I move my wrists and wiggle my toes, examining all. “I suppose it’ll do.”
Eser laughs. Harpoc forces a chuckle.
“What about the boy?” I ask.
The boy looks at me, then at the ground, and I can’t read him, but he shakes his head. Maybe it’s the closeness that scares him, I don’t know, but at least his stripes aren’t raw.
“Wear them with pride,” Harpoc says.
Eser looks up with furrowed brows.
“You were stronger than the bad men, never forget that.”
Understanding dawns and Eser nods, then smiles.
“You’re a strong boy,” I add.
Eser doesn’t reply, but squares his shoulders.
I hope this experience has made him stronger because his life will still be hard, no doubt.
“Shall we then?” Harpoc asks, pulling me up to standing.
“Do you know where his family lives?”
“I do. We’ll tripskip since there’s three of us.”
Eser’s forehead wrinkles.
“I threw up one of my first times tripskipping, Eser.”
The boy bites his lip.
“You’re not helping.” Harpoc eyes me.
“It’s the wildest thing you’ve ever felt, but it only lasts a couple seconds.”
Eser shuffles his feet.
Harpoc clears his throat. Loudly. “And on that note.”
I step into Harpoc’s side and draw an arm around his waist. After a long look, Eser mirrors me on Harpoc’s other side, and I wrap my arm around Eser’s.
“There’s one thing I need to do before we go,” Harpoc says.
I glance up in time to see him gaze across the debris field, then nod.
Flames ignite. Everywhere. As far as I can see.
Then everything goes dark and disorientation grabs me.
Eser’s no worse for wear when we reappear. In fact, he practically skips the instant we set down.
I swallow. Hard. I can’t let a little kid best me.
Harpoc chuckles.
We drop Eser and his elder siblings off at home to many tears and much rejoicing from their mother. Their father is stoned out of his mind.
Harpoc reassures me that the bastard will never again know of the existence of his children, and when I press about how that’s possible, all he says is, “You have to sense someone, to know they exist.”
It’s not an answer, surprise, surprise, but what do I expect from the god of secrets.
“By the way, how did you find me?” I ask, readying to head wherever we’re going next.
He gives me a long look and a myriad of emotions—happiness, anxiety, confusion, and more—war across his face. There’s such variety and diversity to them that I can’t make heads or tails of what it means, before he looks away.
Damn it, Harpoc, it’s a simple question.
“Ready to visit King Midas?” he says, at length, like that last discussion is over.
“No.” Frustration laces my words.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
At this moment, I can care less about King Midas. I’m ready to throttle Harpoc, damn god of secrets.
It’s a f-ing simple question, how did you find me?
Hurt wars with reason.
Between this and my pent-up frustration over what he does, I only barely leash my irritation. I’d hoped, at a minimum after yesterday, there’d be no more secrets.
Clearly, I’m wrong. Trust is a one-way street, it seems.
“Perhaps we should rest for the remainder of the day,” he says, changing course.
I level a look at him.
“Yes, rest. Definitely.” He smiles.
I cross my arms, tapping my fingers against one.
“Will you at least let me take you to lodgings?” He looks earnest and hopeful, and even though I’m thoroughly pissed at him, it’s hard to resist his charm.
Suck. Ker… I hear my inner self yell.
I know, I know, so shoot me.
“Fine,” I finally reply, lacing it with more than a hint of pissiness.
He grimaces. At least he realizes things are not cool with me. I feel like a bully, but at this moment I’m too ticked to care.
Imagine, little ol’ me bullying a god. The thought nearly makes me laugh and break my badassiness—yes, a new word. But I won’t. Harpoc needs to learn. I drown all levity.
“Fly or tripskip?”
When I give him another long look, arms still crossed, he says, “Yes, fly. Definitely.”
I surrender to his arms without a word, and for the next hour I hear only the sounds of travel, well that and another damn flock of geese gives us grief, but Harpoc shows them the ferocity of a god and they buzz off—or hiss off, I should say—several feathers shorter.
Serves ’em right.
Funny enough, I’ve no inclination to play with the buckles on his duster as I sit, arms still crossed, in his arms. I suppose I look a bit silly trying to be tough in bare feet and sweats, but it doesn’t seem to matter because I’m clearly communicating.
Harpoc finally sets us down on the far side of a huge parking lot, and I take in the sight of Morrion Hotel.
The place looks like someone’s interpretation of a landlocked cruise ship with all the rooms stacked, making up an overlarge version of that funnel tower that sticks up above everything.
From the immaculately manicured shrubs we pass as we walk up the drive, I presume it’s as lovely as the other two hotels we’ve stayed in.
A periwinkle-blue uniformed man glances at my feet but refrains from comment as he opens the door for us, and my attention is immediately drawn to the honking crystal chandelier. It’s a wonder it doesn’t rip the floor above from its moorings.
Harpoc heads for the check-in desk, and I hurry to keep up because we… need an intervention.
“We’d like a room for one night,” he says, smiling at the similarly uniformed woman behind the desk.
I’m struck by her arresting steel-gray eyes. Against her olive skin and jet-black hair, they’re beautiful. What is it
