Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
“Like you’re so mature. And I’m old enough to be your wife!”
“Sorry, kid, you’re really not. But anyway. This was a very helpful conversation.”
“Well, I’m glad I could help. But what happens to us now?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” And just as those words leave my mouth, a voice calls Pressia’s name from the outer room.
“Lyrica is back.” Pressia makes a motion of zipping her lips.
“Right. My cue to leave. But I promise, I will be back when I get answers. I won’t forget about you.”
But as I walk away, I know this is a promise I do not keep.
It’s a lie.
I know it’s a lie because I did forget about her.
I actually forgot about her for thousands of years.
And then I get a little stabby pain in my heart.
Because whatever happened to her after this, she did not forget about me.
She wrote me books.
Books, and books, and books to guide me through the end of this curse.
4
After I leave Pressia I go looking for… Apis. I know this name. Not the guy, though he is a stunning double for Tarq. But I know this name. Or should I say, I know this god. Because Apis was an ancient bull deity who actually made it past the succession into the Greek pantheon. A sort of middleman between the top rulers of the times and… whoever.
I only know this much because a past slave caretaker—Odo, I think—was trying to trace my lineage and was concentrating on the line of succession of apis bulls. Because after the transition from Egyptian gods to Greek, there were many of these bulls. They built a whole—almost labyrinth—of tombs in… Memphis, I think.
It was kind of a weird thing too. Especially the transition into the Greek pantheon. Because the Greeks didn’t have chimera gods. Or full-blooded animal gods. And the apis was both of these things. A real chimera—maybe even Tarq’s double—in the beginning. And then bulls. Black bulls with special white markings. They—the people—they see these bulls the same way the Tibetans do the Dalai Lama. It is born, it is confirmed to be Apis. And when it dies, it reincarnates into a new calf body and they look out for the special markings to declare it the next Apis bull.
That’s about the extent of my knowledge. But none of that matters. The only thing that does matter is that I am now pretty sure this Apis guy is the stone statue in front of the black tomb back at the sanctuary.
A Tarq knock-off.
The only thing he’s missing is the golden horns and hooves. But when we were in the desert together this morning, he was dusty. Very dusty. So it’s not much of a stretch to assume that those horns and hooves of his are indeed gold.
So obviously I need to get his story. Because so far, the hallways aren’t opening up any doors to take me home.
Like it or not, I’m stuck here until the mystery of my beginning is unraveled.
5
I ask many, many servants for the whereabouts of Apis, and they all give me an answer.
“He’s in the black courtyard.”
“He’s out by the reflecting pond.”
“He’s with a woman in the east tower.”
And about a dozen more places. I check all of these places and there is no Apis.
It’s not until I go back to my apartment that I discover where he really is.
In my fucking rooms.
When I come in, there he is. Sitting—no, lounging—on a chaise in front of the terrace being fed grapes by a naked wood nymph chimera sitting in his lap.
They might actually be fucking.
“What the hell?” I slam the door behind me. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
The woman jumps up, shimmies a skirt up her legs, and leaves my apartments without a word.
Apis jumps up too, his dick still hard and rocking between his legs. Pie is right. It’s gross. But luckily, he finds his pants, pulls them up, and leaves them unbuttoned as he walks across the room to help himself to my fruit bowl. “I’ve been here for hours waiting for you. Where the hell have you been?” He dangles a bunch of grapes over his upturned face and plucks one off with his teeth.
I don’t like him. I thought he was Tarq and he’s not. And for some reason I feel justified in holding that against him. “Visiting Pressia. Telling her that the wedding is off.”
He’s not surprised. So he already knew. “Yes. I got that message. Now what?”
“What do you mean?”
He walks over to me. “We’re still partying tonight. Coming-of-age hasn’t changed.” Then he punches me in the arm. “Gotta get you laid.”
I don’t have the patience for this. I’m not interested in the party, or bedding a woman, or this place, to be honest.
Maybe I do come from here, but who cares? That was thousands of years ago. I’m pretty much just an American dude from the woods of PA at this point. Even if we are breaking the curse, I’m not going back to Rome. There is no place for me there. And Egypt is even more foreign than Rome.