‘Why wouldn’t you be?’
‘Because I’m easy, and you aren’t meant for that. Because soon, I’ll pay my way out of here, and I won’t leave anything behind when I do.’ Smile widening, Elias took a long drag from his blunt. Smoke cascaded between their faces. Maybe he was right. The herb was a slow burn, hard to stomach at first, but it grew on the senses, given time. ‘Perhaps in another life. Go and findyour boy.’
Felix took Loren’s sandal and left.
The brothel wasn’t far from the Temple of Isis, and it came as both a relief and a disappointment to find the temple door unlocked. But it was always unlocked. That was the way of Isis: she welcomed the downtrodden, the miserable, the dispossessed. Felix fitted all three categories.
Orange streaked past his feet. He froze, but it was only one of the cats, Pollux, the most useless sentry. At the altar, incense crackled, but unlike Elias’s smoke, these fumes were sweet and mellow and didn’t blur Felix’s mind. Otherwise, the courtyard didn’t stir. For a moment, he thought he had it wrong again. Then he caught a sliver of light spilling from the cella door. He followed it up the short stairs and paused.
This place made Felix shrink so very small, a boy who’d never outgrown the feeling of not belonging. The cella was sacred, reserved for the devout. Nothing about it should feel familiar, except . . . flashes. A memory tugged again. Another temple, another cella, another time.
There was a temple – the Aventine Hill –
Lantern light. Solitude.
Wine laced bittersweet.
Felix rubbed the prickle from his arms. He didn’t have time to chase stray thoughts. He braced himself and pushed inside. Isis’s dark eyes tracked him, but she didn’t seem angry. A gilded sunray fanned from her hair. The cult performed their mysteries in this chamber, the secret rites of Isis’s followers who swore their lives in return for nothing, at worst. Comfort, at best.
Temples had only ever left Felix hollow.
A too-familiar figure slumped at the statue’s feet.
‘Move,’ Felix said to Castor, nestled on Loren’s rib cage. Castor’s large yellow eyes blinked once, and Felix feared he’d have to fight the animal off, but he stretched, yawned and padded to curl on the goddess’s sandals. Cat-free Loren somehow looked more pathetic. Felix pursed his lips and knelt, shaking Loren’s shoulder until he stirred.
‘You’re drunk,’ Felix asked, ‘aren’t you?’
With all the grace of a newborn fawn, Loren hauled upright. His eyes drooped, cheeks tearstained. Strands fell from his mussed braid, framing his face. ‘If you came to tell me off, don’t bother. Can’t take being called a fool by you tonight.’
‘I’m not here for that.’ Felix held out the shoe.
For a long moment, Loren only stared.
‘It’s yours,’ Felix said.
‘I know,’ Loren said, still struggling. ‘Why d’you have it?’
‘Because you threw it. At the kitharist. A good hit, but shitty for him.’
‘Iknow. But why doyouhave it?’
Of course this couldn’t be easy. Felix dropped the shoe and sat beside Loren on the dais. ‘I looked for you after your speech.’
Loren snorted. It sounded all wrong. ‘Generous to call it that.’
‘Your only pair of sandals, right? I’d want it back if I’d been up there.’ Which wasn’t precisely true, given that Felix nearly ditched his own sandals days ago, but it seemed a reasonable excuse.
‘Wouldn’t have been you.’ Loren screwed his eyes tight. ‘You understand, don’t you? Only I’d lose control like that. In front of everyone. I’m ruined.’
Felix couldn’t help it. He rolled his eyes. ‘You think Patroco . . .’
‘Patroclus.’
‘. . . never embarrassed himself? You aren’t the only fool in history.’
‘I’ll neverbein history,’ Loren insisted. ‘I threw all my ambitions in the gutter tonight. And Patroclus died when he made a fool of himself.’
‘Should I use Achilles as an example?’
