by L. R. W. Lee
I step on the plush lavender rug that extends around the bed and dig my toes in the pile.
It’s not as nice as the previous two, but it’ll do.
Listen to me, no don’t. Put me in a couple nice rooms, and I become a snob. It’s a far cry from my hovel in Mycenae. Harpoc’s shown me a few of the finer things in life and it’s already corrupting me.
I inhale the scent of fresh lilacs that wafts about the room from a fresh bouquet that sits on one of the nightstands, and I can’t help but let my blood pressure fall.
Harpoc’s shed his coat and is leaning back in the desk’s chair on its back legs, stocking feet on the desk, watching me inspect the room. A bemused smile plays on his lips, and my fury lessens a couple degrees.
“Better be careful, you could fall over backward,” I caution.
“Have you ever?” His voice is filled with teasing.
I laugh. “Truthfully? No.”
“Check out the bathroom.”
I do as I’m told and can’t stop my hand flying to my chest the instant I pop my head around the corner. “How?”
My fury dims a few more degrees.
Harpoc chuckles in the other room.
Folded neatly on the white-patterned granite counter are my jacket in pristine condition, clean cargo pants, the pockets of which still house rubber gloves and my phone, the screen of which is whole. My like-new boots sit on the white marble floor below.
I snatch up my phone and hit Photos, then check the most recent pics. Nope, still not one of those infamous scrolls. I’ve no doubt at all who caused that, either him or his secret magic, which I really don’t like.
Cradling my phone in my hands, I saunter back out. “Thank you.”
He bobs his head. “My pleasure.”
Dropping his feet to the floor, he stands and strides over to me and looks into my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
For what?
He’s sincere; there’s no mistaking it in his beautiful eyes, and he waits for me to nod before continuing, even though I’m not sure what he’s apologizing for, despite me having a wish list full of things.
“Pell, when I got back to the room with coffee and you weren’t there…” I see a mix of emotions again at war on his face. “I feared you’d left.”
Ah, kidnapping. I furrow my brow.
“I thought perhaps I’d revealed too much and scared you away.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and I realize he’s uneasy—he worries that he overshared.
I only barely stop myself from rolling my eyes, and I force levity I don’t feel. “You’re too big and bad for me, a mere mortal?”
He chuckles. “You’re hardly that.”
But the next instant, his eyes go wide, like he says something he shouldn’t. He blinks his surprise away, and I’m again left wondering. It’s getting really, really old.
“I spent time beating myself up before noticing dirt on the carpet by the coffee table. Then I spotted an impression in the pile of the rug that could have been someone laying down. Considering you hadn’t that I knew of, it started me worrying.”
“Observant aren’t you?”
He frowns, like he holds himself responsible for missing it. “When you do what I do, you pick up on things like that.”
If only he wouldn’t.
But his mood’s shifting, I can feel it, and not for the better.
“I asked downstairs if anyone had seen you, but no one had, which really distressed me because if you’d left, you would have walked out the front door and grabbed a cab.”
He turns and starts pacing, and I realize how worked up he still is about the whole sordid mess. He cares. My heart warms a few degrees. He cares deeply, for me.
“I inquired after Zeki, and despite his shift just ending, no one had seen him.”
I take a deep breath to calm my rising emotions. “So you deduced it was Zeki and figured he’d take me to his plantation.”
He nods. “While it’s not very bright, it’s logical.” His mouth is in a line. “I took Zeki for granted and didn’t treat him as the threat I should have.”
He’s mad at himself, it’s clear, and I have to let part of my pissiness go.
I grab his hand and sit us down on the end of the bed. “None of your clients have ever done something like that after… how’d you put it, ‘they knew you were serious’?”
He scowls at my use of his own words, against him.
I chuckle.
“I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
“I’m sure you control many things. This just isn’t one.”
He clearly disagrees, based on his still stiff posture.
“But you came, Harpoc. You saved me. Me and Eser, actually. You get bonus points for fixing his situation.”
I don’t know why I’m working to assuage his guilt. Maybe it’s because he helped me similarly, or maybe because not many people have ever truly valued me and he does, or maybe I’m realizing no matter how much or little power a person has, something unexpected can bite you in the butt. Even if you’re a god, it seems.
He rolls his eyes. “You deal out ‘bonus points,’ do you?”
I shrug. “Seems so, and you’ve just earned beaucoup.”
He tilts his head like I’m crazy.
“So logic saved the day,” I say. “Hurray for logic.”
His eyes go wide, and he looks me up and down, but doesn’t reply.
“What?”
I can see the wheels turning, weighing potential words like they’re going to change things. But he finally closes his eyes and shakes his head.
Not again.
“Damn it, Harpoc, talk to me.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I stretch. The couch, where I spend the night is better than the lumpy bed in my hovel motel room.
Even though I don’t want them to, my eyes linger on Harpoc’s bare, sculpted, tattooed chest that rises and falls evenly where he still sleeps, askew on the king size bed across the room.
You’re a frustrating, frustrating god, I think to myself, although my temper doesn’t flare. I’m past that, though I’m in no way accepting what he does, because I’m not.
He’s the god of secrets, and he’s hiding so many of them. Especially from me, based on the number of times he refuses to tell me what he’s thinking.
He doesn’t trust me, even after I showed him I trust him. Nope, all that got me was the revelation that he facilitates secrets that have hurt my best friend and allowed political crooks to get away with murder. I can’t do this.
I clear my throat, shaking it off.
Once I’m done doing whatever I have to for King Midas today—that thought sends a shiver through my gut—I’ll have Harpoc drop me back off in Mycenae, I’ll collect my stuff, and regroup in earnest.
Maybe I’ll even pay Jude a visit at the hospital, assuming he’s still there. I stop. I dislike most of the guys on the dig, one overbearing monster in particular, but Jude’s an exception. He’s reasonable and not swayed by snot-nosed asses.
Emotion I’m not expecting wells up at the thought of Jude and his condition when I last saw him, and I swallow it back down, then brush auburn locks behind my ear.
There’s too much to think about concerning my future this early in the morning.
I head to the bathroom and dress in my newly clean clothes. Boots in hand, I stop to write Harpoc a note, then slip out the door, doing my best to close it quietly, which is damn near impossible with the weight of the thing. I slide down the wallpapered wall outside and sit on the stubby hall carpet to put on my footwear.
Quickly locating the dining room, I grab a coffee, charging it to the room, which I’m told is an option—heck yeah—then find a cozy, screened off nook, set my coffee on the shortish circular table between mine and another chair, and pull out my phone.
As a rule, I dislike reading news on the ant-size screen but seeing as I don’t have my computer I nestle down in the overstuffed lime-green armchair and
make do, pulling up the usual sites.
As I scroll, I sip on the amazing brew. If nothing else, Harpoc’s right about where to find amazing coffee.
Surprise, surprise, not much has changed in the three days I haven’t been able to read the news. That political scandal I’ve been diligently following is nearly dead, only a few lingering comments still fill a random article or two, and justice has not been meted out as far as I’m concerned.
I guess Harpoc won. Bitterness fills me.
Charges of Abuse Alleged at St. Joseph Group Home.
The headline grabs my attention, and I set my coffee down, my hand trembling.
I draw a hand over my mouth as I read. Margo. She’s spoken out. She’s charging Mr. Foutsey with rape and sexual assault.
I cheer inwardly, but wonder what’s made her finally speak up.
Unfortunately, no others are coming forward so Foutsey’s claiming she’s making it up.
No surprise there, ya pervert.
A wave of sadness washes over me as I wonder what she might do if I show up to help her. We haven’t spoken since she found out I narked despite her wishes.
I wipe away a stray tear that’s welled up.
Political scandals, drug lords, riddles, disobedient underlings in Zephyr’s case, corrupt rulers if I’m understanding right in Midas’s, now this?
I shake my head. There’s so much ugliness in the world, and secrets are at the heart of so much of it.
“There you are.” Harpoc smiles like he’s a proud detective whose used cunning and deduction to sleuth me out.
I bob my head, raising my cup. “Morning.”
“Thank you for leaving a note telling me where you are so I wouldn’t think you’d been abducted again.” A corner of his mouth hitches.
I take a sip. “Welcome.”
I have no desire to revisit the argument of last night.
“May I?” he asks, holding two coffees.
“Please.” Harpoc sits and slides the spare beverage toward me. “Oh, thank you. That’s sweet of you.”
He’s trying. While there’s no way he yet understands what’s driving me nuts, I can still be civil.
“Are you okay, Pell?” he asks, as he sits in the opposite, bright purple chair. As a super sleuth he no doubt also detects the tears I just shed because his eyebrows draw together.
It’s sweet that he’s concerned, but still.
“I’ve got something in my eye,” I say. He has secrets, so do I.
We both take another sip of coffee, bridging the uncomfortable silence between us.
My mind wanders back to Margo and my original question of why is she pursuing this now? Harpoc probably knows. Although if he told me true, it’s got to be one of his “lieutenants” who has handled her secret because she’s like me, not exactly “powerful.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Harpoc says, setting his cup down on the table.
I nearly snort out a mouthful of coffee. That’s rich coming from him. “Who says I’m thinking anything?”
He chuckles. “Because when you think, you turn away slightly and tap your foot.”
“I do?”
He laughs. “You do. What’s more, if you’re enjoying our conversation, your feet point toward me. If not, you point them anywhere else.”
I let my mouth drop open. “I do not.”
He smiles. “You do.”
I note my posture, then glance quickly at my feet. My shoulders are angled away from him just a little, and my feet point at the privacy screen, nowhere near where he sits.
What do I even say to that? He’s a regular gumshoe.
I straighten my feet, pointing them at him, making us both laugh because we both know that I’ll forget in a second, and they’ll give me away again.
“Fine, I’m thinking about Margo.” I give him the lowlights of my relationship with her and her unfortunate past. “She went through all that, I endured it with her, so I know. Foutsey’s full of shit,” I say, in conclusion.
He sits quietly, listening intently as I lay everything out.
I sigh. “Harpoc, you told me you and your empire keep secrets, ensuring they’re forever hidden.” I look at my coffee cup, held in my hands in my lap, summoning calm to my raging thoughts. “What role did you have in keeping what happened to Margo quiet?” Aka what role did you have in keeping her abuser in power at the group home so he could do it again and again to others? I think it, but don’t give my inflammatory thoughts voice.
Harpoc starts tapping a finger against his lips and more than once he opens his mouth as if to say something, then shuts it again.
He’s considering, that’s encouraging, because he hasn’t shot me down like the first time at Atitamos’s when I voiced my feelings about secrets and the damage they inflict. I was right then, I’m right now.
At length, his hand falls away from his mouth. “In a case like this, the secret can’t be hidden.”
“Really?” My voice rises.
“By their very nature, acts such as rape and incest, cannot be sealed.”
“They can’t?”
He shakes his head. “When there is more than one party to a secret, all parties must be in agreement or there can be no sealing of the secret.”
I give him a long look. I’d hoped he’d just say secrets like that can’t be sealed because they’re despicable.
He continues. “Imagine what would happen if you tried to hide a secret and not everyone wanted it kept. It would be a fool’s errand to even attempt to seal it.”
“Are you saying you’d seal a secret like that if all parties agreed? Is it just a practical matter for you?” My voice is rising.
A fierceness fills his tone. “The empire would never seal a secret like that as a matter of principle. I find what Foutsey did utterly despicable, and I hope he pays for what he did to your friend.”
I look into his eyes. There’s sincerity there.
Relief washes over me, and I exhale loudly.
I’ve been torqued at him and his secret magic for what happened to Margo, but I guess that’s not his fault. So secret magic isn’t responsible for shit like this that’s wrong in the world.
But I’m not letting him completely off the hook because his magic has got to have something to do with crooked politicians, no way in hell it doesn’t.
An amused expression graces Harpoc’s face as he glances at my feet.
I roll my eyes as I note my toes point directly at him.
We both chuckle at that. He has his tells; I guess I have mine, too.
“I’ve been wondering something else.”
“What’s that, my little harpy.” A corner of his mouth hitches as he picks up his coffee again.
I can’t resist smiling at the endearment, because that’s what it is, and I’m just so relieved.
My inner voice groans.
“Zeki’s secret cost him half the earnings of his plantation. What did the sphinx, Zephyr, and Midas pay?”
Harpoc takes another sip. “Does it matter?”
“I was just curious.”
He draws his hand up to his mouth and starts tapping a finger again.
It’s another simple question, and I’m about to be incensed after a minute of his silence, when he says, “I will tell you only because their secrets have been… revealed.”
I grimace. Guilty as charged.
“Lady, that’s all I ever knew her by”—a softness fills his voice—“came to me because she wanted to always be able to guard that temple, and she knew if anyone ever guessed her riddle she, like other sphinxes, would have to kill herself.”
Sadness fills my heart. I get it. All I ever wanted to do was be an archeologist. “So she really was bummed the Temple of Amun no longer exists.”
He nods. “In exchange for sealing her secret, she gave me a male and a female kit from her next litter to guard my palace.”
I give him a disbelieving look. “Sphinxes had litters?”
He grins.
“The offspring of the pair still provide security for me.”
My eyes go wide.
He clearly hoped I’d consider going with him to his empire at some point, but other than that one very brief mention of it, I’ve given Harpoc and his… palace zero consideration.
I shake my head, unable to process the new information.
The sphinx is no political crook, my brain supplies a second later to my relief. She’s just a beast with a desire to live as long as possible.
Harpoc’s telling gives me, dare I say it, an appreciation for something positive secret magic can do aside from all his parlor tricks.
“What turned her to granite? Did she disobey some edict like Lot’s wife in the Bible? Although Lot’s wife was turned into a pillar of salt, but you get my meaning.”
“I do, but I honestly don’t know what happened.”
“But you knew she’d been turned?”
“I did. Which is another reason I came so quickly when you brought her back. She was about the last being I ever expected to see alive again. It’d never happened before.”
My eyes grow large.
Harpoc grins.
“So are all sphinx statues, formerly alive?”
“You do have an active imagination.” Harpoc grins.
“What? It’s a reasonable question.”
“That I have no answer to.” He snorts. “I deal in secrets, not biology or art.”
I hold up a hand in surrender. “And the other two? What’d they pay you to keep their secrets?”
“While I’m open to answering more of your questions—” I let my mouth fall open dramatically, making Harpoc chuckle. “—we really need to address King Midas.”
King Midas. The thought makes my stomach tense but not so much to drive away hunger.
“Can we at least grab a quick breakfast first?”
I try pushing aside visions of what the guy might look like by now, but my imagination wins, and I can only nibble at my falafels because all I can see is more of Midas fallen and unconscious, wild animals mauling him, and worse.
Carnage. Blood. Gore.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
