Despite the dire situation, my stomach flutters.
My inner voice gags.
“It’s not too far so I thought we’d fly instead of tripskipping.” A corner of his mouth hitches up. “Unless you prefer to, of course.”
I bite my lip. Flying has scared me nearly as much as that damn trip-whatevering—gliding through the air with nothing but our arms keeping me aloft. The fidgeting in my legs intensifies.
But flying beats feeling like I’m about to ralph and I draw a hand to my stomach.
“Yes, let’s fly.” I force a smile.
“It’s okay to be scared to fly, Pell. Just know that I’ll never let you fall. You can trust me.”
“Do I have a choice?”
His metallic eyes dance. “You can swim.”
Some choice. I can’t help but frown.
I take a final look at the hovering scrolls, still awed by the multitude of the ancient manuscripts as well as Harpoc’s magic that I wish I understood better.
You’re doing the right thing getting that harpy, Pell.
It might be the “‘right” thing, but it still scares me shitless.
Harpoc buttons his duster, and I zip my jacket, then step beside him, our coats brushing. His citrusy clove scent fills my nose, and I close my eyes.
He inhales deeply in response, as if savoring whatever scent I emit.
The two of you deserve each other. Snark fills my inner voice.
“No other beings will be brought back. No one else will come to harm.” It’s the second time he says it, but still I can only nod.
I wrap my arms around his waist. He draws me closer and gives me a squeeze, as if echoing his encouragement.
“A quick tripskip to get us out of here, and then we’ll be soaring. Ready?”
I bite my lip.
Disorientation has its way with me in an instant, although I manage not to scream. I count it as progress.
I squint in the blinding light of the sun.
My eyes adjusted to the dim of that hole in the earth, wherever it is, and I struggle to adapt.
Frigid air rushes by, and I wish I’d zipped my jacket all the way up. My hair whips about, everywhere, out of control. Between that and the noise, it’s overwhelming, and breathing becomes difficult.
We bob as Harpoc beats his wings that have again appeared. I squeeze him tighter, praying gravity doesn’t rip me away. Will he think badly of me if I go full koala on him?
Pell… you’re not having sex with the guy…
I swear my cheeks warm despite it being my inner monologue.
A second later, my hair goes limp and silence blankets the air that’s no longer biting my cheeks. We still bob with each downbeat of his wings, but things have gotten decidedly quieter.
I long to brush hair out of my face as I steal a look up at his scruffy chin. My cheek’s still firmly pressed to his side.
“What’d you do?” I move my head this way and that, but my hair refuses to cooperate.
“It’s beautiful, look.” Harpoc’s baritone voice is clear, unmuted by the wind.
I chance a peek down. We’re flying over mountainous terrain, some parts forested, others not.
“No, look ahead. The sea.” Harpoc raises the arm not holding me and points, making me shift.
I shriek, clutching him yet more tightly. I’ll leave a bruise. I don’t care.
“Pell, I promised I won’t let you fall. Will you trust me?”
My heart races. Why did I let him talk me into this? I’m Big Bird when it comes to flying, not some condor.
Gold eye, silver eye. Gold eye, silver eye. The image forms in my mind but does little to soothe.
I don’t let go of my hold on him.
“I’ve got you.” It comes out insistent, like he’s getting pissed at my questioning.
Tough.
I hadn’t pegged him as overbearing. Am I wrong? I glance up to see his jaw tense.
“Have you ever trusted anyone but yourself, Pell?”
“What, are you some shrink?”
He snorts.
“You’re one to talk, Mr. Secretive Swirly Shadows himself. Like a politician calling a lawyer dishonest.” It might be too harsh but give me a break.
A frown bends his mouth.
Good.
My arms start trembling from my death hold as the clear blue of the gulf streams by below us. Land frames us on the left and right as we head south toward the open Aegean. Ugh, my hair’s driving me crazy but no way will I let go to brush it back.
I bite my tongue, refusing to ask, ‘are we there yet?’
“Where are we going anyway?” Aka how long will my arms need last?
“Psychro, Crete—”
“Psycho? We’re going psycho?” My voice rises. “We’re already there!”
Harpoc laughs. “No, Psych-ro, to Diktaean Cave also known as Zeus’s Cave. It’s a little over an hour from here.”
Oi. My arms already ache.
Don’t be a hero, just tell him.
Oh no you don’t, Pell.
I own the title “one tough bitch.” I’ve been called it on multiple occasions, and truth be told, I like it. I’m tough, I’ve had to be. No way will I just give in to my wimpy arms. Show no mercy. They need to get with the program. I try to distract myself.
“Wait, I thought harpies call the Strophades Islands home. They’re to the west of Mycenae. I remember, Jason and the Argonauts met Phineas and the harpies, which kept stealing his food, at the Strophades Islands when they sought a way to get around a pair of islands that clashed together crushing any vessel that tried to get through.”
“You have a good memory.” Laughter fills Harpoc’s voice. “Do you remember the rest of that story?”
“Yeah, Calais and Zetes, sons of the north wind, also Argonauts, whupped their tail
