And I am honored.” There’s no humor on his face, he’s not joking.
I wanted to start probing him about politics and double standards, but how can I when he goes and says that? I open and close my mouth. Harpoc is frustrating as all get out, but the sincerity I see in his gorgeous eyes disarms me. He’s honored by my trust?
When’s the last time someone cared if I trust them or not? Like never. Yet it’s a theme with him, and I’ve no idea why. There’s more to it, I can sense it. I just don’t know what. It’s yet another layer of this onion I need to peel, and I will.
Yeah, this and so many questions about his involvement in stuff I care about.
“Now that that’s behind us”—he’s still gazing into my eyes—“while we’re here in Turkey, I thought I’d take you to see a few ruins today, unless you prefer not to.”
“Is that where we are?”
He hasn’t answered my question about whether or not I’m his greatest weakness. He thinks I don’t notice, sneaky bastard, but I do. What’s more he’s using ancient history, my greatest weakness, to distract me, but that’s okay, there’ll be time to probe Harpoc’s mysteries tonight. He can run, but he can’t hide.
“What about King Midas?”
Harpoc tosses the baggie of joints up and catches it. “Not yet.”
“Did you get those for yourself or me?” I nod at the bag as he tosses it again.
“Neither.”
“Then who?”
A corner of his mouth rises, and I know he’s not going to say.
“But I trust you with my life”—I draw a hand to my chest in dramatic fashion, making him laugh—“so you can trust me.”
He tucks the baggie of weed inside his duster, then his magic does up all the fasteners, and he extends his arm, which I step into after zipping up.
“Where are you taking me?”
Of course he doesn’t answer before darkness and disorientation swallow me.
A large body of blue water appears as Harpoc steadies me not long after. I swallow down my stomach’s protest to the rough treatment, then take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Alanya Castle on the Mediterranean Sea,” he says, motioning behind us. “The citadel has a platform where we can get spectacular views of the sea.”
We tour Alanya Castle, then after lunch fly to the nearby ancient city of Perge that has statues of the goddesses Nemesis, Aphrodite, Athena, and Tykhe, which fascinate me to no end. After that, we fly on to Phaselis, which legend credits as the home of the mythical beast Chimera, a fearsome creature made of a lion, dragon, and goat, that spewed flames.
I’m completely caught up in all of it, and I joke that at least I didn’t bring a creature like that back. He gives me a long look but says nothing more.
It leaves me feeling like maybe some of those scrolls he squirreled away, might well contain Chimera secrets.
So full is our day that thoughts beyond the immediate flee, no doubt as he intends, but I don’t regret it. I’m consumed in ancient history, and I can’t get enough.
The sun’s rays are long and orange over Phaselis’s harbor when we finish touring the ancient amphitheater that is just incredible—I feel what it must have been like to be one of those citizens as I sit on the stone seats, watching whatever performance. Between that, the
aqueduct, agora, and baths, I’m full to brimming, and I can’t thank Harpoc enough for the gift this day has been.
Shortly thereafter, I’m struck by a hulking, modern hotel complex standing before me when Harpoc’s shadows disappear. The contrast between ancient and modern can’t be more stark.
We approach a central, circular, gray-glass-windowed hub from which protrude two wings. It’s all at least seven-stories tall. I wish I’m taller because I’d love to stick my hand in the gurgling fountain as we pass by.
I can’t find words for the extravagance, more than last night even, as we check in beneath the high-tech, illuminated dome. The floor’s inlaid marble in modern patterns that I can’t get over. What will future archeologists think when they unearth this place?
I’m watching him, watch me, out of the corner of my eye. Harpoc takes it all in stride, but he keeps eyeing me and chuckling as I’m having a hard time keeping my jaw from sweeping the floor.
But Harpoc tenses, and his gaze catches. It interrupts the sensory overload, and I turn my head to follow his line of vision, just as the uniformed front desk guy asks Harpoc a question.
I only barely tamp down a gasp because I swear I spot Zeki. He’s dressed in the hotel’s uniform of gold tunic and off-white slacks. While he doesn’t have a turban, I swear it’s him because the guy’s balding and he has a longish beard, just like Zeki, but more, I spot a tattoo with a fire-breathing dragon sticking up just above the tunic’s collar.
The guy’s eyes open wide for a fraction of a second, just long enough for me to know he’s seen us, too. It’s got to be him.
How did we end up near him, and, no doubt, his cronies, again? I hadn’t paid attention to where we last tripped, but why would we return here?
“We’re on the top floor,” Harpoc says, as the elevator lifts us ever higher several minutes later. He hasn’t said a word about Zeki.
I’ll hold my tongue until we have privacy.
Harpoc opens the door to our room and motions me forward, and I’m again impressed by the posh accommodations. There’s again only one bed, surprise, surprise, but there’s no pool tonight, which means there’s no distractions. And no distractions mean it’s perfect for the inquisition I’m planning. Because I’m going to get answers out of this man, and I’m going to get them tonight.
I take off my coat and lay it on one end of the sectional couch that looks out over the city whose lights are just starting to flicker on in the growing dusk. My boots quickly follow, and I sit down and nest my legs beneath me.
“Care for a drink?” Harpoc asks, shedding his duster and laying it over the back of the couch, then lining up his boots next to mine.
“Please. I’ll have a Mythos Lager if they have one.”
“You really like that stuff, huh?”
“I do.”
I wait until Harpoc’s seated comfortably, ankle atop a knee, and as soon as he takes a sip of whatever amber spirit he fills the bottom part of his tumbler with, I say, “I think I spotted Zeki downstairs.”
He nods. “Yes.”
I turn a furrowed brow on him.
“With the cut I’m taking of his profits, he probably has to work. It beats the government finding out. Not only would he make no money from it, but he’d be sent to prison for who knows how long.”
He has a point.
“Are you worried after this morning’s run in?” he asks.
“Shouldn’t I be?”
He holds up a hand. “He’s predictable. He’ll stick to his word now that he knows I’m serious.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
A corner of Harpoc’s mouth hitches up. “Secrets have a nasty habit of slipping.”
Secrets slipping. Ha. That’s a laugh when it comes to him. I’ll take Harpoc just spilling any of his at this rate, but he’s at least given me a lead in to start digging.
Take it, Pell, take it, make this turkey, I mean canary, sing. My inner voice is practically giddy.
I school my expression like Harpoc—because I’ve learned from the master, himself—and do my best to put on an air of quiet confidence, flipping my hair as I tilt my head back. I can’t quite reach the top of the sectional to stretch an arm across it like he does but, oh well.
My inner self chuckles.
Hey, I may be height challenged, but I can still work it.
“Harpoc,” I say in a sweet voice. “You told me to watch and learn this morning, and I want to run a few things by you to see if I understand.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Harpoc grins, draws a finger to his lips, then starts tapping like he’s want to do. “What mysteries from this morning can I illuminate for you, oh curious pupil?”
“Well, Professor Rose,” I say, playing along, “Zeki and you talked about hiding his secret.”
Harpoc nods. “Sealing it, yes.”
“What’s that mean, exactly?”
“What can you infer?”
It’s not an answer and my inner voice objects. Whoa up, Pell, don’t let him slip the noose.
No chance, I’ve got this bull by the balls.
“I infer that you somehow keep the truth from Turkish government officials for a price. But that’s not my question.”
Harpoc chuckles. “Okay, my little harpy, what is your question?”
I snicker at the endearment despite my concerns, because, yes, I’m damn ferocious when I want to be, like now, although he doesn’t know it yet. “You ‘sealed’ Zeki’s secret?”
“I did.” He grins, and despite my resolve, my innards flutter.
Don’t let him flirt his way out of this, Pell.
I roll my eyes at myself. I’m such a sucker for his charms, and he knows it.
But I’m also a scientist, damn it. I refocus. “What all’s involved in ‘sealing’ a secret?”
Harpoc takes a sip of his drink, and I fear he’s going to clam up, with the thoughtful expression he assumes. He uncrosses his leg and sets his drink on the end table, then turns toward me, and my stupid heart beats a little faster.
“You really want to know who I am don’t you?”
I can’t stop my head from jerking back. I’m glad I’m sitting. I only barely nip a snarky retort—No, Sherlock—because he might just take me literally if I say it.
I clear my throat. “Yes, yes I do.”
He slides down the couch so our knees touch, then takes my hand, and—those beautiful gold and silver eyes—our gazes connect.
I clutch my beer tight.
“Pell, I am the god of secrets, and my empire manages the secrets of every known realm.”
God of Secrets?
A god?
There’s such a thing? Or person?
This is definitely not what I expect, and my heart picks up pace.
A god?
I nearly drop my beer. I’m tempted to think he’s pulling my leg, but there’s no humor in his eyes, like there’d be if he is.
A god?
He’s still staring into my eyes, like he can read my thoughts. If he’s a god, maybe he can. But then his Adam’s apple bobs, and I realize he’s not sure how I’m taking the news.
“You’re a god?” My pitch rises.
My mind’s a whir. A god, a god, a god.
OMG. I bite my lip.
He leans in. He portrays the picture of calm and confident, but his shoulders are tight. I can see it in the way his tailored shirt hugs his arms.
“I am.” He’s unusually still.
“You’re a god.” I say it again.
Like duh, Pell, he just said it.
He smiles.
“You’re… like a god come to Earth.”
“I am.” He chuckles.
“But…” I furrow my brows. “…why?”
My brain’s about to short circuit with all the electrons firing at the same time. Until today, I think Stonehenge and Easter Island are the greatest mysteries known to humans, but they’re nothing compared to… a god?
He drops my hand
and slaps a leg, laughing. “You’re just too cute.”
I force a frown, but he laughs all the harder for it.
“Allow me to explain.”
He’s going to tell me more? Why’s he being so transparent all of a sudden?
Don’t question it, Pell.
Right, right.
“Please.” I’m trying my best to not totally lose it, but he’s a freaking god! My brain is scrambling to assemble the five-bazillion-piece Harpoc puzzle.
I sit up, clutching my beer. Condensation’s making it slippery, so I wipe some off on my cargo pants and take a sip.
Harpoc leans back and stretches his arms across the back of the sectional again, clearly relieved, why, I’m not sure—that I didn’t laugh in his face, that I didn’t scream, that… who knows what.
“Why did I come?” he asks.
I bob my head.
“There is a leak.”
“A leak.”
“Several of the secrets I’ve sealed are somehow being leaked, and I’ve been unable to identify the source. When I detected that the sphinx’s secret had been exposed and she’d been brought back, I thought it might be my first lead, so I came immediately.”
He’s speaking but the words aren’t registering. “You… have a leak.”
A corner of his mouth hitches up. “Yes. Imagine the problem if beings discover the Empire of Secrets might accidently leak their sealed secrets. Instability would erupt everywhere.”
“Empire of Secrets.”
“Yes, Pell.” Harpoc smiles.
I take another sip of my beer and swallow hard.
He spoke, just now, about the secrets he sealed that are leaking. He included the sphinx’s among them.
My brain starts sprinting through the time I’ve spent with him, in light of this and his ‘god’ revelation.
And my skin starts to tingle.
Harpoc knew the sphinx’s secret; he recited it verbatim when he’d only briefly glanced at the scroll.
I draw in a quick breath.
He also spoke to her… in a tongue they both knew. My stomach hitches. Like that maybe existed way back 4600 years ago.
The next thought piles on. He also said that screech was Zephyr when there’s no way he should have known… unless he’d met her before.
