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 for 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
