My fury is rising.
I’ll give him credit for being forthcoming tonight, but he’s pissing me off.
It’s also clear either he or, more probably, “one of his lieutenants” was involved in hiding Foutsey’s misconduct in Margo’s situation. It’s hard to say if it’s Harpoc who enables powerful, corrupt politicians, but it doesn’t matter, he said he’s the one leading this Empire of Secrets and as such, he’s responsible.
I take a swig of beer.
And to make matters worse, he waited until I showed that I trust him before telling me this. It feels like a slap in the face.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“I told you about myself, tell me about yourself,” Harpoc says.
It’s about the last thing I want to do. But what will he do if I confront him, like I’m itching to? Because I’ll do that so smoothly, and in a way he’ll want to hear me out, especially when I’m as torqued as I am. I barely stifle a huff.
Besides, I still have Midas to help with.
I take a deep breath. I hate talking about myself.
I stand and wander over to the wall-length window and take another sip of beer as I try to compose myself.
I survey the city that’s ablaze with lights against the dark sky, as well as Harpoc’s reflection. He takes a swallow of his drink, eyes on my back, still sitting comfortably, waiting for me to speak. I can do this.
I turn, forcing a levity I don’t feel. “I’m an archeologist who taught herself hieroglyphics and loves baklava, but you know that.”
A smile appears on his face, then fades.
I take a deep breath, hating divulging my history nearly as much as what I’ve learned about Harpoc. “I don't know who my parents are.”
Harpoc doesn’t react, just keeps watching me.
I exhale, relieved. I’m surprised, most folks pour on the pity when I tell them, which I hate. I’m no victim.
Why surprised, Pell? He’s not like most people.
That’s the understatement of the century. He’s a freakin’ god.
I calm and brush some of my hair behind an ear. “Mrs. Elide, the only group home worker who was ever nice to me, found me wrapped in a pink blanket, in a wicker basket, on the front step one morning. I came with a note, this ring on a chain around my neck”—I hold up my hand—“and one long-stem rose.”
Harpoc takes another swallow of his drink, still not reacting.
Memories of Mrs. Elide swell to the forefront of my mind. Stubborn being that I am, I resist sharing, because Harpoc doesn’t deserve to know more.
What can it hurt, Pell?
Fine, I’ll just stick to the facts.
“She retired when I was eight. It broke my heart.” I keep my tone even, factual. “She stopped by the group home every once in a while over the years after that and always let me blather on and on about what I was doing and learning. I relished her excitement.”
I haven’t thought of her in a couple years, but a lump forms in my throat regardless of what I told myself about sticking to the facts. I continue, suddenly wanting to. “She believed there’s something divinely special and ordained about every child who arrived at the group home. She said it was her mission to help us each figure out how we were specially gifted.”
“She sounds like an inspiring woman.”
I take a deep breath. I’ve never told anyone about Mrs. Elide and the place she still holds in my heart. Why am I telling him, especially when I’m as pissed at him as I am?
I swallow back emotion as I add, “I was nearly adopted three separate times, once as a baby and twice more. I only remember the last two, but she was the only one whose shoulder I cried on when they fell through. She died on my birthday, six years ago.” I swipe at a stray tear.
Harpoc’s on his feet and beside me in an instant, enfolding me in his strong arms. “I’m sorry.”
My body initially resists his embrace, but the longer he holds me, my body turns traitor and moves into the hug.
“I was graduating high school that year so it was kind of like her saying I’d gone as far as I could with her. I took it as her telling me I was ready to launch into the world. She’s the one who encouraged me to learn hieroglyphs.”
“So you could read the inscription on your ring.”
I nod against his firm chest. I want to reject his caring, because he’s responsible for so much of the treachery and hypocrisy in this world, but in this moment, I find he’s my stability.
“What does your ring say?”
I look up at his scruffy chin, and he steps back.
“No one’s ever asked me that before.”
“I don’t mean to pry.”
“No, it’s fine. I never told anyone this, but I was proud of myself the day I finally deciphered it.”
A corner of his mouth rises.
“I wore this ring on that chain around my neck when I was little, but when I grew big enough to wear it on my finger, I slipped it on and I’ve never taken it off, not once, just like the note that was left with me, said to do.”
“That’s dedication.”
“I feel a connection with my parents, because of it.” I run a finger along the back of it like I have so many times.
I don’t know what comes over me, but Harpoc watches as I slowly inch it down my finger, his gaze ping ponging between my hand and my eyes like he’s trying to figure out what I’m doing.
He’s done anything but earn
