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.
I run a hand across the surface, then wipe my now-chalky hands together. Definitely limestone.
His light follows me as I amble around the entire circumference of the probably fifteen-foot-diameter space noting no tunnels in either the roof or the floor that evidence a path for water as is common with limestone. It’s like a bubble in the middle of rock. “What carved this out?”
“I don’t know.”
“How’d you know it was here?”
He smiles.
I roll my eyes.
“As it happens, I sensed the cavity. I have no idea how it got here.”
“You ‘sensed’ it?”
He dips his head. “I did.”
“Using your powers for good and not for evil, I see.”
What did I expect? At least he answered for once.
“Something like that.” His grin’s back, and I’m quickly falling for it.
Get a grip, Pell. You still don’t know much about him.
“Is it your professional opinion that this place will provide the conditions necessary to store the scrolls?”
“Yes, I believe so. Bring ’em on, from wherever you put them.”
Harpoc vanishes in a whirl of shadows and is replaced by a wider, darker churn that swirls around nearly the entire space. My mouth drops open, and I shrink back, my jacket brushing the curved walls as the shadows expand to just inches away; thank goodness the ball of light still hovers over my shoulder.
Tingling erupts under my skin as more hovering balls of light appear out of the swirling darkness. The shadows thin, then mist away, illuminating a multitude of scrolls floating in the middle of the space.
I gasp. It’s like a floating library, each manuscript still rolled up, hovering horizontally, one above the other, floor to ceiling, in several rows.
“There’s so many.” I draw my hands to my mouth.
I hadn’t realized exactly their number crammed as they were in the dark, on those old, dilapidated shelves, but with them just floating here, filling nearly this entire space, my heart starts to race. Ancient history hovers before my very eyes.
Don’t get all sappy, Pell.
I have no control. Curiosity draws me like a snake to a charmer and, eyes wide, I take a tentative step forward, then another until I can reach out and touch one. I don’t. No way will I get my oils all over it, but I can.
Lightness fills my limbs, replacing the gloom that took hold of me minutes before and I nearly dance.
Harpoc might have taken this cracked pot out of the dig site, but he hasn’t taken the wonder of the dig site out of this cracked pot; and on top of that, his magic, what he’s done to bring these scrolls here, then make them float, it mesmerizes me, and I can’t tear my gaze away.
“Like it?”
I jump as Harpoc speaks from behind me. I didn’t hear him return.
I whirl around to find him, arms crossed, leaning against the curved wall, watching me, a satisfied look on his face. “I took the liberty of organizing them.” He points to the far left. “Least dangerous”—he moves his arm to the right—“to most.”
I take several steps to the left. “Not that I’ll be reading any more of these—” I chuckle. “—but I’ll be sure to stay on this end.”
Harpoc laughs. “Be sure you do.”
“Will they just stay this way? Floating?”
“Of course.”
Silly me, what did I expect, him and his hocus pocus, secret magic.
“That’s very cool.”
“I try.” He dips his chin.
He is shy. It looks good on him, and I smile.
“By the way, why didn’t you just add these to the scrolls you moved last night?”
He catches my gaze, and for a second, I think he might explain but, surprise, surprise, he schools his expression and asks, “Ready to tackle Zephyr?”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Tackle, Zephyr?” My eyes go wide. “You can’t be serious? I have to physically tackle her? I didn’t have to with the sphinx.”
Harpoc throws up a hand. “What I mean is, are you ready to deal with the harpy?”
I exhale, but I can’t stop my legs from quivering.
You brought her back, Pell, you need to own this.
Damn inner voice.
I hold my breath and bob my head.
“Good.” Harpoc pushes off the wall he’s been leaning against, looking oh so swank. His duster swishes as he closes the
