I close my eyes and let my head hang, the fight gone out of me. “Guilty as charged.”
“Would you have made the choice you did, if you knew what you would do to me?” He looks himself up and down.
I grab the back of my neck. “That’s an impossible question. You’re asking me to weigh one life against another.”
He just smiles, his grotesque smile.
I sigh. “Not to sound pathetic, but I don’t have an overabundance of friends, so I like to keep the few I have around.” I wince, hesitating to finish the thought because it’ll sound really bad. “And I didn’t know you.”
“And there we have it. At least you admit it.” Midas raises a hand.
“Okay fine, I’m a greedy, heartless bitch. Feel better?” There’s fire in my words.
“A female dog?”
“Bitch”—I air quote—“as in a woman who’s unreasonable, irrational, that kind of thing.”
“Ah, a mumpsimus. A stubborn idiot who insists on doing wrong despite knowing the outcome. If that’s what your ‘bitch’ means, then yes, I do feel a little better… bitch.” A corner of Midas’s mouth hitches up.
I can’t help but chuckle.
Harpoc shifts where he stands, arms crossed, finger tapping his lips. He hasn’t inserted himself and his expression remains neutral, and I’m curious to know what he’s thinking. I’m hoping his silence is just him letting me assuage my guilt through conversation with Midas.
If so, I have to say, it’s working because now that the ugly truth is out, I feel better. I’ve owned the title “one tough bitch,” and I’m happy to add greedy and heartless to it, maybe even mumpsimus.
Harpoc kneels down on his duster. “Now that you both got that off your chests, King Midas, would you care for some relief from your pain?”
Midas looks tired. He’s used most of his remaining strength arguing with me. “Mumpsimus… bitch,” he mumbles, then nods the god of secrets on.
Harpoc puts a rolled joint to his lips, then ignites the twisted end with a thought and inhales.
What?
He leans forward and exhales a stream of whitish smoke at Midas’s nose and mouth and the king inhales deeply.
Right. Midas’s touch would turn the joint to gold.
Harpoc repeats the act again and again until the joint is nothing, then turns to me. “Care to try?”
“Me?” I’m too surprised to say anything more coherent. “I’ve never…”
A corner of Harpoc’s mouth hitches. I told him before, did he doubt?
I look Midas over. He seems calm and relaxed despite his situation, his chest moving slowly. He even closes his eyes.
“How much longer?” I whisper.
Harpoc shakes his head.
I hold out my hand. I want adventure, and while this isn’t at all what I expect, how can I not?
“Show me how.” I kneel beside Harpoc and he hands me a joint, which I put between my lips, and he lights it.
“Breathe in, but don’t swallow.”
I break out in a coughing fit and Harpoc laughs.
“That’s nasty.” I can’t help but wrinkle my nose. “Why would anyone…?” I wave a hand in front of my face.
“Try it again,” he says grinning.
I do, and sputter again, less this time, but Harpoc still chuckles.
My third and fourth and fifth tries, I actually “blow smoke”—LOL—at Midas. The thought makes me giggle.
I’m not that big, and oh, I’m starting to feel… goooood.
“Hey.” I protest when Harpoc takes the joint.
“Can’t have you so high you accidently touch him.” He shoos me away, then continues sedating Midas, a puff at a time.
There’s not much of anywhere to go, so I lay down in the short grass and close my eyes, enjoying the buzz.
I must fall asleep because when I wake, Harpoc’s no longer leaning over Midas, but rather he’s sitting back on his haunches, shoulders drooping.
“When?” I ask, my heart heavy as I kneel beside Harpoc.
“A few minutes ago.”
I put a hand on his bicep, and he covers it with his.
“Sometimes I despise secret magic.” He shakes his head.
Chapter Forty-One
Surprise bites me and I turn my head.
Harpoc flares his nostrils, then runs a hand through his hair, staring at Midas’s still form.
“This… it wasn’t his fault. Technically, it wasn’t yours either. Secret magic did this.” He jerks his head.
Despite confusion, I’m not about to ask him anything when he’s as upset as he is.
He joins his hands behind his neck, teeth bared.
I don’t know which death of the three—the sphinx, Zephyr, or Midas—is worst. The sphinx and Zephyr both scared the shit out of me, but Midas cuts me at the core as I gaze at his gruesome body.
Secret magic. Harpoc’s magic.
Harpoc exhales heavily, then brings his arms down quickly, bracing them on his thighs.
I have no clue what Harpoc’s thinking, but I agree with his distaste of secret magic. Double standards, corrupt politicians, exploitation of minors, just thinking of it all, makes me grind my teeth.
If he’s this upset, maybe he’d reconsider my complaints about it. The notion stops me in my tracks.
I’ve got nothing firm lined up after this.
I look over at him. His shoulders droop, and he’s staring at his hands as if all of this is his doing. Maybe it is.
“It’s not my magic.” That conversation, under those trees after we trapped Zephyr in the maze, niggles my mind. It’s what he said.
He’s a god. It has to be his magic, an integral part of who he is, doesn’t it? It’s who gods are, right? They go around blasting things and disobedient people with the stuff.
I furrow my brow as my thoughts soldier on.
If it’s
