Page 9 of Sea of Love

“I saw many temples,” Elettra said as she split a pomegranate into four sections, and began eating the seeds whole. “Apollo, Jupiter, Isis, and some fellow named Augustus. I found even a temple for a goddess of good luck. But no temple for Neptune. Charbon, you should not reach for food with that hand. The left is for washing and the privy. The right is for eating.”

As they ate Troy related Otho’s tale of the seaside brothel. Elettra listened, but when he mentioned the rumor of prostitutes who could transform into mermaids she chuckled and shook her head.

“Mortals ever indulge in such superstitions. Do you know, the Akkadians believed in the girtablilu, half-scorpion men who stood sentinel at the gates of the underworld? They believed they could kill you with a single glance.” She made a rude sound. “I knew traders who would never take the mountain roads through Mashu for fear of girtablilu crossing their path. Ridiculous stuff.”

“Much like the belief that the left hand is unsanitary?” Michael asked as he tossed her a peach with his right hand.

“It actually makes sense,” Summer pointed out. “Ancient people were not exactly models of personal hygiene. Most cultures didn’t have soap.”

“Oh, the mortals of my time made soap from animal fat and ashes,” Elettra said. “But they used it to clean cooking pots, not their bodies.”

“We passed a laundry today that reeked like the subways in New York,” Troy said. “They were tromping on dirty clothes in tubs filled with urine.”

The Fae woman nodded. “That removes grease and stains from the cloth. It is why the fullers have piss pots in the street, to collect what they need. For mortals it is a fine method.” She saw how Summer looked at her. “The Akkadians did much the same during the times of drought.”

“An improvement on the Middle Ages,” Michael said, “when no one washed anything.”

A short time later the Templars arrived. Both men carried heavy bundles, and looked grim and tired.

“We didn’t find the cultists, but we know more about them,” Bowers said. “The woman performs blade tricks, and the little man with her is some sort of clown. They’re using Pompeian names, but they are definitely from our time.”

He tossed a small sack to Michael, who opened it and drew out a handheld radio.

“How did you get this?” Michael asked.

“We found it in their lodgings, along with weapons, food stores, and a very good map of the city,” Shelton said, and dropped the large bundles in his hands on the floor. “Which we took.”

“We also heard them talking on the radio to each other,” Bowers said. “It has been silent for the last hour, but doubtless they will use it again.”

“Wait,” Summer said, “if they both had radios, then…”

Shelton nodded. “Three of them came through the time portal.”

Chapter 5

CYRUS SHELTON LEFT Bowers snoring in their room and trudged downstairs to refill their water jug. Knowing the public baths in Pompeii were little better than cesspits, he would have to wash as he had on a long campaign. He passed Floronius dozing behind his counter, his wine mug still clutched in his grimy fingers, and then saw a flicker of flame out in the courtyard.

When he stepped into the archway he saw the little witch by a pit fire. She sat on a blanket spread over the weedy soil, and appeared to be smearing her feet and lower legs with a chunky-looking concoction from a wooden bowl.

Elettra.

For a long time Shelton watched her, as he had since his first sight of her on the ferry back in Boston. He could not fathom what it was about the squat, plain creature that tugged at him, but yank she did. Something told him that she was different from the other heathens, but he could not fathom what exactly it was. She did nothing to draw his notice. They had barely exchanged a dozen words.

Still, she lingered in his thoughts, drew his eyes, and tormented his senses. Just the smell of her could make him hard. Shelton glanced down at the slight bulge under his tunic. After centuries of happily ignoring females to serve the order, the little witch now kept him as randy as a spot-faced squire. He could no longer sleep without dreaming of her under him, her round face alight with pleasure as he worked himself in and out of her softness.

The dreams were maddening. In them her small breasts would push against his huge hands, the puckered nipples nudging his palms until he soothed them with his tongue. He dreamed of spilling his seed inside her over and over, until it streamed down her thighs. Sometimes it felt so real he woke up and found himself disgraced.

He reached under his tunic and curled his fingers around the cilice he had tied around his right thigh. Pulling on it hurt. It made the thin, sharp wires woven into the horse hair dig into his now-raw flesh. Pain shot up into his groin, but he kept twisting it until his boisterous cock finally wilted.

Once he had dispensed with his sinful lust he turned away. As he did, he considered that Elettra might have been hurt by the cultists, for which he would rip out their hearts with his bare hands. Before he could clear that nonsense from his head his feet pivoted on their own, and took him out into the courtyard to join her.

She tilted her head back and peered at him. “What do you want, Priest?”

“Water,” he said, as he crouched down.

Her legs were short and rather pudgy, and covered with dozens of burns, as were her small feet. Some of the angry-looking patches had even broken open and now oozed blood. Rage burned through him so fiercely he had to fight to speak evenly.

“What did this to you?”